Suddenly the silence is shattered by the muted ringing of the bedside phone. The candidate, only half asleep, fumbles amid the mini liquor bottles from the mini bar and finds the receiver. As he lifts it to his good ear, he hears the voice which he thought he would never have to hear again.
Conscience: Hello, John...sorry to call so late but I figured it was the only chance I had to get you alone.
John: How did you find me? I thought I had shaken you loose months ago.
Conscience: Oh no, John. I've always been with you. You've just been ignoring me. I'll never leave you, John.
John: That's comforting. What do you want? Can't you see I have enough problems. I got this lunatic running mate who thinks she's the top of the ticket. The beauty lying next to me screams at me every day that I'm not man enough to face "that one" directly. And I'm tanking in the polls. Just go away. OK?
Conscience: No can do, Johnny. I realize that I've never been a huge part of your life, but when things got really bad you always used to let me speak to you. Like that time back in 2000? And this time it's a lot worse.
John: Like how?
Conscience: C'mon John, you know what's been going on and you also know that deep, deep down inside it sickens you. You know that if you let it go on much longer, and if, god forbid, you know what happens to "that one", you'll never be able to live with yourself. Ever. These rallies of yours and that awful young woman are out of control. You have got to stop it if only to save what's left of your soul.
John: There's nothing I can do. I'm not in charge any more. The Evil One has taken over my campaign, my life, my very speech. It's hopeless.
Conscience: Now, John, you can't blame Karl Rove for all of this. You yourself had to acquiesce, didn't you?
John: Yeah, I suppose.
Conscience: Well then say something, do something before it's too late. I warn you, now that I can get through to you again, I'm not going to relent until you do.
John: Alright, alright. Stop! I'll do it tomorrow at the next rally. I'll see if I can get one of my wingnut supporters to give me an opening, you know, like maybe some crazy old lady will call "that one" an Arab. I'll give it my best shot but I think it's already gone too far.
Conscience: Trust me, you'll feel a lot better if you do. Goodnight, John. Talk to you soon.
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