Home of The Brave: An 1960's Political RP (IC)

[Dalmannia]

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Senator Boone In Richmond: “THE REPUBLIC IS NOT WHAT IT ONCE WAS”
Delivered Live in Richmond, Virginia on August 11th, 1959

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"My fellow Americans, it’s wonderful to be here with y’all in the great state of Virginia! To be here in the River City, heart of the Old Dominion!”

“I believe that America represents a place in the divine scheme of things that was set aside as a promised land. A place which has the promise of progress and advancement above all human advancement thus far. We led the world in establishing our democracy and republic after enlightenment ideals. Virginia’s own Thomas Jefferson wrote the very Declaration of Independence which severed us from England’s previous tyranny. Today, we continue with our ability to lead the world towards greater possibilities and greater freedoms again. Any person with the courage, with the desire to tear up their roots, to strive for freedom, to attempt and dare to live in a strange and foreign place, was welcome here. I’m talking about our ancestors, and the many hard workin’ immigrants who came because the idea of America inspired them. This is a place people can come to be free and to become Americans; a place founded on an idea rather than an ethnic heritage, religion, or race. That is what makes America exceptional. And when I say ‘exceptional’, I truly mean it.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, America’s Exceptionalism is why tonight I lament the state of this beautiful nation, and by extent the Democratic Party. The Republic is not what it once was. There is no interest in the common good. There is no civility, no faith, only politics. I have seen many an election in my time, admired many third party candidates and watched many crowded primary stages belonging to both parties. Yet never have I seen some of the present practices I see now. Never have I seen such mad men ramble through vulgar diatribes, nor have I ever seen a man stoop as low as to siphon and assimilate funds from churches to fuel his own campaign. The vanity! Not only is such an action sinful and selfish, but it oughtta be downright illegal! I tell you, that money going to a demagogue’s campaign ought to be going to hospitals, children-in-need, and the faithful local communities which uphold the good word of our God.”

“For decades, the Democratic Party has represented honesty, initiative and the common man. I want to keep it that way— Virginia wants to keep it that way! Upholding the honorable legacy of the Democratic Party begins with our rejection of Frank Turner. Before we get too much further into this race, we need to get one thing clear: Turner is no Democrat. He doesn’t stand for your principles or your good American values. Turner is a Democrat-In-Name-Only, and by ‘name’ I’m only referring to the one you’ll read in the polls posted in the papers. Frank Turner’s been siphoning off Democratic votes since the forties, always barely eking past our fairly nominated candidates by the fusion ballot. Frank Turner ain’t a Democrat, he’s a member of the so-called “White People’s Party”: a third-rate third party designed to pick the pockets of the desperate and the gullible. He is a man of poor character. But don’t just take my word for it— did any of y’all see that debate the man had with Wilson-Carter? The man turned into a rabid dog. If a man as tame as Robin Wilson-Carter can make him red in the face with fury, he doesn’t have a cool enough head for the presidency. The Democratic nominee ought to be a man we can trust with the nuclear arsenal. His buttons shouldn’t be easy to push. Turner is no Democrat, and it’s time we stop treating him like one.”

Boone concluded the back portion of his speech talking about his Plan For An Exceptional America, before closing out.

“Richmond, I can’t thank you enough for welcoming me into your beautiful state on this journey. Elect me, Senator Earl Boone, as your President, and together we shall see that America remain the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, forever.”

[Meretica]

ISC: Given how late that he had entered the race compared to several other candidates, the Wilson-Carter campaign takes the results of both the straw poll and the official poll as a victory (though they obviously prefer the straw pole-- who wouldn't in those circumstances?). Alongside that, over $1,000 had been raised for the NFO-- a smaller albeit worthy amount than had been hoped for. If nothing else, it told the Wilson-Carter family that they had a fighting chance to put Robinette into the White House, and that just was what First Lady of Michigan Abilene Smith Wilson-Carter intended to do.

It hadn't been easy, of course, pulling the strings while her husband was away, but it had been doable, and she had, in her opinion, done quite well for herself. The Lieutenant Governor hadn't been fond of it, of course, be he had submitted just like she was sure some poor Republican man had submitted to the nomination of that dreadful Sofia Fraser. Of course, Abilene was a Democrat, so most Republicans were dreadful. Not her Robinette, though.

Robin was a different kind of Republican. He had a heart. A soul. He believed in doing the right thing, even if it was unpopular or hurt his career. That's why he was popular among Republicans and Democrats, why he had expanded his margins of victory in election after election after election... and that was where the other politicians consistently underestimated him. Consistently doubted his chances of victory.

And yet, he had his own small victory in Iowa, and part of that was because of her.

The NFO donation had been her idea, as had the idea to support the increase in demand rather than the decrease in supply. If you had hungry people, you fed them, you didn't leave them to starve. That wasn't humane, and to be frank, a lot of people would agree with that sentiment. In fact, that might be a good line for a future speech...

Fraser had done significantly better than expected in the official pole, as had the undecideds, but Jackson's lead was what was more noticeable to Abilene. Nearly 36% in the straw poll and 24% in the official poll-- 3% and 15% below the AP Presidential Primary polling results that had been published ages ago. That was important. It was vital if the Wilson-Carter family was to move to the big house on Pennsylvania Avenue. Fraser was ahead (officially) by 5 and a half points, but was three votes behind in the straw poll... All of it was interesting, so interesting because there was so much to be studied from just this poll, so much to be learned, so much to be obtained and directed! So long as Michigan held to their governor (as she was cautiously optimistic that it would), then they had a chance to put a moderate in the White House.

"So long as it's not that damned Fraser," she hissed quietly to herself. "The Midwest... it all lies in the Midwest..."

There were a few ways to victory, and they lied with the super delegates and the normal delegates. The super delegates, those could more easily be swayed one way or another, so long as certain promises were made. Elected delegates were a little harder-- battles with words were often won by wit rather than policy, and though there would always be those that condemned the entire family as a bunch of radical lunatics that ought to run as their own third party, Robinette just didn't have the wit with him at every waking moment. Really, she didn't either, and few ever did, but wit, wisdom, and cunning would all be essential in this election.

And likely every election across the country forevermore.

No more policy concerns, just charisma.

Damn the radicals on all sides-- excluding the right ones, of course.

A plurality was possible just about everywhere, but focusing on the Midwest and northern farm states would be crucial. No candidate would receive a majority on the first ballot. That was the best possible plan that Abilene could think of. It had risks attached to it, of course, but so did most plans like this.

Frankly, if the three Republicans had run against each other as the only politicians in the nation for president, she was pretty sure how that would end up. There would be a popular vote win for Fraser with Robin and Jackson very close. Robin would receive around 190 electoral votes, Jackson around 200, leaving the rest for Fraser. Some threatening from all sides would follow, and not counting faithless electors into the mix (God forbid this mere thought experiment to become a reality), Robinette would have a 50/50 shot at becoming president. Either Fraser would endorse Jackson, Fraser would endorse Robin, or Robin would endorse Jackson. A Fraser presidency was not an option at this point, and it was better to see a sensible albeit unlikable man put into office with firm ideas than to see that jackass Fraser gloat from Washington...

...assuming, of course, Jackson didn't support Fraser, but that wouldn't happen because Jackson was too damn stubborn to do much of anything that didn't help his pride...

And, of course, that was assuming that Robin didn't finally have that realization that maybe, just maybe the Democrats were worth supporting.

But what did she know? She was just the First Lady of Michigan that was practically running the governor's office while he was being silly in Iowa.

"You're overthinking again, aren't you?"

Abilene looked up from where she had zoned off into space, eyes flashing as she looked upon the figure of her mother-in-law. "Apologies, Mother."

"Not at all," the older woman said, shaking her head as she pretended to bash the apology away. "I figured I ought to interrupt before you thought yourself to death."

"Thank you, I almost had," Abilene replied with a smile. "What can I do for you?"

In her other hand, Regina held a few pieces of paper that had been clipped together. "A copy of Robin's bill came in the mail. Dorothy said that she asked for it, got it from that Senator Winthrop fellow in the state legislature. I promised myself not to nag her about wooing officials, but I think that they've developed a crush on one another--"

"About the bill?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes!" Regina passed it to Abilene. "He's made a few changes to it that I thought you should know about. I think he's considering sending it to someone in the House or the Senate, probably Warszawski or Martinez if I had to take a guess. Though, I probably shouldn't guess, should I?"

Abilene took the papers as her mother-in-law continued talking to no one. Skimming the bill, she indeed read some new portions that had not been there prior. "He wants to add Hawaii, Guam and the Virgin Islands as states all at one time?"

"--and so on, so forth until-- did you say something dear?" After Abilene repeated herself, Regina answered, "Yes, and all the while making the House larger with that repeal of his."

"Does he not realize how expensive that is?"

"Yes, and that worries me to a point. You can't deny that it'd be good in the long run. A growing population needs a growing House."

Not when that population is bankrupting itself trying to pay for its politicians, pay cuts or no... Damn it... "We'll find somewhere to cut expenses, Mother, don't worry."

"Thank you," the older woman said. "Oh! And dinner'll be done in thirty minutes or so. I'll send Dorothy up when we're ready."

"Thank you."

'No problem!"

»»——⍟——««

Her plans were precise. Complete. Detailed. Plausible.

It was 1959. 1960 was just around the corner.

There weren't a lot of independents in America.

There wasn't a single female governor right now, and there hadn't been since Miriam Ferguson left office in Texas.

There wasn't an independent governor in office, either. There hadn't been one since Philip La Follette had left office.

Two birds.

One stone.

Well, election.

Same difference, really. Both could be deadly. Huey Long had proved that. Frank Steunenberg, too. Not that anyone outside of Idaho really knew who that was...

Bah. it didn't matter. She had four months. Four months to share this with Robin, build a campaign, and announce that campaign. And with his endorsement, she could not lose.

And that would allow the Wilson-Carter Family to use the Reverse Fraser Maneuver.

[Newne Carriebean7]

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SENATOR SHARP BARNSTORMS ARKANSAS
August 14, 1959

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"Fellas, men, wimmen, n' chillen. Goddamn it's a hot one outside t'day, Whoo boy! Y'all stay under the shade n' enjoy a nice, col' cuppa coke. The proceedes o' which g'an a small but long..long way t' heppin' Mississippi's oldest natural resource, ME! Heh,heh,heh-heh... Now, where was I? Right! Now, y'all know damn well why I have decided to come on south followin' a trip up north to a yankee state. I will say it right now til I am long dead inna the grounds o' hell or heaven or whatever the catholic race thinks is the right allah or jehovah or whatever; I ain't no damned yankee carpetbagger. In fact, I am a true-blue son of Dixie! Me grandpappie, he owned slaves, I'm sure o' its!

While others in Congress, such as the asshole Broussard or even a southern boy as sophisticated as other senator Turner himself see fit to sit on their ass and COMPROMISE with communists, I'm the only one out here listeinin' to all y'all. I'm the only candidate of the poor people, by the poor people and for the poor people. I take a pitchfork to the rich, I stab and slash at them until money falls from their pockets. That cash is then given to the most desperate, filthy and huddled masses of good, good Caucasian fellers in this country. Why do y'all think I'm in favor of chillen-I mean the estate tax. I is a goanna raise on up the Equity tax that my good friend from Iowa-I mean Tennessee agrees with me here n' there. There's a good tax meant to ensure the rich bastards pay their needed fee in order to get admittance towards the pearly white plantation home in the sky.. Not death, but millionaires!

Here, I have decided to make what I predict to be the beginnings of a risky gamble or a huge ol' payoff. It shall be one part of my campaign that I shall pray down upon all y'all inna chains. I borrow a phrase from a faithful Virginian. Mista Washintin himself: 'real patriots are those who resist the urges of foreign nations may find themselves suspected n' odious in the eyes o' others, but I urge y'all to stand firm against such influences all the same.' It means real Americans would not turn their back on the ol' glory.
Real Americans would g'an to church n' pray to the same right wing god. Real Americans wouldn't be a buncha apes we imported a hunnded years ago from africa. Git rid o' 'em! The negroe is a savage feller. He knows only the small things the white race has graciously given him. He has no culture, no faith and no friend to call his own. He is a self-destructive creature that unfortunately laments the White man to begin the burden o' civilizin' such a nasty, brutal and sub-human race that god rightfully turned his back on for betrayin' Jesus!


There are no good, anti-American communist agitators. Not in the highest levels o' government that the one senator from that one state said. They do not hail from the halls of Lenin or even birthed in marxism from the caring arms of East Germany, no.. They hail from poor african circles. The poorest Senegambian bastards that y'all've ever seen. They clearly speak in russian. Or some African tonged click speeks. I ain't sure. I know that any so called 'civil rights' protestor, lawyer or god forbid politikian n' candy-date is on the payroll of Papa Stalin and Leonid Krustchchev! That is an unequivocal, undeniable fact of the current state of American politics. To be so blinded by Soviets in our own midst. They had been workin' under our noses inna the Man hattin Project to try n' git a bomb! I am sure some darkie that drinks the commie kool-aid aided and abetted our foes. If he show's his face 'round here again, well..."

Senator Sharp made a line across his throat and made a slicing noise with his mouth, a sinister looking grin creeping across his face as he continued his anti-communist tirade against the african.

"They ain't tryin' to git rid o' segregation just 'cause it's a noble cause. It's all for control. It's the precursor to a rapid commie-nist uprisin' that'll ruin our western government beyond all repair! The Darkie has been in cahoots not just with allies of marx n' lennin, but also any group that tries to even push a message o' civil rights or 'equalitee'. Any progressive group, save for the noble work that Sofia Fraser and my wife are doing in their respective organizations, is a farce, a front for the Communist Party of the Soviet Union and will be stopped before espionage ruins our space progress!

I say to all y'all. Pen your congressman. Pen your representative n' senator n' tell 'em to git off his fat ass and put a stop to the afro-communist conspiracy hell-bent on ruinin' this country! Even if we have to lynch every. single. One. God Bless y'all Arkansas, and God Bless our Caucasian people and country! Senator Joshua Sharp here, White Rights? He FIGHTS!"

[Sao Nova Europa]

August 14th, 1959



Jonathan Jackson was in his office, admiring the painting of himself. It had just been delivered to him by a famous painter as a gift. On his right hand, he was holding a cup of tea. He sipped a gulp as he observed the painting. "He's done a good job," the General admitted. He then walked slowly to his desk and placed down the cup, being careful not to place it on top of any of the many papers lying on it. He sat on his comfortable wooden chair and grabbed his rotary phone, dialing his campaign manager, James Harrison.

"Jackson here," the elderly man spoke. "The Iowa trip was quite the success."

"Indeed it was," James replied. "Iowa is a center-left economically and socially moderate state, and yet you are leading in the polls with a comfortable margin. I can only image how much of lead our campaign will have in more conservative states..."

"Speaking of polls, how's the poll I requested coming?"

"Expect the results to be handed over within the next week. This will allow us to reach out to people outside the hardcore conservative base. Our strategy should be to garner moderate support too. You will need to make an effort to appeal to moderate voters, by presenting yourself as the voice of reason, experience and moderation. Focus a lot on the issue of national unity, which is of great importance to moderate voters. Act as a President-in-waiting instead of a primary candidate."

Jackson nodded, forgetting that James couldn't see him. "Will be doing that."

"We also need to hold more fundraising events. We need to fill a war chest. You've got the support of many a CEOs and affluent individuals. Your message of low taxes, deregulation and social stability appeals to them. Use it to ensure we have the funds necessary to bury our enemies."

"Appeal to moderates, more fundraising events and acting as President-in-waiting. Gotcha. Tomorrow will be resuming my campaigning. I believe that by September, we will have managed to increase our national lead by bringing moderates into our coalition."

"That we will do," James assured Jackson.

After exchanging some goodbyes, Jackson ended their call. He sipped some more tea. "Nice..." he said. The General got up from his seat and walked to the other side of the room. His gaze fell upon a traditional Japanese painting that had been gifted to him back when he was Leader of the Allied Occupation of Japan. It wasn't the only one - he had been gifted a number of Japanese artifacts - but it was one of his favorite.

Unlike other American military commanders, Jonathan admired Japanese civilization and culture. He never underestimated the Japanese as an 'inferior race', as other commanders had done. He had studied Japanese history and tried to understand their unique civilization. Their warrior-spirit, embodied by the Samurai of the past and the Kamikaze of the present, was what had impressed him the most. Their valor and refusal to accept defeat in the battlefields of the Second Great War had earned Jonathan's admiration. What intrigued the General, though, was that the Japanese were no savage barbarian warriors; they combined martial ethos with a culture as elegant and ancient as that Greco-Roman antiquity.

The Japanese had also been fascinated by the General. They had nicknamed him Gaijin Shōgun, an epithet Jonathan embraced. He liked to think of himself as a figure of equal importance in Japanese history as Oda Nobunaga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi and Tokugawa Ieyasu. But those thoughts were kept to himself. Not many Americans could understand his fascination of an Asiatic race that had attacked in a dishonorable manner America and had killed countless American soldiers. Jonathan understood this all too well, and he mentioned Japan only to showcase his capabilities as an administrator and to remind the public of his war hero status.

[Sao Nova Europa]

August 15th, 1959

As Jonathan Jackson was preparing his speech for his next rally, he was reminded of another speech he had given, years ago. A speech that shaped the war in Korea...

August 23rd, 1950
Jonathan Jackson's Headquarters, Tokyo, Japan

Jonathan Jackson understood very well that Operation CHROMITE depended on his ability to convince the military leadership of the soundness of his bold plan: a audacious landing at Inchon, deep behind North Korean lines, that would turn the tide of the war. Jackson's plan faced resistance from many of his superiors, who believed it to be reckless and risky. United States Navy Commander Arlie G. Capps noted that the harbor had "every natural and geographic handicap". The current of the channels was dangerously quick—three to eight knots (3.5 to 9.2 mph; 5.5 to 14.8 km/hr)—and tides were so extreme as to prevent immediate follow-on landings. The anchorage was small and the harbor was surrounded by tall seawalls.

The Chief of Staff of the United States Army General Joseph Lawton Collins, Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Forrest Sherman, and United States Air Force (USAF) operations deputy Lieutenant General Idwal H. Edward had flown from Washington, D.C., to Japan to hear out Jackson. They were soon joined by other top brass, including Commander in Chief, Pacific, Admiral Arthur Radford and Marine General Lemuel Shepherd. They met that afternoon in a small conference room.

The mood was pessimistic. Admiral Doyle spoke first, pointing out the immense difficulties of sailing ships up the main channel leading into Inchon, which might be mined or covered by heavy batteries. General Collins spoke next. He pointed out that the Inchon plan meant stripping the Pusan perimeter of the First Marine Brigade, which would leave General Walker’s men unnecessarily exposed to a sudden North Korean attack. "This will result in a disaster," the General explained.

Everyone went silent. Jonathan got up from his desk. The fate of the operation and of the entire war in Korea depended on his ability to convince the Joint Chiefs. He would have to use all his rhetorical skills to pull this off. "The bulk of the Reds are committed around Walker's defensive perimeter. I am convinced that the enemy has failed to prepare Inchon properly for defense, for the very exact reasons you mentioned. They believe that no one will be crazy enough to try to pull off such an audacious attack, and that's exactly why this attack will succeed! The North Koreans regard an Inchon landing as impossible, and we will take them by surprise as Alexander the Great did at the Battle of the Hydaspes River."

"Surprise and deception are the keys to military victory. I vividly remember when some were objecting to Operation Reckless, when we bypassed the Japanese forces at Hansa Bay and Wewak, and assaulted Hollandia and Aitape. This bold and unexpected thrust by going 600 miles up the coast surprised and confused the Japanese High Command, allowing me to cut off Adachi's XVIII Army in the Wewak area. As I succeeded back then, so I shall succeed again now at Inchon."

“The Navy’s objections as to tides, hydrography, terrain, and physical handicaps are indeed substantial and pertinent, but I am confident that our Navy can do what needs to be done. In fact, I seem to have more confidence in the Navy than the Navy has in itself. We have succeeded before against even worse odds, and we are going to succeed now as well! With a decisive landing at Inchon, we can put an end to this bloody conflict. The only alternative to a stroke such as I propose will be the continuation of the savage sacrifice we are making at Pusan, with no hope of relief in sight. Are you content to let our troops stay in that bloody perimeter like beef cattle in the slaughterhouse? Who will take responsibility for such a tragedy?"

Jonathan's eyes were glistening and his pacing was becoming more animated. Every eye in the room was riveted on him.

"I certainly will not. The prestige of the Western world hangs in the balance. It is plainly apparent that here in Asia is where the Communist conspirators have elected to make their play for global conquest. And here in Asia we will crush their dreams of world domination. At Inchon, we will succeed. We will save 100,000 lives and take back Seoul. I realize that Inchon is a 5000-to-one gamble, but I am used to taking such odds. We shall land at Inchon and we shall crush them."

"Bold actions win wars! Alexander, Hannibal, Caesar, Frederick, Napoleon; none of them won battle after battle by being cautious and hesitant; they won by being bold, audacious, daring, innovative! They won by grabbing a chance when they saw one. They won by betting against all odds. That's how I plan to win the war!"

Admiral Forest Sherman stood up. “Thank you," he said. "A great voice in a great cause.”

Jonathan smiled. Sherman was one of those who had opposed Operation CHROMITE. Now he had managed to win him over. Jonathan had won the rhetorical battle. Now he would have to win the actual battle.

Jonathan grinned. 'Hopefully I can bring this same energy to today's rally,' he thought. 'And I will succeed, once more against all odds, in becoming President of this great nation.'

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

Soon after the conclusion of the Turner/Wilson-Carter Debate, The Fraser Campaign prints of swath of pamphlets and posters featuring the below image, targeted for placement in a variety of University, College, Black, Young, Liberal and/or Urban communities:

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[Meretica]

Robinette Wilson-Carter goes live over several radios and issues the following statement and makes sure that it is especially heard across the north and northeast, primarily New York and Michigan:

My fellow Americans.

I have largely focused on my policies and only attacked when I have deemed it necessary to do so. Governor Fraser's campaign has begun publishing lies about myself, my ethics, my morals, my beliefs, and what I am fighting for. A quote was taken out of context to make it appear as though I supported that damnable Senator Turner. My words were twisted to make it look like I was some racist, misogynistic brat of the South that was raised with a silver spoon in my mouth. My words? "I believe that there are many cases that Senator Turner and I see eye to eye or even agree upon, but I believe that we have different ways of handling these cases or going forward. I think that there are some things that I believe and that there are some things that he believes that we can meld together to create one bright, optimistic future for America. I think that there are certain important points that he has missed in his plans, such as what non-material items we could sell to foreign nations in exchange for goods, services, or money." Mr. Fraser's campaign left out the majority of that statement on economic policies and also left out that I went on to criticize Turner and the gaps in his plan.

My fellow Americans, I promise that I will not be like Mr. Fraser. I promise that I will never willingly tell a lie to the American people. I will never twist the words of my opponents nor will I act as stupidly as Mr. Fraser in publishing this type of content. Mr. Fraser has endorsed lies. My record proves that he has endorsed lies. In my time as a state senator and governor in Michigan, I have worked to abolish the poll tax, pass an amendment enforcing voting rights, and guaranteed the right of all people in Michigan to have a job, whether through unions or private business, or statewide projects. I have, over the years, criticised consistently all of our presidents and Congresses for not doing enough to support civil rights reform. We have virtually ended segregation in our state's schools and are working towards desegregating our neighborhoods. If Fraser the Fool would like to discuss my record at length, I would be more than happy to, considering that he is a paranoid, ineffective governor that's manipulating his wife to get his policies passed in the Senate as we speak. Fraser the Fool, Fraser the Falsifier, Fraser the Fickle, Fraser the Fiend is not the kind of leader that our country needs. America needs honest leaders that weren't born with silver spoons in their mouths. America needs leaders that have actually worked their way to the top and understand the struggle of the working man. That is why I am announcing today that should Fraser become the nominee, I will not be endorsing his candidacy for the presidency.

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

The Fraser Campaign prints of swath of pamphlets and posters featuring the below image, targeted for placement in swing and moderate republican districts across the country:

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[Meretica]

Abilene Wilson-Carter was mad. Mad was the only word for it. Furious, fuming, enraged, irate, none of those were accurate. But mad? Mad was the perfect word for it. First, the Frasers chose to tell lies. Then, the Frasers chose to tell more lies. Was that a direct quote? Yes. Was it taken out of context again? You could bet your ass it was.

The couple had discussed what to do about the Frasers over the phone. Well, he had complained and asked what could be done while she formed a plan.

Of course, she had a plan.
She always had a plan.
There may have been a bump or two in the road, but the plan always turned out to be for the benefit of the family.

"Good evening, Michigan!" she cried out as she looked over the large crowd gathered in front of Lansing City Hall. "I welcome you today as we come to show our support for the greatest governor in American history, my husband, Robinette Wilson-Carter!"

The crowd, of course, went wild. That's what crowds did, so long as you said the right words, placed them in just the right order... That was all you had to do, really, to make sure that a campaign stayed alive. So far, the Frasers had succeeded. Now, though, the Governor's wife had decided that the Frasers needed to be destroyed.

And when Abilene Smith Wilson-Carter set her mind to something, she tended to accomplish it.

"As you all know, your governor married a Democrat instead of a Republican, and we've turned the local Republican Party into Democrats in secret!" Laughs from the assembly. "And, as you know, part of the Democratic Party is soulless, as proven by the likes of Ladhe, Turner, and Sharp! But I promise you, Michigan, that soulless as I may be in theory, I certainly have more heart and more brains than the likes of the entire Fraser family put together!" More laughs. Smiling, she continued, "The Frasers and our beloved Robinette are prime examples in the battle for the soul of what it means to be an American. On one side, you have the Frasers: corporate elites born with silver spoons in their mouths, having everything handed to them since the day they were born. On the other side, you have Robin and me, the children of poverty that built their way up and pulled their families up with them. The Frasers have worked to stay on top. Our family has worked to pull the people of Michigan up with us. Our family, made up of Democrats and Republicans, are just like what America should be. We ought to be able to agree or disagree or agree to disagree. We ought to be able to be honest with each other, even when honesty is not what we want to hear. A vote for Robinette is a vote for honesty and integrity in government. Why? Because growing up poor, honesty and integrity were most of what our families had.

Robin, as you know, grew up the son of a preacher and a seamstress. Automatically, that put him in the hole. I was born to fourth-generation farmers in Wyoming before we moved to Michigan after we were forced to sell our farm to pay back debts. My family all took up jobs in factories or groceries to help make ends meet, but it was hard: we were farmers, we had no experience on the assembly line. Then, I met my Robin. We married a little while later, had our two children, and we've worked our way up from the depths of poverty to leaders in Michigan. We have opposed rugged individualism, citing that it is nothing but a political banner to cover up greed. We have protected voting rights, ended the poll tax statewide, kept our state united rather than divided. The policies used in Michigan work. Fraser, for no apparent reason, disagrees. Robin sees that there is extra food in Iowa and sees hungry people in New York. What does Robin want to do? Feed the people of New York. Meanwhile, Fraser sees extra food and wants to get rid of it so that prices change, period. Fraser doesn't care about helping people; he's only in it for the power. I highly doubt that his wife wanted to run for Senate; it would not surprise me at all to learn that she is being manipulated by her husband for political purposes. They are in it for themselves, the rest of us be damned. I don't like that. I don't support it. And I, for one, am not going to lounge around and wait for them to try and sweep themselves into power just so that they can say they have all that power.

America is at a turning point. Michigan, in recent years, has proven to be among the most efficient, bipartisan states. We are working to establish a minimum wage, introduce an income tax on the wealthiest citizens, grant collective bargaining rights to public employees, significantly increase state education spending and develop more generous programs for the poor and the unemployed. We're working to lower taxes for the common worker, slash the pay of politicians in half, and prepare America for a better tomorrow. We have sought an effective solution that balanced government and the private sector. While Fraser believes that extremism in defense of liberty is no vice, I argue that dogmatic ideological parties tend to splinter the political and social fabric of a nation, lead to governmental crises and deadlocks, and stymie the compromises so often necessary to preserve freedom and achieve progress. It might be considered too much by some to vote for people that actually want to help. But it would not be too much to ask for an agenda for economic and political reform that recaptured some of the most valuable elements of his career: an emphasis on compromise, a commitment to public education and the expansion of economic opportunity, a belief that workers deserve a voice and that thriving capitalism must seek to align individual success with shared prosperity. This is certainly an example worth following.

Some would note that Fraser and Robin have agreed on a particular policy. I disagree. I think that Fraser saw that Robin's campaign had created a policy that worked and could prove popular. Fraser knows that farmers don't care what is done so long as it works and it saves their farms. Robin's plan would've saved my farm. My family's farm. The farm that we owned and operated for generations. Fraser doesn't care about the farmers. He cares about the power. Lansing... Michigan... America... Robin cares. I care. The Smith-Wilson-Carter family cares. And we care so much that we are in this fight to the very end. A Fraser administration would be a disaster. A Jackson, Sharpe, Turner, or Ladhe administration would be, too. We have primaries coming up in the next several months. We have a governor's race that will take place next year. Robin permitted me to tell you that he won't be running for that race. That leaves our fate undecided. That leaves the future of Michigan in the hands of the people. Capable people. Strong, willful, American people. And I know that those people will make the right choice.

Thank you. God bless you. And God bless these United States!"



As she waved to the crowd one final time, a sense of purpose settled over Abilene. Yes, she would run for governor, and that would be announced in time. But for now, she had given the Frasers a warning not to mess with the Wilson-Carter family. Quitte obviously, it was the wife you had to worry about...

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

The Fraser Campaign prints out another set of pamphlets and posters, this time, aimed at more narrow group of higher information voters and political activists, such as Colleges, Universities and political organizations, particularly those with a foreign affair focus:

[Newne Carriebean7]

Cedar Grove, Mississippi
August 15th, 1959

The aging specimen that looked like it would belong in a local newspaper story about the antebellum south rather than the cuthroat age of today's politics slowly clambered down the steps, gripping the railing on each 'thud, thud, thud' that the large feet of the southerner seemed to echo out in the hollow walls of his home. Turning the corner into the walled away dining room, he eyed a fox. This fox had silver hair, was dressed up in a yellow and pink pattered dress and was stiring a large pot on the stove in the heart of the home. She seemed engrossed in her cooking, a large blur of white skin criss crossing the black and white tiles that adorned the floor of her kingdom, her domain. The old man would have been content to just watch his wife cook, if she hadn't rummaged through the drawers next to the walkway and did the talking for him.

"Joshua, can you go be a doll and go check the attic for Sugar? I thought we had some, but apparently we're all out in the kitchen."

"Uh, sure Val. Say, that smells good, what is it y'all is a bakin'?"

"Oh, I'm just makin' some sugar donuts, and-" She stopped midsentence and flashed a grin at her husband.
"Actually, instead of tryin' to climb through that rickety ladder to a g'an n' git to the attic, Why don't you ask Leroy, I hear he moved back with his chillen. Yes, go ask him if he's got any sugar. Y'all know y'all can't have no sugar donuts without no sugar, that's for sure!" Velma's face curled into a smug looking smile, Joshua returning a toothy grin in response as they both broke down in abrubpt chuckles as Sharp entered the kitchen to give her a hug.

"Fine dear. I'll be back inna-spell with the Sugar. Might even chat with 'em for a bit, so don't make 'em quite yet, y'hear woman? Toodeloo."

What followed next was one of the softest door shuts as Joshua walked out onto the porch, with the sun coming over the horizon and the sight of a dusty road being seen. His eyes darted over to the aging faded blue pick-up truck that had valiantly carried him to and from Atlanta during that 'infamous' visit. Rummaging through his pockets, he realized he had forgotten his keys. He had just been in the process of turning around to bother his wife, when the nice chill of fall swept over the man. He eyed the falling leafs and beautiful colors that Mississippi turned to in the fall.

It was still hot outside, but not too hot this early in the morning. Deciding to take full advantage of the fact that evolution gave the man two legs to walk on, his feet crunched through the leaves, filling his ears with the pleasant sounds of fall. His eyes were gently smothered via a combination of the lightly whistling winds and crispy bark that snapped with each step the old geezer took along the dusty, dirt path next to the fence line. His mind went blank and he just focused on his surroundings, making sure to reserve some needed brain power in the event his heart gave out or the idiot tripped over a rock and he had to hold up his arms to brace for impact for his face and speaking pie hole.

"It sure is pretty out here..."

"Yep... Sharp it's real pretty out here... I can just talk to myself and it won't look like I'm a rambling old man, because there ain't not soul to witness it. Y'know Sharp? You've been around a long ass time. You've been in the same location for a period of over fifty to seventy years. Make sure y'all stay there goodly."

Then what Joshua Sharp took note of up the road startled him. It was no creature, it was no political signage or postage, nor was it any sort of wild animal, cadaver or hellish demon. It wasn't a person nor a thing. They didn't threaten the man with a firearm, nor was it one of his hallucinations where he would see Hubert Broussard just wander along the opposite side of the path he took to walking every morning. No. What is was was a small enclosure of trees that embarked on a small slope. The slope led down to two a path of Cinderblocked and interlaced steel fencing that had a slew of smooth marble rectangles and large half-circles that were placed on the ground with words engraved on them. Sharp took in a deep breath, one of the deep breaths he would take whenever he was so...so frightened by something. When he expelled the air his mouth and throat quaked with the shivers of someone who had been no stranger to being a sad bastard. With that, he wandered into the Cemetery that was by his house.

The old man patiently wandered up and down, up and down, up and down, looking at the hundreds of grave stones that were installed in the Cemetery. His face continued to sour as he took note of some of his most loving field hands and neighbors that had passed on over the years. Then he spied what he was looking for.

SHARP
Jefferson Davis Sharp
(August 16th, 1861 - November 5th, 1890)

Jessica Sylvester Sharp (nee Smith)
(August 4, 1852 - June 2nd, 1904)
Son:
Joshua Norton Sharp
January 14, 1888-

Joshua's eyes watered up the moment when he found the gravesite. His mind flooded back to the few memories he had of his parents, and the most important memory of his life, a memory that arguably set him on the path he walks today. He could recall that day vividly.

It was June 4th, 1904. He remembered that he had himself a bottle of pepsi-cola next to him. There was a half eaten ham sandwich sitting his his faded grey bucket where also let his worksmanship live in the form of some hammers and nails. Joshua had just gotten his hands around one of the freshly installed wooden logs, cut to order by virtue of his relatives. He was reaching over, holding the log steady in one hand while he rummaged for both his hammer and a nail to ensure the log stays put, when the sound of hooves. The sound of a horses hooves. Oh the sounds of horses hooves. Those were maddening. They grew louder and louder. The faster and faster they came, like a crescendoing stampede of stallions. Then it halted just next to him, and Joshua found himself looking at a horse.

"Boy! Boy! Are you Jeff Davis's son?"

He remembered nodding affirmatively as the messenger's expression changed into a somber and solemn one. Without saying another word, the Messenger handed him a letter and rode off. He distinctly remembered what it had said on it, and it's general look. It was a faded letter, bound up with a small string of rope with a small bulge on one side.

'My dearest Joshy Sharpie poo.

If you are receiving this letter, than I unfortunately have gone up with god. I have been very sick for quite some time now, and did not wish to bother you until the circumstances had become absolutely dire. I am writing this before I pass, and by the time this letter reaches Cedar Grove, I know I will not live to hear your crying, nor see your tears. They have talked for some time in my company about leaving me behind. I do not blame them for such sentiments, and if I was in their place I would readily do the same if one of our company was as sick as I have been.

I trust work on the farm has gone well. I pray to god that you do not have to perish in the same way I have been enduring. If you are you go, my son, I would rather it be a swift breeze on a candle to a long, slow dying ember of a campfire. I need to explain something about your farmer. About your father. I do not know what happened to him, but I am aware he owed many people money at the time of his passing. I remember him saying certain 'debts' he was embroiled in and an argument with the court. I want to leave you with this advice my son: Work hard, Pray to god more often and help other people. I cannot stress the last one enough. If you want to do good in your life, help others.

Sincerely, Jessica Sylvester Sharp (nee Smith)

Your mother.

Joshua Sharp's knees buckled violently as he leaned over the tombstone, unable to take it anymore. The waterworks poured down from the seventy one year old man, sobbing and sobbing over and over again. It was so painful.. to relive and rethink of such memories. But he had to remember the last advice his mother had given him. It was almost worth it's weight in the 200 dollar bank account she had bequeathed to the old man. "I need to help other people. That's what I'm doing in the Senate. That's what I did in the House and that is what I will do as President!" Sharp barked out-loud to an audience of one.

"I won't let you down folks. I know y'all can't see it, but I'm huggin you...It's love. That's what I'm missin'. No, not from Velma, but I might have t' chat wit 'er mom. Gimme some 'vice, aight folks? I love you both so..so much... I miss you a lot. I wish you could see me now. A U.S Senator and possible President. I'll be in the history books, heck I've MADE the history books. I'm a two-term Senator. I've served as a lawyer and I fought hard for my country during the War. It's patriotism that's what it is..."

Sharp trailed off, leaving the resting place of his parents, but not before leaving a small bundle of flowers on the grave and smiling inbtween tears that dried on his face.

"I love you both so much."

After a long while, Joshua Sharp wills enough strength in him to solidify his bones and kneecaps to stand up, kissing each side of the tombstone before slowly walking out of the cemetary, a shaken man. Sharp wandered up the dirt road of his neighbors, waving to a few of them with a brave smile fixated on his features.

Following a long enough section of unpaved mother earth and it's dusty dirt that ruined his jacket and pajamas he was still in, Joshua came to a skinny looking shack that was near a small pond of smelly, crocodile infested water. Lightly knocking on the door, he looked surprised to see a small child answer it.

"Sandy Lou Hoo who's not more than two? Is Leroy there? Your dadda-er grandadda? Heh, heh he-he-heh!"
The little girl stepped aside to see an equally skinny and old looking man smoking a cigarette. His eyes were blue and his hair evidently used to be blonde, as a faint blur of yellowish gray dotted the eyebrows and a faint coat sprinkled generously on top of his head.

"Joshie? If it's been a month, then it's been ten years! How y'all doin', is Val holdin' up strong as e'er before?!" Leroy exclaimed before embracing Sharp in a bear hug that made the old senator yelp in surprise before responding with a smile.

"Me and my wife are holdin' up as well as Granny Lee did durin' Stalingrad. That is, alright. I thank y'all for inferrin' on the well-bein' o me n' my wife."

"Oh, Joshie it's just curtsey after all. You've done so much for us around here- say, you have it in your schedule to go a fishin' with me and the kids? It'll be a fun family outin', and I'd like to have y'all along fer the ride."

"Leroy, It's been a year since I was last fishin' with you. You threw my as-butt into the swamp n' they hadda git the rope t' git me on outta there you ass." Sharp's words were filled with venom, juxtaposed with his genial smile and casual body posture on the Chair in Leroy's living room.

The response he got was a belly and barrel full of laughs from his neighbor, who nearly pissed himself again.

"Oh Joshie, y'all is a fun. Come on, you liked to swim didn't ya it yer youth? I 'member g'anin' down the swimmin' hole n' throwin' my body inner. Don't y'all recall what y'all did?"

Sharp's face wa soon fixated with a flush of red embarrassment before that memory entered his mind and blurted out.
"I remember I grabbed a Sheep's wool to try and dry off and the bastard bit me. Is that why you've got this group of Sheep breeders out backin' me, just some juvenile revenge and as a joke?"

Leroy's expression altered at the accusation.

"No. I didn't have no say in that matter, it was justa buncha sheep fuckers and breeders that opted to support Mississippi's 'oldest natural resource', as y'all say inna yer Speeches n' what have all y'all."

"Ah. That's much better to hear from. Say, do you happen to have some sugar we can borrow? Val was meant to g'an to the store but I had the car the entire day yesterday campaiginin'."

"Uhh, Lemme check the pantry first, My wife's off at the store gittin' some cash out from the bank." For a moment Leroy disappeared behind the corner into the kitchen. Sharp could hear a commotion with some bowls moving about, things landing in the sink before a large thud was heard. Then another large thud.

Soon, Leroy came back with a container filled to the brim with the sweet, sweet natured crack of sucrose.

"Ah! Much obidged! Now, I know it ain't my business to ask, but what'd ya thinka my speech inna Lil' Rock? The on wit the commie ape comparison?"

Leroy pondered for a moment before he pulled aside a newspaper that held Sharp's speech in a little blurb onto the side, along with other presidential and local news for that matter.

"Y'all best keep this stuff round the south. I loved yer speech onna condemin' the commie-nists. Every non-idiotic Mississippian knows the NAACP is a front for Moscow! It's bent on teachin' children communism in schools. Like what signs say a lil' rock, race-mixing is communism. It's one way for us good white folks to capitulate to the left-leaning Marxists that (not McCarthy) rightfully expelled and executed! That's what Davis did, and I think you ought t' impeach 'em!"

"Impeach the President? What do I say when I'm not going to do anything... right. I'll 'look into it'. But I do think we might have a case onna the President. I'm convinced he's been makin' mistakes. Probably with another seventy or fifty year old man he's solicitin for certain actions. Though I will keep callin' out commienists and the sengambian race. I will rant onna racist policies and rail against the commie negro. I will solidify my support with the poor by railin' against the middle classes and rich fellers, and I will impose absolute authority upon those godless Marxist monkeys, so help me god!

But, you do have a point. Racist rhetoric works wonders in the south, I'll have to tone it down or off when I go up north. Yankees don't like it when you defend state's rights and segregation you know. Who Knew?! I learned 'bout that inna Eye-o-wa."

With that, Senator Sharp and neighbor Leroy had the latter show the former to the door, sugar in hand as they said their goodbyes and the old senator made the journey back to his Cedar Grove plantation as the skies grew darker overhead.

"This ain't a good omen for anythin'." Sharp spat out himself as he began the trek back to Velma to help in the kichen for once in his life, all for the good cause of Sugared Doughnuts.

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

The Fraser Campaign continuing to mine the motherlode of Wilson-Carterisms that the was the Turner/Wilson-Carter Debate, prints out yet another set of pamphlets and posters, this time targeted at keynodes in America's Automobile, Steel and Petroleum production chain and the States of Michigan, Pennsylvania and Texas in general.

---

[Louisianan]

Davis' Folly
Groom Lake, Nevada
August 13, 1959

11:52 AM

Filming had begun, the silent camera was rolling, and the plan was going off without a hitch! As the impromptu directors gave instructions to bewildered and unknowing Asian Airmen, the official portrait of their boss hung on the wall, watching them fulfill his wishes. The camera's rolled as the planes were painted, and the camera's rolled as they took off, and the camera's rolled as they landed again in the jungle-set of the 'South Vietnamese' airbase.

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

Governor Fraser goes on radio across the north east and Midwest, to address Governor Wilson-Carter's complaints about the series of pamphlets about thus statements at the Senator Turner/Governor Wilson-Carter Debate early this month.

---

"Governor Wilson-Carter has gone on radio to complain that posters and pamphlets that the Fraser Campaign have been putting out are quote "lies". I'll be fair here. They are quotes of things he said. So while the fact he said them is certainly true, he'd be one to know if he was lying when he said them. He also said that the quotes we used were that was taken out of context. This, of course is simply not true. All of the quotes were within the context of the debate he had with Senator Turner. So when Turner went on a Hitlerite diatribe about black people, it was Wilson-Carter's choice to say that he believes that there are many cases that he seems eye to eye and agrees with Senator Turner on. That can be true in the very broad sense of anyone, but if a statement is that broad it's useless, so usually one assumes that you're being more specific when you say such a thing. Wilson-Carter should be able to understand that if you go around saying that you see eye to eye and agree with the Klan on many things, people are going to assume the worse and you'll embolden the worst of people. Beyond what he is willing and unwilling to admit are his places of agreement with Senator Turner, that reality remains true.

Now on the question of the campaign content about democratic party's view of America's soul and whether or not it has one. Now, I won't go too far in this, for it was Wilson-Carter's wife that responded to this content specifically and my wife, Senator Sofia feels that responding to that is more her purview and she will, but I should be utterly clear that Wilson-Carter said that the democratic party, (without equivocation, he said this) doesn't believe America has a soul. He wasn't saying this about elected democrats, or a faction of democrats, or a faction of elected democrats, he said of the Democratic Party, as a whole, that it doesn't believe that America has a soul. Now obviously one might she it as inflammatory, irresponsible rhetoric on it's own, to say that of the party of 10s of millions of Americans, but it reaches new heights of absurdity to know he had just claimed himself as bipartisan. Now obviously, his wife went and equivocated, or, well, lied, about what Governor Wilson-Carter said, but he said it all the same.

As for series of pamphlets about the peace crops, understand this one might be getting a little deeper into policy here, but bare with me, because it's important that a President has at least this depth of policy understanding. He said that he would support the establishment of a peace corps, ignoring that it's been the better part of half a year since President Davis signed a bill to do precisely that. Now this wasn't just a slip of verbiage, as if you listen to the full context, he continues to speak about what he 'would' do as if the peace corps didn't exist. Now the reason this is particularly worrisome is that the Governor also went on to rattle off specific years for when he 'promised' that the Soviet Union, Communist China, Korea, Vietnam, would no longer present a present a credible threat, be bankrupt or otherwise be resolved. Now obviously making grand, specific statements like these is simply not done when experts talk about foreign policy, but this is no expert, nor a man one could see as being particularly good at remembering what experts have said, something that can be supported by the fact that Governor Wilson-Carter had just called for the creation of an institution that already existed. So it can be safely assumed that these dates aren't just out there, rather, they were simply the type of fabrication a that compulsive liar makes up on the spot to make himself look better.

So in that respect, I return to agreeing in a way with Wilson-Carter about the quotes that we put up in these posters and pamphlets and whether or not they were lies, because they are things that he said throughout the debate and it can be safely assumed that the things that he said through he debate were lies, because he's a liar.

Now, I should explain myself regarding the fourth of the series of posters and pamphlets that we put out, the one in which we point out that Governor Wilson-Carter spoke about our automobile, steel and oil industry as if they were things that barely existed and that we needed his encouragement to recognize that we had the ability to develop. Wilson-Carter speaks negatively of my background, but one thing it certainly gave me is an understanding of the hard work done by the men and increasingly women of this country to give it the world leading car and steel industry that it has today. It did not, and does not need Wilson-Carter telling us about how we need to take a 'chance' on it. Now one would think that as governor of Michigan he'd at the very least recognize the that automobile sector was by no means an infantry industry, but it's become quite clear the me that the Governor is simply not someone we can look at as being in any meaningful respect responsible for the successes that have been assigned to him. At the very least, despite the media's unfortunately under-coverage of it, a product of it's preference for new things and simply narratives, that there is nothing 'there' with Wilson-Carter. He never says anything. When he speaks, it's either to say nothing, or to say something contradictory in at least one way and that's if you're lucky. Another great example of this is his repeatedly lie about abolishing a poll tax in Michigan, that he regularly uses as a 'proof' of his civil rights credit. There has never been a poll tax in Michigan for him to repeal and you can quote me on that being a complete and utter certainty.

The truth is, Wilson-Carter is a consistent liar, that lies about his record, lies about other's criticisms, lies about his knowledge of the issues that plague this nation, and lies about his having proposals to meet those issues."

[Louisianan]

While walking out of a public bathroom, President Davis was met by a member of the press.

"President Davis, do you have any comments in regards to the Governor of Michigan's entrance into the Presidential Race?"

"Well," Davis began with a sigh, "I'm inclined to repeat my former promise to stay out of this primary and keep my nose in the business and the affairs of our country. With that in mind, I feel like the Governors of New York and Michigan may be biting off a bit more than they can chew, they're quite bothersome. They get attacked from the left, and from the right, and even from their fellow moderates. I get attacked by everyone every day, even in my re-election campaign."

"During that time though, I didn't bash my opponents till they were bright-eyed and blushing, because I knew if I won, I'd have to work with them in the future, bridges are easy to burn in this fast-paced business. I'd also like to remind both Governors that they should prep themselves before debates, I personally think the guffaw of a debate is merely a press opportunity, and candidates should simply be laughed at, rather than taken as serious opportunities for a sneak peek of ones political motivations and goals. Things will change as the primary comes to a close, deals will be made, beliefs will be altered, despite former promises."

"No doubt about it. I wish the governors both good luck, in particular, I vow to support whomever the nominee may possibly be, and until the nomination has been made, I'll keep my cards face-down. The sweet, sweet, endorsement from a former president is no true way to win the hearts of the people, hence my hesitancy to announce an endorsement. I think the president and nominee ought to be chosen by the people, not by the political insiders of the District of Columbia. Lovely chat, have a nice day."

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

Sofia Fraser gives in speech at a Fraser Campaign rally near the New York Executive Mansion. She heads on stage to enthusiastic chants of "Wilson Carter: A Non-Starter!" and "Fraser for the sixties!"

---

"I don't always do speeches on behalf of my husband like this, but after having recently heard that Governor Wilson-Carter sent out his wife to launch a wretched smear against our family, I insisted that I respond for myself.

Nobody, though I recognize now that this was in error, accused the Wilson-Carter family, husband or wife, of being soulless. The posters and pamphlets the Fraser campaign put out simply pointed out that Wilson-Carter said that he belived that the democratic party saw America as soulless, despite claiming he had record of bi-partisanship. He did not say this of a faction of democrats, but the Democratic Party as a whole. This was viewed on television, heard over radio and the recordings of the debate exist. It'd be the easiest thing in the world, given two separate opportunities to do so, speaking over radio and now with Ms. Wilson-Carter, speaking in person, to claim a mistake, to claim to have misspoken, even if he didn't

However the Wilson-Carters utterly refuse to do so. Just as with Governor Wilson-Carter's consistent lies about supporting the repeal of a poll tax in Michigan that never existed, in an effort to bolster credentials as champions for civil rights, something Governor WIlson-Carter has increasingly felt the need to point out given is admission to seeing eye to eye with Senator Turner, the Wilson-Carter's lie is a naked exercise of the only talent they have in absence of any real virtues, their ability to manipulate and deceive. It is not enough to make a small lie about a mistake, they must pursue a big lie and hold on to that big lie, so that they may, as cons through history have long done, more easily sell even bigger lies in the future. Tell and hold onto biggest lies you can at any moment, that's the stratagem of the Wilson-Carters. Both Tom and I have dealt with such figures throughout our time in politics, they all crumple like carboard in the rain when put under sustained pressure.

Another tactic invariably tied to those that run cons, is while in the process of getting caught, express and maintain a façade of innocence grounded in a background that they feel is in some way excusatory for the actions for which they've been caught in. As if countless others haven't grown up in dreadful circumstance, without having bent over so low. I for one, was born the daughter of immigrants who fled the rise of the Bolsheviks. However because I'm not a con artist, I won't delve into a sorry story of my difficulties in growing up to bolster my point, for while the struggles of the past may explain the actions of the present, that information is only mostly useful in avoiding the conditions for future repetition. it is almost meaningless to the immediate present. Which is to say, the liar, nor his wife, who accuses 10s of millions of American citizens of not believing in the soul of America, can not make up for that with an autobiography.

Further more, the con artist works to accuse others of the crime they themselves have committed. For the critiques he's had of democrats and the democratic party, Tom Fraser ever accused them not believing in America's soul, like Wilson-Carter has. He's never accused the whole of the left as whole as giving into the soviet union as, Wilson-Carter has. Every and any critique that Tom has made of both democrats and republicans have been grounded in a sound assessment of policies as they've been stated by individuals, and their morals, or in the case of the Wilson-Carters, their lack of morals, as viewed from their words, rather than trough baseless accusations and insinuations, as it appears both husband and wife Wilson-Carters are prone to do.

As perhaps most bothersome of all, Governor Wilson-Carter has never attempted, even once, to outline a meaningful policy that was anything more than vague aspirations. Thee closest he's ever gotten is contradictory rubbish, like speaking of a missle gap while promoting nuclear disarmament, or insisting on lowering the competence of federal bureaucracy in order to afford them playing an even larger role in our economy. Even in his wife's screed she makes reference to 'a policy' on agriculture that Wilson-Carter has never presented for publicly scrutiny that she claims would save farms, without ever defining what exactly the policy is. Governor Wilson-Carter and his campaign have, up and down, been to this point nothing but fraudulence skating on fraudulence, hoping that the emptiness of his politics and principles, or rather lack thereof, never face enough analysis to become to trigger it's implosions. The attempts to smear both I, who at no point voiced a word of criticism of them before this speech, and Tom, who's campaign as focused on little more than the clear, uncontestable truth, are the squeals of a campaign being caught out like a rat fleeing from the light pouring through an opening door.

I do not doubt over the years that Michigan has seen success, but as the manifest emptiness at the heart of Governor Wilson-Carter and his campaign shows and his utter lack of familiarity with even the most basic facts of Michigan's economy regarding the success and size of an automobile sector he speaks of as though it were an infant industry, it is clear that it's entirely been in spite of his rather actions than because of them, his presence on the body politic of the state neing most comparable to that of a tumor.

I ask of my fellow Americans, both voters media, to take a close look at Governor Wilson-Carter's campaign. You will find that for all the bluff and bluster, there is little there to see."

[Newne Carriebean7]

---

Doc's Pharmacy
Anchorage, Alaska
August 15th, 1959

---

The welcome chime of the dinky little bell above the Pharmacy door was enough to make Doc Smith's ears curl into a curt smile, save nothing of his general features upon his face which grinned from ear to ear. He happily slid along the wooden floors of his enterprise, putting the heavy box of various pills and bottles down from the storage room to take note of another customer that had entered his store.

"My, My, Miss Winegar, did the kid come down with the flu again?"

Miss Winegar was a rather plump looking individual, a rather rarity in Alaska, as most women couldn't find enough food to eat or just embraced their skinny figurine akin to a Barbie doll. She did a flirty flick of her blonde mop of hair that decorated her face before pulling a piece of paper out from her purse.

"Ah, Doc! I'm afraid so. I guess Flu season is really hittin' us hard now. Y' have any medicine for that?"

"Oh, I'm sure of it Miss. Just today I got a fresh shipment of rubbing alcohol, and I just finished restocking my chicken noodle soup."

"Chicken noodle soup? Ain't that a policy of that one nutjob from Michigan? Sofia Turner or Henry Sharp or something?"
Winegar questioned, puzzled at who had come up with the policy as she picked out a freshly stocked case of the best cure for the common flu.

"I think his name was Jebediah Sharp or Jackson. Y'wanna know my 'pinion onna that there political race?"

Ellison "Doc" Smith slowly nodded as politics once again invaded the walls of his humble pharmacy.
"Go right ahead M'am. I ain't gonna judge if y'alls a demo-kat."

"Jebediah Sharp's a complete and utter moron, You've got Earl Boone runnin' around with socialism, Fredrick Turner's at least a little more coherent when he speaks. The Demo-Kats don't got no-one runnin', unless Woodrow Wilson comes back from the grave and runs, I ain't havin' a plan on votin' Demo-Kat. I'll vote for an Elephant."

"Which Elephant, I think there's the Admiral that's running, and there's a political power couple in New York that's also running, and you've got a complete weirdo in Alabama that's running."

"Alabama? You mean Water Closet? He's from Minnesota or Ohio or Massachusetts, an 'M' State. One of those. If there was an elephant runnin', I think what would be closest would be that Admiral. He's actually plannin' on stickin' it to the damned commies. All others wanna cozy-up to 'em. Bullshit!" After a short break following the harsh obscenity, Miss Winegar looks at Doc directly and ponders. "Say... Have you considered running?"

"Me? Public office?"

"I mean the Presidency, have you thought about it?"

"Well...considering my more moderate viewpoints, I'm hesitant to jump head forth into continental-wide politics, but.. I have been toying around with a Senate bid. We've been recently admitted into the Union and I've been here almost my entire life!"

Miss Winegar smiled softly at him before gently putting a hand on his tall shoulders.

"A Senate bid...my, my...just picture that... Senator "Doc" Smith. Got a nice ring to it, don't it?"

"Well... I have just thought about it-"

"I think. No, I know, you'd be one of the best candidates. If we pool our resources together, plan this out carefully, we'll have enough time to keep that rotten, rotten Simpson from Mississippi in the minority. You don't want him on a committee assignment do you? Farming committee.."

"Why would I give a damn about the farming committee? It's just a bunch-a idiots with hoes and shovels. But, Senator Doc Smith does have a nice ring to it."

Miss Winegar gave him an abrupt kiss right on the lips, forcing the old man to stumble backwards in shock.

"Out. I'll keep in touch with that senate bid. How much would a poster cost, anyhow?"

The Following poster is sent out to 40,000 homes in Alaska.

On the back of the poster, it states the following:

ALASKANS AND COUNTRYMEN

We stand at the cross roads of one of the most monumental occasions. With the stroke of a pen several months ago, President Henry Davis gave nearly a quarter of a million citizens their God-given and well over due demand of citizenship. Now, in a few short months, Alaskans will head to the ballot box in order to elect Both Senators and their At-Large Representative for the House.

But who should represent us?

But who should have the best feelings and sentiments of the Alaskan people at heart?

I believe the best individual for this is someone who has lived here all their life. Not just come here as a carpetbagger from the lower '48. If Alaska should have representatives, they ought to be picked and selected from people who have served their community admirably. I was the Mayor of Anchorage during World War II. My moderate leadership in the city enabled wide-spread access to the handicaped throughout it, something which I see as one of my proudest achievements. Who can forget when I personally began to clean up the streets following the sanitation strike of '46? Although I haven't held office in quite some time, I still feel as though I am the right choice for Alaska. I am someone who has fought for his country admirably during World War I, and I held a steady hand in governance of Anchorage during the Second one. I bled for my country and sacrificed my time for it.

Alaskans ought to be represented by Alaskans, not carpetbaggers, scallywags or godless communists! That is why I am the best choice for you.

A Native Man for The Native State!

Alaska NEEDS Doc Smith (Republican) for Senate (Class 2) !

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

The Fraser Campaign prints of swath of pamphlets and posters featuring the below image, targeted for placement in urban and suburban districts with high concentrations of low and middle income republicans across the country:

---

[Louisianan]

Cedar Grove, Mississippi
August 15th, 1959

Henry Davis, accompanied by five Secret Service Agents arrived at the home of Senator Joshua Sharp in Cedar Grove, Mississippi. Joshua was an old, old, old, skeleton of man, and Henry was sure he'd like to have a visitor. Plus, Henry had to keep Sharp in Mississippi as long as possible, away from phones, and away from the Senate Floor.

Henry rang the doorbell and smiled at who he saw when the dor was opened,

"My, my! How are you doing? it's a pleasure to be here at your marvelous home!" Henry said, extending a basket of baked goods to the occupant of the home, "My wife sends her love and biscuits! Might I come in?"

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

The Fraser Campaign prints of swath of pamphlets and posters featuring the below image, targeted for placement in areas with high proportions of women in the workforce, prioritizing more republican areas.

---

[Newne Carriebean7]

Cedar Grove, Mississippi
August 15th, 1959

Velma Sharp found herself engrossed in another book. She knew that she had already read it once or twice before, but...there was something certainty appealing of not hearing that cotton brained moron she married cuss her out of house and home. Suddenly, she thought she heard a very...very familiar voice, second only to her husbands in popularity around the home, though often accompanied by a tirade of curses from said owner of the home.
Getting up from her seat, she turned the corner and had her lips drop to the floor. Standing right there in front of him, was President. Henry. Davis. Composing herself, she quickly waved them in with a shake of her hands.
"Of course! Mista President! Thanks fer these biscuits. I'm not sure where my husband is, he's normally out back workin' on the field or improvin' the fences, I'll go call out for 'em."

"Stupid fucking nails... get...out...of...there!" The seventy three year old aging Mississippian hissed as he pulled with all his might on the hammer, trying in vain to get rid of the small nails that held a portion of the rotting chicken shack together. His wife had complained and nagged for weeks to get it fixed, and he had promised her he'd get it done first thing in the morning...about a month ago. So when she took away his favorite (and only) WWI rifle as punishment, Sharp knew he needed to get his shit together lest she hurt herself trying to handle it.

With a final tug, the board came loose as a section of the tiled and rotting structure collapsed in a pile of dust and debris, some impacting Sharp with it's splinters and various wooden bits.

"SHARP! Sharp! Y'all've got a guest."

"What? I've got a vest?"

"No! Someone's here to see you!"

"Oh, alright, I'll be in inna minute."

"Right now, ok! You don't wanna keep this guest waitin'!"

The tone of her voice surprised Sharp, and decided that it was late enough in the day (noon) that any more manual labor would harm his bones or nearly pop something, so he put his tools down where they were and made his way past the rows and rows of fluffy white cotton and yellowish wheat that was begining to pop up. It was August after all, and he seriously needed to get on the Harvest.

"Alright, I'm here. Oh. Mr. President. It's been some time..." Sharp said with a touch of whiskey on his breath. "Honestly, you were the second to last person, no... third to last person I expected to show up at my front door. Second to last is Huey Louey of Louey-see-anna, and the First is the other Senator from Mississippi. That white nazi guy. But, I am a sucker for bipartisanship, even if it's a visit from you, so why'd ya show on up here? Is there something you want MY help with?" Sharp questioned, now sitting down on the faded red and brown chair that was the only chair in their small Living room, with a radio fixed in the corner.

[Louisianan]

Cedar Grove, Mississippi
August 15th, 1959

Velma Sharp found herself engrossed in another book. She knew that she had already read it once or twice before, but...there was something certainty appealing of not hearing that cotton brained moron she married cuss her out of house and home. Suddenly, she thought she heard a very...very familiar voice, second only to her husbands in popularity around the home, though often accompanied by a tirade of curses from said owner of the home.
Getting up from her seat, she turned the corner and had her lips drop to the floor. Standing right there in front of him, was President. Henry. Davis. Composing herself, she quickly waved them in with a shake of her hands.
"Of course! Mista President! Thanks fer these biscuits. I'm not sure where my husband is, he's normally out back workin' on the field or improvin' the fences, I'll go call out for 'em."

"Stupid fucking nails... get...out...of...there!" The seventy three year old aging Mississippian hissed as he pulled with all his might on the hammer, trying in vain to get rid of the small nails that held a portion of the rotting chicken shack together. His wife had complained and nagged for weeks to get it fixed, and he had promised her he'd get it done first thing in the morning...about a month ago. So when she took away his favorite (and only) WWI rifle as punishment, Sharp knew he needed to get his shit together lest she hurt herself trying to handle it.

With a final tug, the board came loose as a section of the tiled and rotting structure collapsed in a pile of dust and debris, some impacting Sharp with it's splinters and various wooden bits.

"SHARP! Sharp! Y'all've got a guest."

"What? I've got a vest?"

"No! Someone's here to see you!"

"Oh, alright, I'll be in inna minute."

"Right now, ok! You don't wanna keep this guest waitin'!"

The tone of her voice surprised Sharp, and decided that it was late enough in the day (noon) that any more manual labor would harm his bones or nearly pop something, so he put his tools down where they were and made his way past the rows and rows of fluffy white cotton and yellowish wheat that was begining to pop up. It was August after all, and he seriously needed to get on the Harvest.

"Alright, I'm here. Oh. Mr. President. It's been some time..." Sharp said with a touch of whiskey on his breath. "Honestly, you were the second to last person, no... third to last person I expected to show up at my front door. Second to last is Huey Louey of Louey-see-anna, and the First is the other Senator from Mississippi. That white nazi guy. But, I am a sucker for bipartisanship, even if it's a visit from you, so why'd ya show on up here? Is there something you want MY help with?" Sharp questioned, now sitting down on the faded red and brown chair that was the only chair in their small Living room, with a radio fixed in the corner.

"Howdy!" Henry replied, "This isn't really a business call, but rather a strictly social one. I've booked a bed and breakfast over in Newton, and I'd like to spend the weekend here in Mississippi. Tomorrow is Sunday, and I'd love to visit your church with you and your gracious wife, Senator." Henry smiled as he looked around the room,

"There's been far too much nastiness in both our political, and personal, and even our professional relationship. As you may, be my successor, I'd like to get to know you some more. I'd like to know who Joshua Sharp really is, not the gruff Senator who means business, I mean the Veteran that fought in the Great War. The man who sticks it to the negro at any chance he gets. Plus, I'd be willing to assist you with some of your work. You're sweating, quite profusely in fact, and while I may not be a young buck anymore, I can still pick some cotton."

Two of the three Secret Service Agents came inside, "Ready sir!"

"Ah! Senator Sharp, if you go into your backyard, you'll find that a Mechanical Cotton Picker has been entrusted to your care. New, straight from Scott, Mississippi from the Delta and Pineland Company. I've heard tell, that it can pick as much as forty men." Henry said, gesturing to the back door.

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

The Fraser Campaign prints of swath of pamphlets and posters featuring the below image, made exclusive for southern states, targeting at Low-Income Communities and heavily Republican areas.

---

[Meretica]

ISC: Robinette Wilson-Carter requests a closed meeting with General Jackson.

[Newne Carriebean7]

Cedar Grove, Mississippi
August 15th, 1959

Senator Sharp paid attention to what the man had to say, his facial features and eyes locking onto the features of Davis. It was a little funny to him. He could have sworn he resembled some sort of random South Carolinian state senator he had bumped into when visiting Fort Sumpter. Sharp nodded his head.
"Ah, well my wife and I would be more than happy to accompany you to our church. It's a musty affair, but you git used to the smell when yer surrounded by god, eh? I jest 'course! I don't take the good lord day's off fer fishin' n' shit. I'm a good Christian. They teach that y'all need to forgive yer enemies n' yer foes. Onna them boodah affairs y'know? If y'all toucha hot coal, yer the only dumb son bitch that gits burned by it or somethin' like that."
Velma then came out and handed Sharp a glass of lemonade, to which he graciously kissed her on the forehead before taking a sip of the lemonade to quench his thirst before continuing.

"I'd very much appreciate the help. Y'all know, I hep out almost everyone round my community for the past sixty years. It's what me in-laws taught me. Y'all can't just throw a net inna the water all by yerself, y'all needs to hep out that person that's throwin' the net. But enough fishin' metaphors. "

Sharp's face then turned to the Secret Service Agent that had broken the brief lull in conversation, following him and the president outside to see the Mechanical Cotton Picker. His face was flush with embarrassment, he was almost on the verge of tears.
He gingerly approached it and wiped his hand over the bright, bright red and shiny hull of the Combine. It felt as smooth as buttered glass. He knew he was poor enough to eat buttered glass, but apparently that was a 'health risk' according to his doctor.

"I..I'm so sorry Pike. I can't accept this. It just wouldn't look proper, a Senator accepting a gift from the President. It might even say I owe you a favor, which I don't owe you shit. I don't really care if it takes me all week to get the Harvest sorted out n' picked. I've got my ol' chevy-ford and she serves me as fine as a faithful steed. " Senator Sharp mused for a moment, looking out at the combine before rummaging through the drawers of the kitchen, finding two silver and bronze keys on a small ring.

"I'll do it the old fashioned way. I've gotta machine I drag behind my truck and that heps me out wit the Harvest. If y'alled wanna hep me on out here, that'd be just damned dandy. A Hard day's worth of manual labor beats the hell outta sittin' in the Senate Chamber or on my ass in my office, don't it?"

With that, Senator Sharp exited the building to try and find where he parked that damned harvesting contraption dated from 1908. He had bought the machine from Mississippi's Senator at the time, John Sharp Williams, for a barging price, probably because it was falling apart. But no matter how much swearing he did, he was able to keep the aging contraption in one piece and maintained it enough for it to run almost as if it was brand new.