Con Men, Pimps, And Little People - Shoring Up The Biden Diversity Wagon Before Election Time

The Biden Administration was already awash in diversity - and as a final move to fill in the cracks, a small person was added to the Cabinet as a deputy to the Secretary of the Interior.  Why should he, recently retired from the circus industry, winner of the Maryland lottery, and journeyman WWE wrestler, be included in the portfolio of Interior, asked many.  'Because of our national parks' was the reply from an Interior spokesperson, a non sequitur end run that had become familiar as the Biden Administration continued to 'pack' his administration with diversity. 

So Elmer Fiddie took his place at the table, tastefully and inconspicuously boosted, and was called on in the first few meetings, to comment on the height of accommodations throughout the National Park system.  Was the Administration doing enough for little people, and did they feel comfortable at places of national heritage? 

"Well", Elmer began, "Can't rightly say", adding that he had yet to undertake a survey, but was in the process of putting together a team of little people to do just that.  'No high doorknob, stool, ticket window, or entryway will stand', he said, raising himself from the booster seat to make the point. Applause followed, appreciative nods in the direction of the Secretary of Defense who was chairing the session on that day. 

The whole idea of this former third rate circus act sitting in his Cabinet room had always been irritating for the President - a weirdo experiment to open the door to the underrepresented - and he wanted to focus more on the truly needy and socially important, especially the black man.  Yes, he had plenty of them in his Administration but not a real black man, one from the inner city, the ghetto, the slums

LaShonda Phillips, a voluble, excitable woman from Detroit with few credentials of her own, had been on the front lines of Black Lives Matter, and had come to the attention of the White House always on the lookout for edgy black women who could give it some street cachet. She would need some tailoring and sanding, but was exactly what the President had been looking for.  

A longtime black wannabe, Joe Biden had envied Bill Clinton for his ease and familiarity with black people, and secretly wanted to shed all his altar boy, shanty Irish whiteness and become a homeboy.  Barack Obama had been too white for him, and for eight years he wanted to be from Anacostia, the black slum across the river. 

‘We've got to do more', said LaShonda Phillips, now Chief DEI Advisor to the President and 2024 campaign insider.  'We've got to expand our reach'. LaShonda never forgot her own, and explained to the President that reviving the post of White House Spiritual Advisor, held by none other than Billy Graham, would go down well with the black population more used to Jesus and the apostles than any white congregation.  Secular as the Administration was, it would benefit from a black, inner city preacher. 

 

She had someone in mind, and quickly and easily recruited the Reverend Billings Johnson.  Added to his spiritual portfolio, he was also made the Ambassador to the Inner City, a position for which he was perfectly well qualified, coming as he did from the nastiest neighborhood of Baltimore where he became known as The Great Facilitator, a man who had relieved social service agencies, non-profits, and small businesses of millions for his community and of course himself.  

He seemed a shoo-in for political office, but the 'remunerations' he enjoyed from his preaching and social activism were more than enough incentive to keep him in Baltimore.  Only when the President called him, did he agree to leave.  Regardless of the term of his White House service, his visibility and cachet would be worth millions when he left. 

LaShonda of course knew him for what he was - a canny, agile, brilliant con man who could bilk the most circumspect donor out of thousands in a minute.  He was a racial acrobat, talking pimp talk on the streets, equally fluent when preaching Mark, Luke, and John, and as Park Avenue as could be when applying to Gates, Bezos, or Buffett.  All he cared about was feathering his own nest, getting his due, and especially bilking The White Man - all legitimate enterprises given the long American history of slavery, Jim Crow and persistent racism. He was the Ur black man, the one who outhustled, out-conned, and out-maneuvered everyone. 

So the two of them became an item, a savvy, streetwise, team of con artists who knew exactly how to play the full deck of race cards while gaining plaudits for their diversity.  The President's Infrastructure, Social Welfare, and Inflation Reduction programs, worth billions of dollars and dispensed with little oversight and even less accounting, were exactly what they were looking for. 

Millions of those dollars were intended to raise the black man from dysfunction and poverty to his proper and appropriate place atop the human pyramid and no expense was to be spared to do so; so it was a bounteous feast. Side deals that ensured everyone down the line got paid were their stock in trade. They became heroes to the inner city and champions of the progressive Left. 

It was in President Biden's fantasy home district, Anacostia, that LaShonda and the Reverend Johnson found the ideal partner - The Blade, a Cadillac-driving, clown-suited, pimp-walking, macho procurer, the talk of the town, wealthy beyond his dreams, and a figure of admiration and imitation.  His empire had extended far beyond prostitution - there was only so much nooky the community could bear - and profited from the District of Columbia's generous entitlement programs, walkin' around money, and non-profit grants.  More importantly he was a 'facilitator' in the drug trade, never a cash player, but an important one out of the reach of the law, and banked thousands every week in Aruba. 

The Blade, more than LaShonda or the Reverend Johnson was what the President was looking for - a real black man, no Oreo Uncle Tom - and he was delighted with the news of his recruitment.  To be fair, the President had not gone that far around the bend, and the thought of a rainbow-suited, gold chain, Patek Phillippe watch-wearing, pimpmobile-driven bawd standing in front of the nation was never a consideration, but a tamed, spit-shined young man with impeccable credentials, with not a trace of white in him, would be right and proper - and would assure votes that not even the blackest member of Congress could muster. 

It took far more tailoring, sanding, and polishing to get the Blade ready for duty, but he, like LaShonda and the Reverend, knew how to make the most of a good thing.  The President was just another rube to be had, and if the Blade had to lose some of his baubles and rides, he would for the good of the nation. 

So when the first campaign busses headed out from Pennsylvania Avenue, the DEI cabal was on board, ready to stump for their patron, their Sugar Daddy, their man.  It was easygoing, for the President and his shills did all the heavy lifting.  It was just like the old days, their granddaddies' day when Negroes were given street front offices to be seen by the passing crowds and be responsible for nothing in particular. The first of many scams on the way up and out of the ghetto.

The election is a few months away and the campaign just really getting underway, their man behind in the polls and facing a strong opponent; but they didn't care. Even if Joe lost, they still had plenty of time, exposure, and influence to pad their bank accounts and prepare for the next gig.  

'This DEI shit is something, ain't it!' said the Blade to LaShonda, as they relaxed by the pool at the Four Seasons.