It's another day on the road with the Totally Amazing -- I Mean, Like Wow! -- Candidate with the Snap-On Head... and the Drop-Down Pants.
But then, it's been a Totally Amazing -- I Mean, Like Wow! -- season for the Grandiose Orange People party, for the Genetically-modified Orangutans Party, for the GOP.
Having had a hearty breakfast of Lucky Charms, His Daily Bread ala Tempest-in-a-Teapot Toast, Juice of Personally-Crushed Oranges, and Oval-Office-tine, The Candidate's head was taken from its storage perch, wiped down, and fully reattached to Body #29.
(Number 29 is the one The Candidate takes to rallies in the south, because #29 has 20% more short, jerky hand motions timed to purposefully NOT match any speech elements whatsoever. Ol' 29 also has more built-in swagger, and a programmed propensity to kick more things.)
The Candidate took a minute before going on stage, checking his pockets, making sure he had everything. The Candidate called the sound engineer over to him, bent down from the waist toward the man, leaned in, and talked to him conspiratorially, importantly, quietly.
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