His handlers didn’t like the “Joe the Plumber” moment of candor by Obama. It made him look like he was going to redistribute the wealth of hard-working small business owners like Joe to others who hadn’t worked as hard, taken risks, and paid their dues. Obama’s unfortunate slip of the tongue resulted in that video being played over and over and it wasn’t helping his campaign.

His campaign advisors were brainstorming when one of them had a suggestion, “How about we counter with our own working-class guy – like a mechanic – a small town hard-working blue collar guy who understands how he will benefit”?

The group warmed to the idea. Who better to illustrate how Obama’s plan would result in a fairer economic climate for all – not just the “highly paid”?

And thus, the group begat “Mac the Mechanic.”

Mac wasn’t a real person, but an amalgam of auto mechanics everywhere. They’d create a Mac for Obama to meet and chat with, and use him to correct the public’s unfortunate misunderstanding of his new tax policies.

Joe the Plumber had left a mark. He had his fifteen minutes of fame when he challenged Obama on his tax policies and got the admission that "I think that when you spread the wealth around, it's good for everybody” statement by Obama.

Obama had let a momentary intrusion of truth throw a pipe wrench into the carefully constructed façade that only rich folks would pay taxes and anyone earning over $250,000 was rich.

No matter that Joe was right – right had nothing to do with it. The entire campaign was assembled to look and sound good to voters. The campaign was a gourmet dish made from a recipe of poll results, marketing studies and focus group choices. They used carefully chosen words to create a perception in the minds of the voter. In the case of Obama’s campaign promises, one must always parse the words carefully – it will always depend on what the definition of “is” is. It was delicately crafted, and it was working.

One of the staff had an uncle who owned a garage in Bugbutt, Ohio. After a little negotiating, he was willing to host the “accidental” meeting and allow signage to be changed for the “shoot.” Bugbutt was a small town, typical in every way to hundreds of other small towns in the country.

The garage was a two-deep, two-bay building with a wash/detail stall and a small office. There were typically four or five cars under repair at any one time. The owner would be a man called “Mac Entosh,” he would be the person to “accidentally” meet and converse with Obama at some upcoming photo opportunity.

The photo-op would happen in the week just prior to November fourth so any investigation into the veracity of Mr. Entosh couldn’t refute his statements until after the election. The mainstream print and television media wouldn’t check out anything that was pro-Obama anyway. After the election, even if it was learned that Mac Entosh was a fabricated plant, it would be too late to do anything about it. And of course, the campaign would vehemently deny playing any part in it.

The person to play Entosh was an actor named Allen Rench who had a couple of bit parts in two off-Broadway plays, “An Inconvenient Itch,” and “Smell me, I Stink.” Far from a mechanic, Allen didn’t even drive. He wan an environmental nutcase from the Big Apple and his preferred mode of transportation was a recumbent bicycle.

Mr. Rench was briefed on what he should ask Obama and how to answer any questions that Obama might ask him. He’d lament how awful the past eight years have been and how Obama’s policies would be good for the country. He’d also volunteer that McCain was too old and Palin was too inexperienced to run the country. They’d have him mention that he’d always been an Independent and had only recently decided on Obama – after he’d done a lot of research on the candidate’s policies.

The campaign’s covert-ops (they “fixed” things) managed to get a mechanic’s license, membership in a local union, and a clean slate of state and federal taxes for Mr. Entosh. He was squeaky clean. No matter that there wasn’t any such person, that un-person was a real upright citizen.

They decided that they’d make the stop in Bugbutt while en route from Toledo to Cleveland in the campaign bus. Bugbutt was about 60 miles southwest of Sandusky and only required a short detour. It was an opportunity for Obama to listen to small town Ohio – middle America, and show everyone how interested he was in the plight of ordinary citizens. It would be a brief rest stop highlighting Obama’s interest in the “working guy,” and (surprise!) it would be televised live.

~~~

Obama’s media staff had contacted the TV stations in Toledo, Cleveland, and Sandusky to let them know about a live coverage opportunity coming up in Bugbutt. Forewarned, the satellite trucks were already set up and waiting as the bus pulled up in front of Mac the Mechanic’s garage.

The talking heads rushed to position themselves so that the bus was a backdrop. Awaiting the descent of the Messiah, they droned on with the same blather about how it was such an honor for a small-town garage to host the great man. All three TV cameras were “rolling” as the bus door opened and Obama stepped down. He smiled at the cameras and waved as all three reporters rushed towards him. The Secret Service stepped in and kept them at a distance.

The shouted questions belied the goal of being the first to be acknowledged rather than getting any real response. They might as well be shouting “me first,” all at once. Finally, Obama stopped and pointed to the black female reporter from WWHO in Sandusky.

Geneva Convention introduced herself and asked, “What’s the purpose of your stop here in Bugbutt”? Obama smiled, she was pretty and if he had the time … but no, reason and fear of Michelle prevailed and he answered her question.

“Geneva, we heard about this small business owner, doin’ pretty well here in Bugbutt, and we wanted to make sure that other small business owners understand how my tax policies would help them.” “You know, the country got some bad information from Joe the Plumber, and we just wanted to set it right.”

The reporters were still all vying for another question as Allen Rench walked out of the shop office. Obama turned his attention to the man. He was fifty-ish, wearing a somewhat soiled blue uniform with “Mac” over one pocket. “Are you the owner”? asked Obama. “I am, for over twenty years, welcome Senator.” Mac Entosh extended his hand (a hand much too clean and manicured to be a real mechanic).

Following his script, Mac asked Obama “what made you stop here, Senator?” Obama replied, “I wanted to pick out a working guy, a small businessman at random, to see if my tax message is getting across to middle America.” Before they could continue, a secret service guy whispers something to Obama.

“Mac, maybe you could check out that SUV in front of the bus, they tell me that it appears to be leaking something.” “We can talk while you look at it.”

‘Oh crap,” thought Mac the Mechanic. This wasn’t in the script – he’d have to wing it. “Looks like frangelator fluid, Senator, I’ll have one of the guys take a look at it – it could be serious.”

Although the (real) mechanics who worked at the garage had come out to see Obama’s fancy tour bus, they quickly disappeared when they heard the actor begin to diagnose the leak. Let the actor figure it out – an actor playing a mechanic – this oughta be good.

Mac walked over to the black Surburban and peaked beneath it to see the puddle forming. “It could be a hoofnagle joint problem.” Mac was trying – where the hell are the real mechanic dudes? He didn’t even know their names, so he just called out, “Hey Jack, how ‘bout coming out here for a minute.” There was no one named Jack - and there was no response. “One of you guys wanna give me a hand here”? The actor was getting desperate. A voice came from somewhere in the garage, “you want a creeper, boss”?

“Yeah, let me have a metric one.” A creeper came rolling out of the left bay door. No one followed it.

For those auto-repair-challenged individuals out there, a creeper is a very low platform, only an inch or two off the ground, maybe 18” wide by 30-36” long, on casters so a mechanic can lay on it and roll himself under a vehicle to work on the underside. Mac had only seen a creeper once before and had little idea how to “work” it. He lay down and rolled under, smudging grease on his nose and banging his elbow in the process.

A voice came from the garage, “better tighten the floosy knob and check the warpnagle filter boss, you know how they tend to leak,” some stifled laughter escaped the confines of the shop.

Under the big Suburban, Mac looked around at the most unfamiliar expanse of mechanical stuff he’d ever seen – he had no idea what anything was. He turned his head just in time for a drip to land in his right ear. His reaction was to jerk his head up – it banged into something hard and greasy – that’s gonna leave a mark – then his head rebounded back down, missing the creeper and banging into the gravel and asphalt of the street. “Sonufabitch,” was his automatic reaction (a bleep at the television stations).

Obama had enough, this wasn’t working. “Mac, come on out, we’ll worry about the leak later, I want to ask you about your business.”

Mac was glad to hear that. He started to roll himself out and found that his pants leg was caught on something (must be that damn homfromer joint). “Coming out, Senator.” Mac jerked his leg left and right, trying to tug it free – only to imbed whatever it was more deeply. Mac was beginning to lose his temper.

The string of expletives started slowly, and intensified as Mac jerked his leg about, still trying to extricate his body from under the SUV. Now jerking the other leg, he banged it on a pooky strut and got it wedged between a tire and the finklesteen flange. Pretty much stuck now, the torrent of bleep-words erupted again and at full volume.

The sight of this overweight, 50-ish guy flailing about under the Suburban was being captured on three television stations – live, and in high definition. Laughter could now be heard coming from the garage – no longer suppressed, there were full-boat guffaws.

Obama called one of his agents over and said something to him. He was ready to cut his losses and get away from Bugbutt now. “Hey Mac, we need to get on down the road, can you get yourself out or do you need help”?

Mac gave one final superhuman contortion and broke free at the same time as an audible “RRRIIIPPP” could be heard loudly mixed in among the curse words. His uniform’s front zipper had given way, and there for all the world to see, were his overalls split wide open in the crotch area, exposing his private parts; he’d picked the wrong day to go commando. His toupee was now unattached and falling over his left ear, his body was spread-eagled and his “goodies” exposed to the television viewing audience. It was not Allen Rench’s proudest moment.

The next day, a few selected pieces were run on the television stations – mostly just showing Obama arriving at the garage (not much else could be shown to a family audience) but somehow, an unedited copy starring Allen Rench (playing Mac the Mechanic) in all his glory did find its way to YouTube. It was titled, “Mac the Mechanic – Exposed” and was viewed 455,812 times in the first three days.

Obama beat a hasty retreat, leaking Suburban and all. Although Mac the Mechanic wasn’t on record as having said the things that he’d been scripted to say, the campaign used the statements anyway. They maintained that Mac and Obama had a brief conversation away from the cameras before Obama left and that Mac had enthusiastically endorsed Obama’s tax policies.