BIGGERHEAD
BY
BETSY L. BROUGHER
&
WILLIAM J. ATKINS
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2012 Betsy L. Brougher and William J. Atkins
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
ISBN 13: 978 0615583648
Point Comfort Publishing, LLC
United States
http://williamjatkins.wordpress.com
For John Stewart, Stephen Colbert and the Grand Old Party
PROLOGUE
“Who the hell invited Dick Cheney on this huntin’ trip?” whispered Rick Ferry as he approached the dead body of Senate Minority Leader Mitchell “Mitch” McDonald.
Governor Ferry had been enjoying a rewarding day of slaughter at Biggerhead Ranch, with fellow Republicans Paul Lyan and Mitch McDonald, when he heard a shot followed by an unusual wail, coming from where Mitch had wandered off to take a whiz. Ferry and Lyan jogged toward the area where they had last seen the senator.
“Holy shit, someone shot him in the goddamn head!” said Lyan.
“Look. They got him with his pants down. This is the last thing I need right now: dead senator on Biggerhead Ranch with his dick hangin’ out. Paul, get over here and help me zip him up.”
“I refuse to touch a dead man's junk, Rick. The feds and the media are going to be all over this like white on Condoleezza Rice. I don't want my DNA anywhere near that body when the shit hits the fan.”
Ferry slipped on his hunting glove, reached down, crammed Mitch's prick back into his pants, and zipped up his fly.
“Who shot him? I thought we were the only ones hunting on the ranch today,” said Lyan, in a voice several octaves higher than normal.
“All I can think of is maybe one of my beano ranch hands is out huntin’ today. He probably ran when he saw what he done. They're not s’pose to hunt on the property, but them Mexicans love the taste of wild game,” said Ferry.
“Well, what are we going to do now? We’ve got to call the police, or something. We can’t take the fall for this, Rick,” said Lyan, beginning to pace back and forth.
“Let's think this through,” Ferry said. “We've been workin’ with Mitch and the Biggerhead bunch for almost a year. We know what kinda intel we got on Mitch, but there’s no telling what Mitch’s got on us. I’ll betch’ya he’s got recordings and notes that would look bad if they ever got out.”
“Rick, what the fuck are we going to do? We can’t just leave him here, can we? The coyotes will eat the son of a bitch before sunup.” Lyan was losing his shit, making it even more difficult for Ferry to concentrate.
“Let me think for it, I mean about it. I need time to think…,” Ferry said, as he pondered what his daddy or Jesus might do in a situation like this.
Two of the most powerful and outspoken members of the GOP continued to debate their options as the sun set over Biggerhead Ranch.
CHAPTER ONE
ONE YEAR EARLIER
Biggerhead Ranch, located in north central Texas, is a sprawling sea of green and gold, also known affectionately as The Big Empty. Fields of dense thicket conceal even the most rotund hunters as they wait for unsuspecting white-tailed bucks, wild hogs, and turkeys to trot into their kill zones. The property has been in the Ferry family since the early eighties, when “Old Man” Ferry negotiated a long-term lease from an oilman who had gone bust. Everyone in the nearby town of Haskell agreed it was a shame he didn’t live to see his son, Rick, become governor of Texas.
Biggerhead was the governor's favorite place for entertaining friends, enemies, associates, and, of course, donors. Countless red-state Republicans had spilled the blood of Biggerhead wildlife while sucking down Budweisers and talking politics, prayer, and pussy.
Biggerhead Lodge sits in a clearing in the middle of the thousand acre ranch, guarded by a gaudy display of yard art. A statue of an African American lawn jockey greets visitors right next to a line of old-fashioned rocking chairs. A huge concrete replica of a twenty-nine point buck, shot through the heart with an arrow and gasping for his last breath, decorates the walkway up to the house. And finally, a ceramic wild hog with spurts of faux blood confirming a bullet between its eyes occupies a spot next to the boot scraper at the front door.
Mitch McDonald, the U.S. senate minority leader, loved to hunt at Biggerhead. He was unaware that the deer he shot during his last visit had been tranquilized and herded to within forty feet of him by Ferry's Mexican ranch hands. He had contacted Ferry a couple of weeks earlier with an unusual request. Mitch wanted to use the ranch for a secret gathering of handpicked conservative leaders. It would be a small group, and privacy was of the utmost importance. There would be no aides, no media, and no secret service. Mitch wanted an environment that would promote open and candid discussion, without fear of political or media backlash.
He knew Rick would be delighted to host the gathering at Biggerhead. Rick's presidential campaign had been an abject failure, and even his longtime supporters were distancing themselves from him. Last week, his wife had embarrassed him again by telling a reporter all Mormons were going to hell, but that she would pray for them anyway.
Hosting a group of conservative leaders could be the medicine Rick needed to re-invigorate his political ambitions.
* *
The group sat shoulder to shoulder around a circular wooden table in the middle of the great room at Biggerhead Lodge, under the watchful eyes of various dead animals mounted on the walls.
Mitch called the meeting to order, “Ladies and Gentlemen, to begin I’d like to read a verse from my favorite book, the Holy Bible, and Psalm 109, beginning at verse eight:
“Let his days be few; and let another take his office.
Let his children be fatherless, and his wife a widow.
Let his children be continually vagabonds, and beg: let them seek their bread also out of their desolate places.
Let the extortioner catch all that he hath; and let the strangers spoil his labor.
Let there be none to extend mercy unto him: neither let there be any to favor his fatherless children.
Let his posterity be cut off; and in the generation following let their name be blotted out.
Let the iniquity of his fathers be remembered with the LORD; and let not the sin of his mother be blotted out.”
“Amen!” shouted Michele Ballman, congresswoman from Minnesota, unable to control her enthusiasm.
Mitch continued, “The scriptures make it abundantly clear, President Barack Al-Bama simply has to go. He is the devil incarnate, an immoral socialist put here by Satan to destroy America. Those of us gathered in this room today are the only ones who can enforce God’s will and rid America of this curse. Through the grace of God, we have been chosen, and we cannot walk away from our duty to save the country from the unmoral majority.” The minority leader paused to let his words sink in. He nodded to Rick Ferry, indicating he should take the floor.
Rick rose from his chair and stood in front of the gathering. “During the last few months, we’ve been bickering like the Hatfields and McCoys. Like Churchill said, 'A house divided can never stand'. We gotta stop fightin’ each other and aim our guns at the same target. Y’all know who that target is, Barack Hussein Al-Bama. Gosh darn it, folks, the GOP has gotten soft—soft on the social and moral issues that are the backbone of America, soft on the Constitution, and worst of all, soft on that heathen who sits in the White House. Folks, it's time to get hard and stay hard.”
I’d love to make him hard, thought Sarah Testicalin, the former half-governor of Alaska, as she gave Ferry a doe-eyed wink and sexy lip lick.
Mitch stood back up and continued, “Thank you, Rick. Folks, what he says is true. Why, just last week, one of our own, a three-term Republican senator, publicly gave Al-Bama credit for killing Bin Laden. I couldn't believe my ears. I called the idiot personally and gave him a real Kentucky ass-chewin’. I'm afraid this pro-Al-Bama attitude has infiltrated our ranks in places we don't even know about.
“I’m proposing this group come together behind a single cohesive plan to evict Al-Bama from the White House, along with his staff of Chicago gangsters and California tree huggers. If we maintain solidarity, we can return America to the core values and morality that made our republic the greatest on the planet. I'm proposing that we combine our vast financial and political resources, and work together, hand in hand, to become an unstoppable force for good. Together we will be able to ensure that all seats of power, from the president right down to district court judges, are occupied by virtuous, ethical, God-fearing folks. And we can be absolutely certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that progressive ideals and liberal platitudes are eliminated from the American political dialogue, for good.”
Sarah Testacalin was the first to respond. “Mitch, with all due respect, and under these circumstances in this beautiful ranch which we thank Governor Ferry for along with those nice ranch hands that helped me jump start my bus just this morning, I think it's important to point out that certain people, people whose names I won't mention, not because I respect them, but because I respect the right to privacy granted in the Constitution, they might agree or disagree with your plan and hey, that's their right because in America we are allowed to disagree, unlike some countries in the Middle East like Beirut where people are not permitted to disagree, and unlike the Lame Stream Media who always disagree.”
The other members of the group nodded their agreement with Sarah's statement. Mitch could tell by the collective body language that he had chosen wisely. These were his people. He was worried that Representative Eric Taintor, the majority leader of the House, wouldn’t honor the secrecy pledge he had insisted they all take, under the shade trees in front of the lodge. It was a well-known fact Taintor was a talker, and a Jew to boot. But the Taint-man’s power base within the Tea Party was an essential ingredient to the success of Mitch's Biggerhead agenda. He would keep a close eye on Eric.
An obese African-American woman entered the room with a tray of chicken wings and various dipping sauces. Ferry took delight in describing the contents and flavor of each sauce. He warned the women in the group to avoid the sauce he called 'Shock and Awe.' “You girls wouldn't want to have hair growing on your chest now, would ya?”
Someone whispered, “Too late,” and the whole group snickered, including Sarah and Michele.
John Boner, Republican Speaker of the House, spoke next. “I’m overjoyed at the quality of the people at this gathering. I get choked up just thinking about what a great group of patriots you are. Congress has been like family to me ever since I came to Washington from Ohio over twenty years ago.” John started crying as he made the connection between his family and Congress. “Thank you all for your love and commitment, I’m honored to be your Spppp…eaker.” Boner was in a full on waterfall as he took his seat and shielded his face with a white handkerchief that his wife had embroidered with the words, “Real Men Cry.”
“Thank you, Johnny, for your leadership,” said Representative Taintor as he rose from his chair. “Your candor and raw emotion are inspirational.” Eric paused in a show of respect for the sobbing speaker and then continued, “Distinguished colleagues, I’m honored to be here with such an illustrious group. Since coming to Congress in 2002, I've been dedicated to upholding the conservative principles that made this country great. As you know, I formed a group of congressmen called The Young Guns in 2007. The name was taken from the classic movie starring one of my acting heroes, Emilio Estevez, who played the part of Billie the Kid. Thanks to my Young Guns, we were able to take the House back from the liberals in the 2010 election. We won sixty-two of the ninety-two seats we targeted, and raised over ten million dollars in the process. Just like Billie the Kid did in 1878, we took the law into our own hands. And today, we must take the law into our own hands again.
“History tells us that no sitting president has been returned to the White House while unemployment is over nine percent. So our job is to get unemployment over ten percent before the election. Blocking Al-Bama’s jobs bill was a good start, but we need to do more to limit job creation. We must take proactive steps to send teachers, policemen, firemen, government bureaucrats, and union workers to the unemployment lines. And we must not agree to another extension of the payroll tax holiday and unemployment benefits, period. It is within our power to wipe out entire departments of the federal government and leave the surviving departments understaffed and starved for cash, so they will no longer be effective in carrying out Al-Bama’s policy initiatives. When all those soldiers start coming home from Iraq and Afghanistan and can’t find jobs, it will be economic Armageddon. Of course the American public will blame Al-Bama, and they will send him packing back to Kenya where he was born and where he belongs. Our young guns are loaded, and when we pull the trigger, we’ll hit the bull’s-eye, assuring a decisive Republican victory. Ladies and gentlemen, this is our template for Congressional domination, and a plan that is sure to destroy Barack Al-Bama for good.”
Then it was Representative Paul Lyan’s turn to address the group. He and Eric were the founding members of the Young Guns. Mitch had invited them both to join the Biggerhead Society after he realized they were a package deal. He didn’t trust either of them, but he understood that if the Republican Party had a future, these Tea-Boys would have to do the heavy lifting.
“Well stated, Eric. I couldn’t agree more. I’d like to add that my character in the movie was Richard Brewer, played by Charlie Sheen. Brewer was a guy who hailed from Wisconsin and became the head of the Regulators in the great American Southwest. The Regulators were a band of deputized ranch hands that formed a posse to track down a murderer. This analogy has never been more appropriate than it is today. We are the new regulators in Washington, and the murderer we’re trackin’ is Barack Hussein Al-Bama. He’s killing job creators, he's killing the American way of life, and he's killing our children's future. He must be stopped with whatever means at our disposal.”
Paul concluded his remarks by saying, “Folks, there’s a new sheriff in town, and he has an army of assassins with tiger blood flowing through their veins. We, in this room, are the sharp ends of the spears that will dethrone Al-Bama. We will win even if we have to throw another million people out of work in the process. I assure you, we will win, because winning is all that matters. Winning!”
Lyan took his seat next to Taintor, who gave him a wide grin and a loud slap on the back.
Representative Michele Ballman stood to speak, looked at Lyan and shouted, “You da man, Paul Lyan, you da man!”
She then turned to address the group. “You people are very exciting. I love your passion. Al-Bama hates freedom, and he hates America. And don’t get me started on Al-BamaCare; it’s the crown jewel of his socialist agenda. No matter how you cut it, death panels that kill our grandparents are just…plain…wrong. We need to repeal that job killing, deficit-building assault on our Constitution immediately. It can’t wait for an election. Look around; we've had earthquakes, hurricanes, and fires. God is speaking to us, and I am glad this group is finally listening. I need your Young Guns to direct some firepower at the head of any judge who rules in favor of Al-BamaCare.” She was directing her last comments to Eric and Paul, both of whom sat slack-jawed and entranced by the Minnesota congresswoman. “If poor people across America start getting coverage for their pre-existing conditions, and cheaper insurance rates and better service, there will be no stopping Al-Bama. It’s up to us to make Al-Bama a one…term…president.”
Michele paused for applause, out of habit, before turning to the next topic. “Al-Bama wants to impose gay marriage on everyone. If we allow gays to marry, what’s next? I’ll tell you what’s next: group marriage, polygamy and bestiality. I mean, who’s to stop someone from marrying their French bulldog? And speaking of the French, their culture is inferior; the Muslims are overtaking them. And thanks to Al-Bama, pretty soon the same thing will happen right here in America. That's right, Al-Bama’s going to impose Sharia Law, and if we don’t act quickly, we will lose everything to the Al-Bama jihadists. Thank you. God bless us, and God bless the United States of America.”
Mitch stood to congratulate the group on their rousing presentations, thanking everyone for their participation in the first meeting of the Biggerhead Society. “This is an exclusive gathering of the only true conservative leaders left in America. Each of you were handpicked by me and the Coke brothers because of your flawless record of supporting the ideals that made us rich in the first place and which will assure our richness in the future. To that end, I'm asking each of you to take an oath of allegiance to the Biggerhead Society. Rick’s lovely wife, Anita, has kindly agreed to recite the pledge she actually had a hand in crafting. All of you please rise and place your right hand over your heart. Anita, you may begin.”
The governor’s wife, who had entered the room a few moments before, stood proudly beneath the giant moose head hanging over the mantle. She bent forward and straightened her apron before speaking.
“Golly, I'm just so honored to do this. So here goes. Each and every member of the Biggerhead Society swears to obey the following Biggerhead Commandments:
1. We are here by the grace of God, to do His work, to fight the cultish and craven motives of nonbelievers and alternative believers alike, especially Mormons.
2. We will assure that the evil and Godless Al-Bama is a one-term president.
3. We will block all efforts of the Al-Bama administration to create jobs.
4. We will obstruct any attempt to recognize climate change as real and dangerous.