The temptation would be to turn up at some of his stump speeches and vigorously shout “Ficker! Ficker! Hey you, Republican Ficker!” With such enthusiasm as to arouse no suspicion. Ficker himself would appreciate the shouts – he used to have season tickets at Washington DC’s basketball team, the Bullets, right behind the opposition bench, and would spend the entire game heckling the away team. Bullets’ officials and some of the fans around him found this less than entertaining, and when the team moved to a new arena 12 years ago, changing its name to the Wizards at the same time, he found that the seating plan barred him from renewing his season tickets in his favoured hectoring spot. He’s refused to go ever since.
Ficker’s running on an anti-tax ticket, and is one of those libertarians who don’t seem to believe in any kind of tax at all, advocating that the Fairy Godmother, otherwise known as the free market, will somehow provide for all if only left to its own fair devices. Dumb Ficker. He’s also a lawyer, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but not a universally admired profession. Still, apart from being a rightwing nutjob psycho basketball fan lawyer, he’s at least got his name going for him.
Ficker’s daughter is a professional triathlete. She is physically very fit, and her name is Desirée. Which reminds me of the old joke:
“I say, I say, I say, my wife went out for dinner the other night with the triathlete daughter of the man running for the vacant seat on Montgomery County Council.”
“Bien entendu, mein Freund…”