In the spirit of Paul Harvey
AND NOW… THE REST OF THE STORY
By Phillip C. Parrish, Republican Candidate for Governor 2026
Good day, Minnesota.
You’ve met the kingmakers.
You’ve seen their glossy mailers, heard their syrupy radio spots, watched their hand-picked “moderates” fold like cheap lawn chairs every November.
But you haven’t heard… the rest of the story.
Let me take you back—way back—to 2003. A Navy intelligence officer—LCDR Phillip C. Parrish, service number redacted—hunched over grainy satellite feeds in an undisclosed location, during Operation Iraqi Freedom. Twenty-one years of service, from 1998 to 2019, watching the uniparty’s global franchise in real time.
We were told we were exporting democracy.
What we exported was instability—on purpose.
What we imported was lies—by the container load.
I watched the same bipartisan playbook unfold overseas that now poisons Minnesota:
• Destabilize a region (check: topple a dictator, leave a vacuum, watch the warlords rush in).
• Lie to the public (check: WMD briefings that melted under scrutiny like snow in March).
• Steal elections (check: ink-stained fingers in Baghdad, while ballot harvesters worked overtime in Anbar).
• Unleash heinous tactics on American soil (check: Fast-forward to 2020—FBI pipe bombs, National Guard rooftops in D.C., and “mostly peaceful” riots that somehow only burned conservative neighborhoods).
Same uniparty. Same consultants. Same lake houses.
Fast-forward. That same LCDR—now a graying scrapper with a classified knee injury and a worse opinion of bureaucrats—watches his state slip into one-party quicksand. Taxes up. Schools down. Crime… well, let’s just say the welcome mat in Minneapolis now reads “Come and Take It—If You Dare.”
Enter the kingmakers—domestic division.
They didn’t ride in on white stallions. They slithered in on expense accounts.
Picture a mahogany-paneled room in Edina. Crystal decanters. Cuban cigars that cost more than your average Iron Ranger makes in a day. A PowerPoint clicks: “Electability Index—2022 Edition.”
Slide 1: “Avoid anyone who quotes the Constitution verbatim.”
Slide 2: “Bonus points if they golf with the DFL chair.”
Slide 3: “Lose gracefully—keeps the consulting gigs coming.”
They laughed. They toasted. They lost.
And every time a conservative fighter—someone who’d actually balance a budget without balancing it on the backs of farmers—started climbing the polls, the same hiss echoed from the back row:
“Too extreme. Can’t win. Bad for the brand.”
Brand?
The brand is Minnesota. The brand is freedom.
But to these silk-suited serpents, the brand is apparently perpetual defeat with a side of donor steak.
Now here’s the part Paul Harvey would lean in for…
In 2016, one of those kingmakers—let’s call him “Consultant X”—pocketed $1.4 million to run a U.S. Senate campaign. The candidate lost by 12 points. Consultant X bought a cabin on Lake Minnetonka.
In 2018, same consultant, different candidate, same script—another million, another lake house.
By 2022, Consultant X had three lake houses… and Minnesota had zero Republican governors.
Coincidence?
Or the longest con in prairie politics?
But wait—there’s more.
Buried in a 2023 FEC filing, you’ll find a $50,000 wire from a DFL-aligned Super PAC to a “bipartisan outreach” LLC.
The LLC’s registered agent? Consultant X’s college roommate.
The outreach? A whisper campaign calling a conservative challenger “divisive.”
The result? Another kingmaker coronation. Another red wave that turned out to be a puddle.
And now… the rest of the story.
Those lake houses? They’re up for sale.
The mahogany room? The cigars are stale.
The PowerPoint? It crashes every time they type the word “Trump.”
Because out on the gravel roads, in the VFW halls, at the kitchen tables where grandmothers count pennies for insulin—something’s stirring.
It’s not a focus group. It’s not a poll.
It’s a reckoning.
They told us we couldn’t win without their blessing.
They told us to sit down, shut up, and send money.
They told us electability was a fancy word for surrender.
But here’s what they didn’t count on:
A 21-year intelligence officer who’s stared down worse than a room full of consultants.
A candidate who’d rather lose fighting than win kneeling.
And a million Minnesotans who are done being ruled by reptiles in loafers.
So to the kingmakers, one last broadcast from the heartland:
Your venom’s gone stale. Your scales are shedding.
And the people—the real kingmakers—are tuning in to a new frequency.
It’s the sound of ballots dropping like thunder.
It’s the sound of a party remembering whose side it’s on.
It’s the sound of a governor’s race where the only crown is the one the voters place.
And that, Minnesota… is the rest of the story.
Good day.
Phillip C. Parrish