Memo

To: Democratic Candidates

Subject: Campaign slogan

Hey gang! Congratulations and thanks. Congratulations for being serious candidates, in position to help to literally save the Republic from the Mongrel Horde that is threatening the gates of democracy. And thanks for putting your own lives, both personal and professional, on hold to take up the mantle of positive change.

But sometimes, in the hustle and insanity that is a political campaign, it is too easy to get so lost in the emotions and details that you lose track of some very simple things. So, with that in mind, I’d like to offer a campaign slogan. And no, I’m not talking about billboards, bumper stickers, or mailer slogans. You guys and gals know your districts and local issues better than I could ever presume to. What I’m talking about is a slogan that belongs on a banner hanging from the wall of every campaign office. Here it is;

Run like you’re 10 points down!

That’s it, it’s that simple. Run like you’re 10 points down. Right now, there’s all kinds of reporting out there about the inevitability of a crushing “Blue Wave.” Don’t you believe a word of that shit. They’re talking about somebody else’s race. A blue wave is a finished product. But guess what? You can’t get a finished product without all of the interior pieces being in place.

Stop in at that diner. Smile at that lady talking to you in the grocery store. Knock on that door, you can rest your knuckles on November 7th. If you see an internal poll that shows that you’re 4 points up, remember two things. Number one, polls lie! Just ask Hillary Clinton about that. Number two. Everything is a zero sum game. If you’re 4 points up, that means that your opponent is 4 points down. Which means he’s working even harder, because desperation is setting in. Don’t lose the desperation that got you 4 points up in the first place. The only poll that counts is the one that comes out when the polls close on election night.

You’ve come this far, there’s no turning back now. You are our hope, and the future. So please, do us all a favor. For the next 90 days, you run like the girl in a white nightgown in the forest, with the drooling lunatic in a hockey mask and a MAGA hat lumbering behind you with a machete. And don’t stop until the townspeople step out behind you with their pitchforks and torches. Then you can stop, turn around, take a deep breath, and yell, ‘Dat’s right! Whoz yo’ Daddy!”