On November 2nd, I received my first electronic message from the famous political consultant for the Clinton campaigns, the ‘Ragin’ Cajun’ as he is affectionately known by his fellow Democrats, James Carville.

James Carville was reaching out to me, a humble voter in the second congressional district of Nebraska, a perennial conservative state with no relevance on the national political stage.

The subject of that first correspondence: “Bill Clinton’s email.”

And the first line in the body of the message: “Did ya see my old boss’s message, friend?”

What? No!

I searched for the former President in my inbox and came up empty-handed. Had Bill Clinton, the 42nd president of the United States and amateur saxophonist, tried to contact me, and I missed it? I’ve missed work emails, but this was a colossal fuck up.

I replied: “Dear James, hope you’re good ol’ buddy. How are the Tigers doing on the football pitch this year? I know you are a super fan and a graduate of LSU. About that message from Bill, I didn’t see it! Would you mind forwarding it? Best, Will.”

Not two hours later, my now good friend James emailed back.

Subject: T-I-E-D

Oh shit, was James in trouble? Was he being held against his will by the Proud Boys, or like, Ron Desantis’ blue-collar brother-in-law? Maybe it was a cipher, a code to be cracked, and my new fishin’ buddy was trusting me to take quick and decisive action.

Reply: “JAMES! Holy fuck friend-o, hold on tight while I craft a plan to save you from the MAGA agents of chaos. Whatever you do, don’t share any of your political strategies with those dastardly election-denying reprobates.”

Later that day, I got another message from my swamp boat buddy.

Subject: IT’S NOT LOOKING GOOD!

Oh…no. The Proud Boys, MAGA agents, and Ron Desantis’ plumber brother-in-law had undoubtedly resorted to torture. James Carville for sure had valuable polling data and insider intel. And now, a bunch of militia members were pulling his fingernails out with a pair of rusty pliers.

Reply: “James. I need you to stay strong. Remember your days in the war room working on our friend Bill Clinton’s presidential campaign? Remember going to battle with Karl Rove and Lee Atwater? Summon that resolve! And whatever you do, don’t spill the beans.”

Another message 24 hours later, a day I spent scared out of my mind, weary with anticipation.

Subject: It’s up to you friend

Little ol’ me? Why was I chosen for this mission? I needed inspiration, something to put steel in my backbone, so I sat down and watched the director’s cut of “Lord of the Rings: Return of the King” and four hours later was ready to take on the Proud Boys, MAGA agents of chaos, Ron DeSactimonious’ brother Ray, and the QAnon shaman.

I packed a duffle bag, fed the cat, kissed my wife goodbye (maybe forever?), gassed up the Suburu, and started driving east.

Somewhere near Des Moines, I got a notification.

Subject: I can’t believe my eyes

Does that mean JC can’t believe what he’s seeing or that he can no longer trust his vision? If they blinded my best friend in the world, they will wish they were never born despite all holding strong pro-life beliefs. I will unleash fury on them, the likes they have never known. Which made me think how GOOD “Mad Max: Fury Road” was, so I pulled it up and watched it on my phone at a rest stop while snacking on the Skinny Pop my wife packed. Three hours later, I was back on the road!

Subject: Guess who?

Reply: “I know it’s you Proud Boys, MAGA agents of chaos, Ron’s unsophisticated relatives, Qanon shaman, and the guy who sat at Nancy Pelosi’s desk on January 6th. You fucking cowards. How dare you blind an old cajun man who looks like he spends most of the year underground. I’m coming for you. You will rue the day, RUE IT!”

Rue made me think of roux, and I realized I was legit hungry, so I stopped at a Cracker Barrel and ate my weight in biscuits while watching “Julie and Julia” on my iPad. What a great cast: Streep, Amy Adams, Tucci, and the always hilarious Jane Lynch — Chef’s kiss.

I decided after all those biscuits to visit the ol’ Sandman, get me some shut-eye, and I was almost asleep in the Cracker Barrel parking lot when I got another notification.

Subject: Read this before IT’S TOO LATE!

And that’s when a realization crept over me; I had not read a single email. I mean, the subject line, yes, but I had not opened and read the body of ANY of my oldest friend’s in the world thoughtfully crafted messages.

Ping. Another email.

Subject: I’ve never been more worried

There’s no time to read all those damn emails now. JC is obviously in epic trouble. Why would he send many urgent messages day after day, sometimes five or more in a single day?

Ping!

Subject: DESPICABLE

Those animals! Proud Boys, MAGA agents of chaos, Ron’s mouth-breathing relatives, Qanon shaman, the guy who sat at Nancy Pelosi’s desk on January 6th, and Eric Trump, you are going to piss your pants when you see what I have in store for you. I am going to rip you a new —

Ping!

Subject: Please read ASAP

I don’t have time for this, James! I’m trying to save your freaking life! Stop sending all these goddamn messages and call the FBI or something. How are you even getting access to your phone if you’re tied to a chair in a shipping container in the swamps of southern Florida? Unless — was James Carville a double agent?

Subject: A lifeline in these final hours

Oh sure, miraculously, you found a lifeline that doesn’t involve me driving aimlessly all around the country looking for you in every out house, hen house, dang I gotta watch “The Fugitive.”

Two hours later, still in the Cracker Barrel parking lot just outside of Des Moines, I came to another important realization — I forgot to vote. I was so intent on saving James Carville, the person I wish had been the best man at my wedding, that I left town on a wing and prayer with nothing but several changes of clothes, including a black suit just in case there was a press conference hailing me as a hero, that I forgot it was November 8th.

Ping!

Subject: Here’s what happens now

I know what happens now, James Carville, you lying, double-crossing trickster. My faith in democracy dies. Your chicanery and tomfoolery undermined my opportunity to perform my sacred civic duty. You stole from me my right to participate in who and how I’m represented in the state and people’s houses.

Oh! Do you know what I should watch? “Dave” with Kevin Kline, about a look-a-like to the President who stands in for the philandering Chief Executive and ends up being excellent at the job because of how authentic and earnest he is.

Not right now though. I’ll have to wait to watch it when I get home to my family because it’s family that matters in the end, right? Thanks for that lesson, James Carville

One more thing before I get back on the road.

Reply.

Subject: UNSUBSCRIBE