To roaring applause and cheers, the candidate strode up to the microphone, his broad grin and confident swagger unmistakable.
“Hello,” he said in his accented English. “I am Ah-nuld Schvarzenegger, und I am runnink for guffernor.”
More applause, more cheers.
“Now, as you probably already know, in a few veeks dere vill be a recall election und you vill be assked vedder you t’ink Gray Dafis should be remoofed as guffernor. Vell, at lasst count dere vere nearly two hondred candidates to replace him, und sefenteen of zem are named Ah-nuld. Zo, I am haffink my friend Villiam hand out zees cards vit my name on dem, zo ven you go to de polls you vill know vich Ah-nuld is me.”
As the cards were being distributed, the candidate continued, “It iss very important dat you vote for de right Ah-nuld, zo it iss very important dat you haff dis card vit you ven you go to de polls. But in case you forget, jusst remember dat my lasst name iss fourteen letters. It iss de longest lasst name you vill see on de ballot. Alzo, it begins vit an S und ends vit an R. No uzzer Ah-nuld can zay dat.”
“Arnold,” interrupted a member of the audience, “how many candidates did you say there’ll be on this ballot?”
“Dere are almost two hondred people runnink for guffernor. But only Ah-nuld Schvarzenegger hass de leadership ability dis state needs to clean houze in Zacramento—-”
“If I just vote for all the Arnolds, then at least one of them is you right? Won’t that count?”
The candidate hesitated, an expression of consternation surfacing briefly before being suppressed. “No,” he said firmly. “You can only vote for one perzon. Und dat perzon is me. Ah-nuld Schvarzenegger—-”
“Only vote for one!?” shouted another voter. “How the hell are we supposed to choose just one out of nearly 200 candidates? Shouldn’t there be a second and third round so we can narrow down our choices? You know, like on those reality shows?”
“Dat vould make zense,” said the candidate, grinning. “But unfortunately de law iss very clear. Dere iss only one chance to vote und you musst vote for Ah-nuld Schvarzene—-”
“I thought you’d be shorter!” yelled someone else, “and darker!”
The candidate laughed—was there a hint of hysteria in that chuckle?—and replied, “You know how it iss in Hollyvood, dey use crazy camera angles und lots of makeup.”
“What about the recall?” shouted a woman from near the back. “How should we vote on the recall?”
“I am one hondred percent in favor of de recall. Totally.” He grinned. “Total recall. Get it?” A few people laughed, most looked at one another and shrugged.
“You should vote Yes,” said the candidate quickly.
“But what if we’re against the recall?” asked a man in the front row.
The candidate stared for a moment, then recovered. “Den, instead, you should vote Yes.”
The man in the front row thought for a moment, then nodded, satisfied.
More questions started to come from the audience, but the candidate held up his hands and waited for quiet. “Listen, everyone. It’s really very zimple. Ve haff to get rid of Gray Dafis und replace him vit someone who can do de job. Ve haff to make me, Ah-nuld Schvarzenegger, de next guffernor of Cully-forniya!”
Again the audience erupted in applause and cheers, and from somewhere began the chant, “Say it!”
The chant slowly spread throughout the room, and the candidate’s grin widened.
“Say it! Say it! Say it! Say it! Say it! Say it! Say it!” chanted the people.
Finally the candidate held up his hands for quiet, and when he had it he leaned toward the microphone and growled, “Hasta la vista, Gray Dafis!”
To his surprise, the audience looked confused for a moment, then resumed the chant, this time looking dissatisfied. Whatever it was they wanted him to say, that wasn’t it.
After a moment’s quick thought, the candidate shouted into the microphone, “Keepink Gray Dafis as guffernor vould be a beeeeeg mista-a-a-ake!”
The audience hesitated only briefly, then resumed chanting.
A hint of desperation came into the candidate’s eyes. “I know you luff my movies, but once I’ve cleaned houze in Zacramento und put Cully-forniya on de right track, I’ll be back!”
The chanters didn’t even miss a beat. Finally the candidate glanced at his aide, who rushed to his side and whispered in his ear. The candidate listened, then glared at the aide, outraged, and barked, “Vat’choo talkink about, Villiam!?”
The cheers from the audience were deafening. Candidate and aide gaped. When it had finally died down, the candidate turned to the aide and muttered, “Dis iss goink to be harder dan I t’ought.”
