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Chapter 3: Fiction Adventure : Fat Cowboy

Chapter 3: Fiction Adventure : Fat Cowboy

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Published by The Cowboy Wiseman
The Fat cowboy is a fun book for everyone - young and old.
The Fat cowboy is a fun book for everyone - young and old.

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Published by: The Cowboy Wiseman on Jul 09, 2010
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Chapter 3
The abrupt departure of Maury’s former boss had left something of a power vacuum in thelocal political machinery, so it was only natural that the county GOP chairman approached me.Those were desperate days for the Party of Lincoln as they built a machine to take back theCongress. Naturally, they’d need a top rank-fundraiser. "No envelope stuffing involved, big guy,"he told me, brushing the residue of Bolivian oblivion from his upper lip, "we got worker bees to dothe grunt work. Your job is just to write checks. Big ones."A sublime deal it was, too…a foreshadowing of the Reaganite economic theories that waited just below the horizon for the time to be full. So many families with kids heading off to college,needing that first car. Why not a Cad? And for their kids' educations, the bronzed and partisanMoms and Dads of San Diego and points north would not -- and I mean
-- pinch pennies. Thehigh-tech and defense contract feeding frenzy was gaining momentum, swollen by venture capitaland succulent Initial Public Offerings. A five grand per unit Republican markup on the kind of volume I was doing translated into prime time slush. My end was a thou from each unit plus myordinary dealer markup. And any accountant worth his salt could do wonders at tax time with those
checks that I was sending to the county GOP treasurer with great regularity. See? A rising tidereally does lift all boats.Maury would go on and on about Wall Street being where the big financial action took  place, about how one day he wanted to buy a seat on some exchange and get as rich as one mancould stand by trading derivatives or taking points in leveraged buyouts. More than once I had tocounsel him that. "Maury, those jerks are nothing but acolytes and choirboys. Don't be naive. NewYork is full of Jim & Tammys and Swaggarts, bush league 700 Club thumpers." I wasn't sure if thereligious metaphor had sunk in, but I continued, sweeping my arm in an arc that encompassed SanClemente and Baja. "This is Mecca and Jerusalem," I straightened his lapels, "and these people arethe Jesuits, the Ayatollahs. You and me buddy, we're the hundred and forty-four thousand."And one dinner party convinced me that, while I might still be a mere bishop, there were nodog turds on my golden road to the top. I was talking to a GOP congressman from the rust belt.Due to the recent and painful -- although not to be unexpected, since it is merely a healthymanifestation of an economic system that enjoys built-in but self-correcting instability -- recession,his district, after the last census, had suffered sufficient emigration to require its consolidation withan adjacent district. He was, in short, facing his own professional “downsizing” throughgerrymandering and, like any good politician, would do ANYTHING to keep his seat."Fritz," I said, "I'm about to get you re-elected. How's that sound." I listened to the hiss and pop of profanity that issued from his bleak and miserable part of the world. "Now, don't get testy," Ilaughed, "let's let bygones be bygones. I happen to know that you're going to need some helpagainst Lugenbaum and I thought that fifteen hundred or so jobs might be just the ticket. See... Ithink that one of the Big Three is a little dissatisfied with the price of the glass they've been buyingand they plan on building a plant to turn out their own windshields. If you like the idea, I canarrange a press conference to announce the groundbreaking with you and the Chairman..." I listeneda little longer while this overgrown Jaycee got down to his bottom line. "Why, it won't cost you adime, Fritz buddy." I comforted him, "Course, if you do beat Lugenbaum, You'll probably be chair 

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