The Candidate By David M. Antonelli.
It opens once a young aspiring tutorial gouger (referred to throughout the novel merely as “The Candidate” for comic effect) dazzles at associate degree interview for a post and afterward appoints himself once he openly assumes he got the task and therefore the bungling professoriate ar all afraid to admit they lost the appointment meeting that ne'er occurred. His chop-chop rises through the ranks victimization his charm and a spread of bluffs and scams till he becomes president of the university and is eventually convinced by his supporters to require a run at the White House. The novel reaches a climax at the presidential discussion during which The Candidate is dressed as associate degree aboriginal chieftain to secure the minority choose a battle against Clinton – going for associate degree unprecedented third term – and a Republican candidate whose entire campaign platform is predicated on the group action of drinking and driving. With a large forged of off-the-wall and screaming characters, The Candidate is certain to entertain, whereas conjointly casting an important mirror to the more and more circus-like atmosphere of the post-Trump United States of America political landscape. Excerpt: The Candidate walked into the room and wiped a lone bead of losing weight on his gleaming white forehead. He smiled and adjusted his thin gold watch, ensuring it stood out against the background of his white suit and black tie. The appointment committee looked on in awe. They’d ne'er seen such an illustration of pure magnificence parcelled in an exceedingly single entity. His shoulders were broad and sharp, distinct just right like items from the Elgin Marbles. His body was cut with the preciseness of associate degree Antwerp diamond and his head towered upwards from his mighty figure just like the central column of a good art movement palace. topped by a laurel of golden hair slicked and sculptured within the type of a prize-winning domestic dog, he was the terrible image of classical beauty. The odor of one thing sweet and profound – a brand new Hellenism? – wafted through the space. He looked with humble deference at the 5 professors seated at an outsized table before him. “It says on your resume that you just were a waterman,” aforesaid Benson. “Sorry?” The Candidate canted his head in confusion. “A mower, sir? “No, I aforesaid a waterman.” “Rows, sir? Mowing rows of what, sir?” “Look, does one even grasp what a paddle is?” Hedges tangled.
- Publication Date
- Mar 28, 2022
- All Rights Reserved - Standard Copyright License
- By (author): David M. Antonelli
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