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“That loony bitch from Texas wants to come back on, this time in studio.”

This was how Alex greeted me the next morning, before explaining that she'd been contacted by Margaret Haskel's advance staff. She would never speak that way in front of anyone else, especially not Rod unless she deliberately wanted to annoy him. But privately, she and I were way beyond trying to uphold some kind of façade.

The second she left our office to get coffee, I moved swiftly toward the bulletin board and spied the item I was looking for. It was pinned between a photograph of Obama with a hammer and sickle emblazoned on it and a photograph of Hillary Clinton in the form of a Wanted poster with a purported connection to the death of Vince Foster. I removed the tacks holding it in place and slipped it into my satchel.

That Margaret Haskel wanted to come in studio was no surprise. Colonel Figuera had taken Iowa, but Haskel had won New Hampshire. The only real upset of the season thus far had
been in South Carolina where Wynne James came out on top. Still, Margaret Haskel had been dismissive of the loss.

“What do you expect?” she'd said. “Hilton Head is the last outpost of country club Republicans.”

She'd gone on to win Florida, and even though James was a close second in that race, the conventional thinking was that he'd hurt himself in a recent debate when he'd refused to commit to never raising taxes.

“The only everlasting pledge I've made is to my wife,” he said. “How can I possibly anticipate what financial situation I might one day encounter and tie my hands as to how I'd handle it?”

Too nuanced, as Phil might say. That his comment made perfect sense to me and probably to a whole lot of other people was beside the point.

It was still Haskel's race to lose. That she could split the very conservative vote with Figuera, Redfield and Lewis—and still not be trailing James—was a testament to the exodus of moderates from the GOP. She was a guaranteed daily headline on the stump just as she'd been in Austin, and had a firm grasp on conservative women in Middle America. Those women wanted to be her, and conservative guys wanted to do her. She was both blunt-spoken and hot, a more cerebral Sarah Palin, and therefore a serious candidate. I got the impression she was deliberately dumbing it down to appeal to the base.

Although we'd done several phoners in the past, she'd never actually been in my studio, and her sudden desire to pay me a visit was yet another sign of my growing stature, or at least the importance of the territory I reached. No doubt her staff had taken note of both the Baron and Tobias interviews, not to mention the time I'd afforded her Republican opponents. On air, I'd been an admirer. Even when she'd made gaffes, like
when she interchanged the word “impotent” with “important,” I somehow found a way to give her support.

“Who hasn't?” I'd offered weakly.

Professionally speaking, I had no choice but to have her on. WRGT's P1s absolutely loved the governor who'd never met a government program she wasn't willing to cut, and with the economy in the crapper and people demanding fiscal accountability, she was in the right place at the right time. Hell, she made Mitch Daniels of Indiana seem like a big spender back when he'd been governor of the Hoosier state. She was, as a candidate, what Phil desired in a talk show host—a down-the-line conservative, with no exceptions. In fact, if she were not already employed, she'd have made a great talk show host because only phony politicians and fake media personalities like me portray everything in such black-and-white terms. Both groups get rewarded for simplicity and lack of independent thought.

It's true what Debbie said: Talk radio ratings are based on the unwavering allegiance of a small but committed group of conservative listeners who are drilled to see things entirely in black-and-white terms. The libs are the same with their cable television station of choice. Those Republican listeners turn out in primaries and nominate candidates like Governor Haskel, and it's the same on the other side of the aisle. Passion drives the primary voters, and who holds the most passion? The most conservative or the most liberal candidates, of course. So even though Independents are the fastest growing segment of the electorate, they often don't get a say until the general election when they are forced to vote for the lesser of two evils.

Just about everyone I meet in the real world outside the studio, whether I'm having a couple of beers in Ybor City, or shopping at Publix, or playing a game of pick-up at the beach, says that the guys on the right and left are fucking us equally.
They don't want to be associated with either of them, and if they are even registered to vote, more and more it's as Independents.

“Maybe you should go back to bartending Pawlowski,” Phil once told me with derision when I voiced my skepticism about the parties. Anytime he used my real last name, I knew I was in the shithouse.

But he had to know that what he was suggesting I say was completely illogical. Before I came to Tampa, I wasn't even a registered voter, and would never have even considered giving a political contribution. I had no idea what separated a liberal from a conservative, or what united the views of those who called themselves either. But Phil had directed me to web sites that put the issues of the day in a form that was easy for me to understand and parrot.

For me, there was nothing complicated about being a human megaphone on individual issues. All I had to do was memorize a series of rote responses:

Same-sex marriage? “Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve.”

Guns? “If they were outlawed only outlaws would have them.”

Global warming? “The biggest hoax perpetrated upon the American people.”

And so on.

“If you are ever stuck for content, go online and rattle off whatever Bill O'Reilly's Talking Points Memo is peddling. And if you have more time to fill, log onto Salon.com or Daily Kos and take the opposite view,” was another Phil-ism I followed.

The hardest part for me had been wrapping my head around what supposedly united conservatives or connected liberals, because frankly, much of the time I could not see the linkage between the different issues. Sure, there is some symmetry to party platforms, but there is also a complete disconnect between
certain Republican and Democratic tenets. Say you believe in the power of private enterprise. Chances are you are also going to stand for lower taxes and fewer government programs. Ok, I get that. And at the other end of the spectrum, if you believe in the necessity of creating a safety net for the disadvantaged, that will translate into support for things like unemployment benefits. Or welfare. Maybe universal healthcare. That makes sense. But why did it necessarily follow that if you were pro-choice, you also thought the Iraq war was a mistake? And that if you supported the death penalty, you probably hated trial lawyers? What does opposition to abortion have to do with whether we waterboard Mohammad? Where was the philosophical or intellectual connection between these issues? Beats the shit out of me. But that's the way our political discourse has evolved. Certain positions are associated with others solely because over time, they have come to be known as conservative or liberal. Independent thinking is discouraged. It was all or nothing under one label or the other, and it drove me nuts.

Of course, if my radio listeners even heard me ask these questions they'd think I was a closeted left-wing pinko, which wasn't the case. Because I did genuinely hold some conservative views. Now that I was making a decent six figures, I
didn't
want to hand it all over to Uncle Sam. I truly believed that our interrogators should stop at nothing to save American lives if some al Qaeda asshole had information we needed. And I thought that our borders were porous. But some of my thinking would definitely be classified as liberal. Personally, I don't give a shit if two guys hook up, any more than I want them involved in my bedroom. I'm also for legalizing pot and prostitution, and I really don't care what a couple of scientists do in a petri dish—in my definition, that's not life. I'm Stanislaw Pawlowksi and I approve this message!

But Stan Powers would disagree. And right now, Stan Powers was enabling Stanislaw Pawlowski to have a view of the Gulf from his high-rise apartment, wear custom-made sport coats, drive a new model convertible and have his iPhone tab paid for by mobile-phone advertisers.

“I'm not really a wingnut, I just play one on radio,” was the way I always explained this dual existence to Debbie, especially when I was negotiating to see her naked.

“The real you would be just as entertaining,” she'd say.

But I doubted it.

And it was the same with the politicians. What gets a member of Congress elected in a hyper-partisan district is offering a consistently conservative or liberal, if sometimes illogical platform. Those views that served me well while entertaining similarly benefited someone like Margaret Haskel when trying to reach voters because they engendered loyalty from my listeners and her constituents. Just like her nighttime raids with the self-described Minutemen who patrolled the Texas/Mexican border, or the changes she'd made to Texas law to more easily enable parental takeover of public schools, or the YouTube video recorded at a backyard picnic of her saying “Yes, Jugdish, I believe in protecting our borders.” Liberals were repulsed. But her fundraising skyrocketed.

Although Margaret Haskel was in her late 40s, attractive and successful—like Susan Miller—that is where the commonality ended. Texas's heavily styled governor flaunted her femininity alongside her conservative credentials, and derived great pleasure from titillating her more manly constituents. In a bygone era, she would have earned the moniker of “brick shithouse” with a personality to match the looks. How else to explain the interview she'd given a few years prior in
Texas Monthly
when she was being recognized as the first female speaker of the state
house? The interview was printed as a direct question and answer, without analysis. The questions were pretty standard stuff. But one of the answers was out of the box.

“Madam Speaker, who among famous Texas females do you most admire?”

“Well of course I have the highest regard for my friend Laura Bush. Ann Richards was from a different party but I acknowledge her independence and achievement. And although she was before my time, what I know of Lady Bird Johnson makes me hold her in the highest regard. But judging by the way she ran her house, I'd also have to put Jerry Hall high up on the list, too.”

That answer must have gone over the head of the candy-ass who was writing the article, because there was no follow-up. Instead, came another inane question. Something like:

“And who would you say you most admire from the world of Texas sports?”

It only took about two seconds after the magazine hit mailboxes for Democrats to remind voters of what the former wife of Mick Jagger had once said:

“My mother said it was simple to keep a man. You must be a maid in the living room, a cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom. I said I'd hire the other two and take care of the bedroom bit.”

But the liberals overplayed their hand when they dug up the quote. The conservatives weren't offended by her, they loved it—both the men and women. She was a more intelligent Michele Bachmann. And momentarily caught off balance were these self-described progressives, who now found themselves at odds with a sexually liberated…conservative!

Margaret Haskel was the hottest commodity in the GOP and it was to my benefit that she wanted to be in the chair where just weeks prior I'd questioned Bob Tobias.

Still, when she arrived in the studio a few days later, she was not what I'd anticipated. Appearance-wise, she was as advertised. Pretty. Well put together. Properly made up in a California sorta way. Big hooters. Tiny waist. A 45-year-old MILF.

“I'm Molly Hatchet,” she'd said, actually introducing herself to me using her nickname, as she extended her hand. I shook it with not just a little sense of pride. I was almost getting used to this. Here I was again, hosting a presidential candidate in my Tampa studio with a horde of media in the house. I saw Rod Chinkles ask her for an autograph on his side of the glass, and took note that Alex did not so much as raise her head.

For the second time in less than a month, the other side of my studio was crammed with national cameras, there to witness my face-to-face with someone who was potentially the next president of the United States. But the minute we got into the interview, I could tell immediately that she was not about to reveal any intellectual depth. Haskel said not a word without visually surveying her staff for approval, and the result was an antiseptic conversation yielding plenty of coverage but no real headlines. We each played our respective roles.

I asked about terrorism.

“We need to continue to fight them over there so we don't have to fight them here.”

I inquired about the economy.

“Small businesses are the economic lifeblood of the United States.”

I raised the Second Amendment.

“If guns were outlawed only outlaws would have guns.” (She used my favorite line; I had no retort. Actually, she said that line with a straight face, like it was a creative thought. I might have been more impressed had I not seen it about 500
times previously on bumper stickers, or if she would have added another standard: “gun control means using both hands.” )

It was as if I said “x” and she slid her finger to “y” and read me an answer. The way she rattled off her responses was disappointing but I couldn't be too indignant—after all, that's what I said!

But the audience, at least as indicated by the callers, ate it up. From the minute our conversation began, every line was lit with nothing more substantive than “Joe from St. Petersburg” who wanted to know “how fast Governor Haskel will repeal Obamacare?”