A Glibertarians Exclusive – Mr. Okpik Goes to Washington, Part III

 

Washington DC – November 2028

The Okpik ticket – wags in the press had taken to calling it the “Okpicket” – was in the middle of a meteoric rise in the polls when Election Day finally came around.  Several states that didn’t have write-in options on their Presidential ballots had passed legislation allowing such.  When faced with throngs of thousands at the various state capitols demanding exactly that, they could scarcely have done otherwise.

Meanwhile, Quinn and Tuktu had learned more about the Constitution than they had ever known, given that previously they had known there was a constitution, and not much more.  But when he and Tuktu had actually read that document, back in late June, it had been an eye-opener.

“Bro,” Quinn asked Tuktu one evening in their Washington hotel – the same one reserved for them following their flight from Anchorage.  “Look at this here – the Tenth Amendment.”

Tuktu took the proffered document and read quickly.  “Huh,” he observed.  “Looks pretty clear to me.  If it doesn’t say somewhere that the Federal government can do something, then they can’t do it.”

“Right,” Quinn said.  “That’s how I see it.  Now look through the rest of that,” he continued.  “See if you can find anything in there about half the shit that Washington does.  Like, say, energy.  Or education.”

“Ain’t there,” Tuktu agreed.

“Yeah.  It ain’t there.  Interesting, eh?”

“We’re running on making sure Washington leaves folks alone,” Tuktu mused.  “Seems to me that this is the ticket to that right here.  How much of the meddling bullshit they’re doing isn’t in the constitution at all?”

“We sure aren’t the first ones to sing that tune,” Quinn pointed out.  “And here we are, still in the same mess.”

“Yeah,” Quinn agreed.  “But when have things ever been this bad before?  When have this many people ever lost jobs because of this crap before?  When have people had their land taken away because of this crap before?”  Since their campaign had started, they had received emails, phone calls, messages from all over from citizens describing exactly that.

“Well, look who’s been in charge.  We had a desiccated old coot whose brain was mush.  Now we have a dumbass whose answer to every problem is to cackle at it.  And in Congress?  Same bunch of grifters and numbskulls as always.”

“Yeah,” Quinn said.  “That’s been our whole reason for being here, hasn’t it?  Time to try something new.  Or maybe,” he tapped the printout of the Constitution, “something not so new – just been ignored for a long time.”

That was the message.  At every rally, the crowds grew bigger.  Campaign funds flew in – ten dollars here, twenty there, but donations came in from every corner of the country.  The big ‘traditional’ donors tried to ignore the brothers, except for the “electric car guy” who kept paying their Washington hotel bill.

But the voters were paying attention.

Now, at last, the time was at hand.  Quinn and Tuktu watched the television in their Washington hotel with amazement as the votes poured in, state after state going white – the color that the networks had somehow agreed to use for the Okpik insurgent campaign.  Oh, there were a few exceptions.  Massachusetts went blue as always, and Alabama went red, but only by narrow margins.  Alaska, their home state, went overwhelmingly for the Okpik ticket.

The next morning, it was all over but the shouting.  “Well,” Quinn observed, belaboring the obvious, “we did it.”

“Damn right,” Tuktu agreed.  “So, what do we do now?

“What we said we were gonna do.  What else?”  He picked a business card.  On it was the name and contact number for the Washington bureau chief of one of the major cable news networks.  He dialed quickly.

“Peter,” he said when the person on the other end answered.  “Quinn Okpik.  Oh, you’re damn right I’ve got a statement.  Tell the people they can relax now.  Their part is over.  Take a nap, enjoy the day.  Now it’s our turn.  Tuktu and I have a lot of work to do.  When it’s done, everyone will be able to rest easy at last.”

***

Washington DC – January 2029

Quinn and Tuktu listened to the murmurs of the crowd as they mounted the platform to be sworn in.  Tuktu took the oath as Vice President first, then it was Quinn’s turn.  The Chief Justice of the Supreme Court nodded at Quinn.  His right hand was raised; in his left, he held not the traditional Bible, but rather a small replica of a stone figure called an Inukshuk.  “It’s a traditional signpost of the Inupiat,” Quinn had explained to him earlier, “it shows us the way.”

The Chief Justice administered the oath, with Quinn repeating the words that forty-seven before him had taken:

“I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

Quinn shook the Chief Justice’s hand, then smiled as the now-former President – his predecessor – approached.

She extended her hand.  Quinn took her manicured hand in his calloused one and shook.  “You may find,” now former President Harris said, “that holding this office is a lot harder than criticizing your predecessor.”

Quinn couldn’t help himself.  He knew there was an open mike nearby capturing the comments.  He went ahead anyway, with Tuktu grinning at his side:

“How hard could it be?” he told the former President.  “I mean, you’ve been doing it.”

“Damn right,” Tuktu added.

The now-former President sputtered, looked once at Quinn, then at Tuktu, then back at Quinn.  Then, in dudgeon well past high, she turned and stomped off.

***

Washington DC – June 2029

“Is he serious?”  The Senate Majority Leader looked, incredulous, at the bags of shredded paper on the floor of the House.

“I’d say he is,” the Speaker of the House replied.

Three weeks before, the White House had submitted the first proposed budget, for fiscal year 2030.  In one small file folder.  Congress, as Congress is wont to do, cheerfully pronounced that budget “dead on arrival” and proceeded as they always did.

Once that was done and the budget passed the House and then the Senate, President Okpik insisted on seeing the proposed budget – printed on paper.  Three large trucks delivered boxes of paper to the White House.

Now it was two weeks later.  Three large trucks delivered sack after sack of shredded paper to the House of Representatives.

A White House messenger approached the Speaker.  “I’m supposed to give you this,” the messenger said, “from the President.”  He handed the Speaker a plain unmarked letter-sized envelope.

The Speaker looked at the Majority Leader.  The Majority Leader shrugged.  “Open it.”

The Speaker opened the envelope.  There was, within, one sheet of paper.  The Speaker unfolded the paper.  The two read the message, handwritten in a simple, blocky hand, taking up all of one side of the sheet:

FUCK YOU

CUT SPENDING

“Yes,” the Speaker said.  “I’d say he’s serious.”

***

A cat’s meow and a cow’s moo to you know I, I could recite them all

Just tell me where it hurts you, honey, and I’ll tell you who to call

Nobody can get asleep, you know there’s someone on everybody’s toes

When Quinn the Eskimo gets here everybody’s gonna wanna doze

 

Oh come all without, come all within

You’ll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn

Come all without, come all within

You’ll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn