Fear and Loathing

I was heavily sedated with a mixture of Nyquil, Alka Seltzer Cold Medicine and codeine-laced cough syrup, trying to recover from a bad cold that I still feared might launch into bronchitis at any moment.

So when I heard what I thought might be the song "Peanuts" by the Police blasting outside my bedroom window, I figured I was just hallucinating. But it got louder, and I realized it was right outside my apartment. There was a cross-fade and I was brought out of bed by "Let's Hear It For the Boy," certainly one of the worst songs of the 80s, perhaps one of the worst songs of all time.

I grabbed a robe and tried to wrap it around myself, but only managed to put my arms through the wrong sleeves. Tramping down the stairs with my rear-end exposed and the back of the bath robe collar in my mouth, I tried to scream for the music to stop. But, as though I were in a nightmare, my mouth opened, but no sound came out.

I flung the door open to find Citizen Jim dressed in a red, white and blue-striped tuxedo, red boots and a stove pipe hat decorated like an American flag. He was also sporting fake white whiskers on his chin, and had what looked like pieces of cotton from an aspirin bottle where his eyebrows had once been.

He thrust a finger in my direction and said, "Uncle Jim needs your vote! Can we count on you next November?"

The music I had heard was coming from a huge speaker atop a red, white and blue Chevy van with the words "Don't be dim! Vote for Citizen Jim!" painted on the side, with the familiar signature of Sam Gambino painted beneath it.

All I could do was shake my head and turn around.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Citizen Jim asked me.

I turned slowly. "Back to bed. I'm sick," I croaked.

"Bullfrogs! You better get in this van with me because we got some politicking to do!" he yelled.

I ignored him and started back up the stairs. I heard Citizen Jim say, "Now, listen, Lulu. Don't take off like you did when we were over there in Wirt County and I stopped off at Jessica Lynch's house to see Rick Bragg. He still owes me money from that syrup-drinking contest we had at the Waffle House. If I have to hitchhike back to the Interstate one more time, you're fired!"

I was lying on the couch when Citizen Jim burst into the apartment.

"Leave me in peace, please," I mumbled. I had a thermometer stuck under my tongue, which Jim snatched away and stared at for two seconds before throwing it behind him.

"A hundred and one! You're not sick! Your brain won't start to fry until you get up to a hundred and six or something. You need to pack your bags so we can go!"

I pulled a blanket up over my head.

"Get out from under the covers, now. This is your big chance, Stimpy!"

I poked my head out enough to show my eyes. "Big chance for what?"

Fear and Loathing Hunter S. Thompson

"You're gonna write a whole new Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail, Krissy Sheets, Girl Reporter. About me and you and Lulu Whippy!"

I sat up. "If you're running for governor of Alabama, why're you up here in W. Va. bothering me when I'm sick?"

"Governor? Ha! They already fixed that one, Stimp. I'm running for President!"

"President of what?" I asked.

That was a mistake.

Citizen Jim tried to tear the whiskers off his chin, but they were stuck fast, which made him even more angry. He ripped the hat off his head and stomped on it before picking up a book from the coffeetable and hurling it over my head against the wall behind the couch.

"President! Of! The! United! States! JACKASS!" he screamed.

I rolled my eyes. "Who's your running mate going to be, Erika Eleniak?"

"I've not picked a running mate yet. But you're my campaign manager and my public relations person. I can't let my campaign stall out just because you've got the sniffles and a fart cross-ways. Now get dressed and let's go before Lulu Whippy takes off again."

At that moment, the air filled with the chorus of "Walking on Sunshine" by Katrina and the Waves, as well as the sound of squealing tires.

Jim ran over to the window. "I'll be goddamned! She took off! She's peeling away in my Chevy van! AAAARRRRRGH!"

"Come sit by me, precious lamb," I said, patting the couch. "I'll drive you to the Interstate later. We need to talk about all this."

"What's to talk about? I'm running and that's that. I've been trying to figure out what's wrong with politics and this presidential race," Citizen Jim said. "These Democrats don't know which way is up. They got Dean, he's like the meat of the race. And Kucinich, he's the garlic. Then Kerry, he's like the parsley on the side of the plate. And General Big Neck, whatever his name is, he's like tabasco sauce. BAM!"

"You're making absolutely no sense," I said.

"Gah! Don't you see? It's like a stew, but it's lacking some key ingredient. You can't beat the stew out of Bush with a stew that's missing something. I realized they need to add some beer to the stew. And I'm the beer!" Citizen Jim said, thumping his chest.

I asked him about his platform.

"I don't have one yet. It'll have something to do with bike paths and running trails, though. Like an Interstate bike path?"

Then I asked him where he stood on The Issues.

"What issues? I got no issues, you know that. I'm the Zen-fucking-master," he said.

"No, I mean, like, abortion. Where do you stand on that?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I've always thought those doctors charge too much, but I guess they have to pay their malpractice insurance somehow."

"What about guns?"

"Don't like 'em. But if I had one, I'd want one that shoots about 250 rounds a second, you know? Like Al Pacino had shooting all around him when he took that rocket launcher and said 'Say hello to my little friend' in that movie Scarface?" he said. "Hell, this is simple. What else?"

"What about taxes? And job creation?"

Citizen Jim tugged at his false beard for a second. "Taxes: also too expensive. That's why I never pay mine. Job creation: I created a job for Lulu Whippy, which she's not going to fucking have when I find her and that Chevy van."

"Would you end the war in Iraq if you were elected?" I wanted to know. "What about the war on terror? And finding Osama Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein?"

"We need to just leave those people alone to kill each other, and make everyone start driving hybrid cars. End of story," he said.

"Would you try to pump more money back into No Child Left Behind? And AmeriCorps? What about the PATRIOT Act?"

"Goddamn it, I don't know! Why're you asking me those stupid questions? Give me something worth answering. Ask me about that new Hawthorne biography, or Ray Bradbury," Citizen Jim said.

I shook my head. "You need to just give it up," I said. "Go back to work for Sonny and enroll in school and forget this presidential campaign."

"But—"

"You'll be doing more for your country if you just go back to pretending you can't make a difference, like everyone else," I said.

"But Stimpy, I gotta make Walden Woods a National Park—"

"No more arguing! You'll never get your book finished if you're out running for president like this," I said.

"Yeah, I know. I just wanted to try and make something of myself, since I know I'll probably never get a rep job at Random House. Thanks for making me see the light."

"Okay, then. I love you."

"AAAAAUUUUGH! Enough with that! You take me back to the Interstate right now before Lulu Whippy's on her way to Tennessee looking for William Gay. I lied, you know. He was going to be my running mate."

I nodded my head. "Good choice."

"NOW COME ON, goddamn it, before I make you wish you were really sick!" he yelled.

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