"What do you mean, 'not this week,' Rev? This is exactly what I pay you for. This is your job."
"Syrius, we're now nine weeks into the contest, at the point where certain trends are readily perceptible. Have you looked closely at your week-to-week polling figures so far?"
"Sure, Rev." I pulled out the spreadsheet.
"Notice any trends overall?"
"Well, in what might have been referred ca. 1997 to as an inverse Chumbawamba effect, it seems that I go up, then I go down again."
"Let me explain something to you, Syrius. The weeks in which you were up, Syrius, the weeks in which you almost looked you like might win your tribe and all that, were in fact the weeks in which I was actively working on your campaign. The weeks in which you were down in the statistical dumps of utter mediocrity-- getting your ass beaten soundly by rerun entries two seasons running, offering incredibly compelling diaper-change advice-- were weeks in which you consciously chose to keep me out of said campaign."
"What can I say? It just felt right at the time, Rev. But I'm sorry. You've been right all along. You got paid regardless, and I hope you know it wasn't meant as a slight. And clearly, at this point, I'm gonna need your help to stay in the race. The voters have spoken recently. This campaign is in need of some pretty serious reform, or maybe just some old-fashioned poll tomfoolery... and I can't think of a man more qualified to turn a campaign around or steal an election than you."
"Mr. Bidness, with all due respect, I think you still have a lesson to learn. Yes, you did pay me an awful lot of money for doing nothing, and who's going to complain about that? But you have ignored my professional advice at your own peril on more than one occasion. What's far worse, when you cut me out of the campaign two weeks ago, you effectively publicly insulted and humiliated me. I'd be a fool to readily ignore such a slight."
"That, or you just want to take another week's paid vacation for the fuck of it," I spat.
"Oh, that's... that's just it. I'll rejoin your campaign in Week 10... if you actually make it out alive. Survive another round of voting, and then we'll make some serious changes for Syrius Bidness. But as for this week... well, you'll have to sweat this one out entirely on your own."
"You're such an ass, Rev."
"Oh, and Syrius?"
"I'd advise you not to start any 'rap battles' this week."
"Well, there's nothing else for it, [insert your name here]," I said to you. "I really didn't have anything prepared to discuss this week, and I was sort of counting on the Rev to give me some direction. So... well, [insert your name here], you'll have to be my campaign manager this week."
Me?, you said with mock bewilderment. But, Syrius, I'm... I'm totally unprepared for this job.
"Oh, listen to you, [insert your name here]," I playfully chuckled. "Not five seconds into the job and you're already making cheap, godawful, painfully obvious links into the assigned topic. See? You're gonna just be great."
Ugh. Shit. Does this gig at least pay something?
"Well, I do pay the Rev pretty handsomely; he's a professional, and he's in demand. Unfortunately, there's not much left in the campaign fund, since I had to pay the Rev's fee in advance for the whole season. But I tell you what... if you can help me out this week on the pro bono tip..."
Pro-Bono? Sorry, man, not gonna happen. That guy is a total tool, and U2 has totally sucked since at least The Joshua Tree.
"Oh, you! You've got a wit as sharp as a scimitar."
Don't think for a minute that I'm doing this for free, ass. And don't start talking about "scimitars" and shit either. It makes you sound like some kinda RPG-addicted, parents'-basement-dwelling, total cosplay furry schlong.
"While that doesn't exactly describe me, per se, before you say much more publicly, I feel I should remind you-- as my amateur stand-in campaign manager-- that this is LJ Idol. Refer to cosplay wankers, furries, bi-poly pagan chicks, etc. in the pejorative sense, and you're coming dangerously close to permanently alienating large segments of the voting audience."
Right. I'm sorry, Syrius. I guess I've been kind of hard up for witchy furtang since the last DruidYiffCon myself. Well, so long as you're paying something, I guess it's time to get to work, prepared or not.
"Alright, [insert your name here]. Let's get started right away on this problem of shrinking voter share. What do you think the main problem is? Is it the sheer length of my entries? The contempt in which I may sometimes appear to hold my competition and/or the contest itself? Or is it something else entirely?"
(this is the sort of deal that HTML was made for, y'know!)
In your capacity as temporary campaign manager, prepared to make important decisions, you click on the link that best describes your response to Syrius' italicized question immediately above:
Yes, it seems the consistently ridiculous length of your entries may be a problem, Syrius.
Well, Mr. Bidness, it's been pointed out more than once that your snark is worse than your write.
It's something else, Syrius. Something you probably haven't even thought of at this point. Let me tell you what it is.