Totally Bogus Bio

 284.

"I just got a call from Alex Goldson regarding a meeting he is requesting to discuss campaign funding and a new project he is launching. One he would like my support with," says Senator Hartaugh without the courtesy of a greeting, formal or otherwise.

"Yes Senator, how can we help?" I ask, playing the role of humble servant.

"As you know his predecessor and I enjoyed a long and successful relationship, all under the watchful eye of your former boss, with his complete and faithful support mind you, making this transfer of power nothing more than a gentleman's agreement to continue," the Senator, in prime campaign form, drawls. I am immediately appalled by his casual mention of TOM as being sympathetic to their relationship, as it was common knowledge that his watchful eye was looking more for high crimes than mere misdemeanors. I bite my tongue and urge him to please continue. "I would like you to run a thorough security and background check on him to ensure his, ahem, personal and business integrity."

"Can do sir, when is your meeting scheduled?" I ask.

"Tuesday at 1400 in my campaign headquarters. So if you could have a dossier on my desk by noon tomorrow I would very much appreciate it," the Senator asks in his condescending way of making a command sound like a small favor.

"Oh, and one other search parameter, please," he adds, "see if he has any connections to or associations with any of the subversive groups known to wave the flag of the far-right, and more specific with ties to any groups in support of, ahem, sectarian segregationist organizations," he says, having long ago lost his moral compass.

"Yes sir, shouldn't be a problem," I reply with the vocal equivalent of a poker-face.

"Thank you and stop by some time for a Southern drink and a Cuban cigar," he says, preparing for a cordial close.

"Yes, sir, that would be great, thank you."

As much as I have always taken pride in my ability to remain objective when dealing with people of differing opinion, I terminate the call wishing I could terminate him as easily, hissing; "Fucking piece of Southern shit," and immediately feeling better as I begin the process of creating a totally bogus bio of Mr. Goldson.