Phil Heimlich went down to Clermont
Heimlich called me this morning before the alarm went off. Bastard.
"Peedee," he said, using his irritating pet name for me, "we need to talk."
"What's this all about," I managed to utter, trying to sound alert as I rolled out of bed, slipped on my house shoes with one hand (cordless in the other) and shuffled to the pissoir to relieve myself.
"It's about the 2nd Congressional District. I heard you're helping Schmidt."
"You heard correctly. So what? It could have been yours, but you screwed that up, didn't you, Philbert?"
He swore at me, and in between expletives he managed to squeeze in something about how I shouldn't have gotten in his way in the first place. Then he cut to the chase.
"Look, Peedee, here's the deal. You got in my way last time, and you screwed up any chance I'll get at this seat for the next 10 years, regardless of the outcome. There is no doubt whatsoever that I would be your Congressman if you and I had squared off head-to-head last summer. No doubt."
I begin to object, but he cut me off.
"Stop. I know you don't believe me, and that's why I called..."
(Cue music - "The Devil Went Down to Georgia")
Heimlich went down to Clermont, he was looking for a soul to steal.
Petro got him in a bind, and made him way behind, and he was willing to make a deal.
When he came across this young man helping out Mean Jean who thinks she's hot,
He jumped on his cell phone, called him up and said, "Boy, let me tell you what."
I guess you didn't know it, but I'm a political player too,
And if you care, to take a dare, I'll make a bet with you.
Now you play pretty good politics, son, but give old Heimlich his due...
I'll bet my war chest of gold against your soul, I think I'm better than you.
The boy said, my name's P-P-Patrick and it might be a sin,
but I'll take your bet
you're gonna regret
'Cause I'm the best there's ever been.
Patrick's gonna break out the tricks and drive Mean Jean real hard.
'Cause Hell's broke loose in the District and Phil Heimlich deals the cards.
And if Pat wins he gets Phil's war chest filled with gold,
but if he loses, Phil Heimlich get's his soul...
Phil Heimlich broke out his rolodex and said, "I'll start this show."
Fire flew from his cell phone as he started to raise some dough.
He worked real hard and lined people up and Mean Jean made an evil hiss.
Then Bob McEwen joined him, and it sounded something like this:
Fire Mean Jean, Run Bob Run!
Phil really is Dr. Heimlich's son.
She's gotta big mouth, and she's really gotta go.
Can she ever tell the truth? No, Phil, no.
When Heimlich finished, Patrick said, well, you're pretty good old son.
But sit back in that chair right there and let me show you how it's done:
She grew up on a farm and raised taxes for fun.
She told John Murtha, "Cowards cut and run."
Faked support from Chabot and Tan-cre-do,
Jean even said she hates Elizabeth Dole.
(Cue wicked fiddle - fade to silence - To Be Continued)
The stage has been set. I took the bet. Phil said it was time to put up or shut up.
And so it is.