The Internet President

Chapter 4 Unleash the Internet

Chapter 4

Unleash the Internet

An overgrown lawn surrounds a two-bedroom yellow stucco house with a clay tile roof. Three political posters jut out of the grass. Maria uproots them one by one, tapping the grass back in place with her boots.

James claps as Maria removes each political opponent from her lawn.

Maria throws the posters on the porch, into a stack with another half dozen. She stomps her boots and opens her front door.

A rack with dozens of shoes, slippers, and a backpack sits near the entrance. They change into slippers at the doorway.

The living room has the feel of a theater inside a library. Cabinets filled with Blu-rays, DVDs, CDs, and books line the living room walls, meticulously organized by genre and alphabet. A ninety-inch LCD TV is the centerpiece of the room. Two couches and adjoining tables are arranged for optimal viewing angles on a white tile floor.

Maria heads toward her bedroom. “I’m going to change into my power suit.” She closes the door behind her.

James sets up a camera on a tripod in the front of the TV, facing behind him. He turns on the TV and camera. “We should be able to get some good practice footage.”

One too many drinks have given James rosy cheeks. He moves behind the camera and waves at the camera. James watches his actions play out on the TV. He strokes his cheeks and makes funny faces.

Maria strides confidently into the living room in her curve-hugging power suit, with fresh lipstick and new knee-high boots. Her form enlarges on the TV as she approaches.

James pretends to protect his balls with a playful expression. “Uh-oh. Lipstick.”

Maria socks him lightly on the arm from behind. She stands by his side towards the camera.

“You know what I learned today?” James shakes his head. “The best criminals wear suits. You invest your whole life in something. Then, a lawyer comes by, and they want a 40% cut. That’s the price of justice?”

Maria shifts the camera to point at her. “Why do men think you want to sleep with them if you’re the slightest bit friendly?”

James nudges Maria aside. “Justice is something for the rich. The rule of law can be bought and paid for. If you’re poor, you can’t get justice on layaway.”

Maria flirts with her hips and strokes her leg seductively.

James shares the spotlight with her. His mouth gapes open.

Maria compromises between a pout and a smirk. “Why are we prisoners to how people react to us? I love the way this outfit makes me feel, but I hate the reactions I get. Why is it not OK for me to feel powerful and sexy?”

The distraction of her outfit deflates his rant. James nudges his way towards the camera. “Lift that rug and see what we swept under there. Can we solve problems, instead of fighting?”

Maria crosses her arms with a serious look. “My ideas should not be ignored or sidelined, regardless of what I wear. I want to be heard.” She looks at James. “But you don’t always listen.”

James stares at the camera, oblivious to Maria’s glance. “Exactly. Politicians are talking past each other, not listening to each other.”

She points at James. “You’re not listening to me.”

“You tell them, Maria.” James fist pumps, still oblivious.

Maria facepalms and shakes her head.

“The Take Back America Movement shouldn’t just vote against incumbents, they should vote none of the above,” James says.

Maria nods twice and rushes to the door.

“These people don’t represent me. Do they represent you? Why not an Asian president?” he wonders aloud.

Maria returns with the posters from the porch. She plops them on a table. “Or a Latina president?” She winks at the camera.

“These candidates are all more of the same. Demand better choices,” he says.

Maria yanks open a table drawer. She retrieves a black marker and grabs a “Garfield for President” sign.

James scoffs. “Senator Garfield is so in bed with the banks. I’m surprised they don’t already have a love child.”

Maria draws a large circle with a line through it across the sign. “None of the above,” she shouts. Maria flings the sign across the room.

She picks up a “Danvers for President” poster.

James says, “Danvers is CEO for a defense contractor. Give him the power to start a few wars. Good idea.”

Maria defaces his poster with the universal no symbol. “None of the above,” she shouts, even louder. Maria splinters the poster over her knee. She lets the broken pieces flop to the ground. “To all the other candidates, get off my lawn.”

James cheers. “When polls show none of the above is popular, people want real change. It’s not a wasted vote. Vote none of the above,” he says.

Maria chimes in. “And vote more jobs.”

“It’s a message they need to hear. I’m James Wong. I’m none of the above.”

“I’m Maria Cortez. I’m none of the above.”

James growls. “You didn’t even want to run for president.” He pushes her, but Maria doesn’t budge. She turns it into a tug of war.

He tries running in place, but his slippers are no match for the traction of Maria’s boots. It’s like watching a car stuck in mud dig itself into a deeper hole. With alcohol-impaired balance, he slips and grabs Maria to stay upright.

She pushes back. “If you could be president, I could be president. I’m just as capable.”

He slides backward until he’s no longer visible on the TV.

“Do you accept me as an equal?”

“I wouldn’t do it without you,” he says.

Maria drags him back in view and lends James a hand.

James stands. “Working together is the only way. America needs problem solvers, not more lawyers and politicians. We’ll fix campaign finance. I know how to make it more transparent.”

Maria shakes her finger no. “Focus on one issue first, more jobs.”

“We’ll fix the education system. I have a plan to create rock star teachers,” he says.

“Rock stars teaching our kids, that’s a scary thought. Smashed guitar, sold separately. We need more jobs.” Maria says.

“Fine, we need more jobs. We’ll fix that too.” James says.

Maria grabs a bottle of vodka and pours two shot glasses.

James and Maria make a toast. “To America. Let’s fix it.” The glasses clink.

James tilts his head back. A shot of vodka vanishes. He wobbles as he speaks. “We can fix America. We will fix America. Internet, how would you fix America?”

“Unleash the Internet!” James jumps in the air with a double fist pump. He belly flops onto the table. The particle board splinters under his weight.

He lifts up his head and looks at the broken table sections. “And we’ll fix…the table.” His eyes flicker. James slumps over, passed out.

Maria turns off the camera and surveys the c*****e. “I’m so done with your campaign.” She checks on James. Maria shakes her head and uploads the unedited video to the Internet.

She stomps off towards her bedroom, pauses at her doorway, and looks over her shoulder at James. He lies sprawled out on broken drawers and particle board shards. Maria sighs and trudges back to him. She yanks his arm, lifts James out of the table wreckage, and throws him on the couch. Maria brushes the dust and debris off his clothes with harsh strokes. Her strokes grow slower and gentler, as she calms down.

Maria takes off his utility vest, gun holsters, and anything uncomfortable. The wrenches clank as they slip onto the tile floor. She cringes at the noise. James remains a silent action figure, in the last pose Maria left him in. She heaves him off the couch, drags him to her bed, and tucks him in. Maria puts on pajamas and retires for the night.