“I offer some candid, but not libelous, thoughts on some people.”

            — Former Gov. Jim Douglas on his forthcoming autobiography.

It’s so characteristic of Jim Douglas: he takes a step forward (“candid”) followed immediately by a backtrack to safer ground (“but not libelous”). There’s a tantalizing hint at some last-minute editing to remove some of the more intemperate musings of Our Dear Ex-Leader.

We thought this merited a little investigation. And in a midnight dumpster-diving expedition behind a certain Middlebury residence, a crack team of GMD operatives retrieved a plastic bag full of shredded papers. Then, through weeks of intensive effort, GMD’s Political Investigations Lab* confirmed our suspicions. The reconstructed papers contain passages excised from Douglas’ memoir, each page rubber-stamped “DO NOT PRINT” in red ink.

*Under the direction of PIL chief John Lydon, of course.

After the jump, we present selected “outtakes” for the edification of our readers.  

Well I remember the day I first met Peter Shumlin, then a freshman state legislator. “Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat, what a honker!” I thought, as the young Shumlin strode my way, his nose preceding him by some distance and a patently phony smile pasted on his face.  

He stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Peter Shumlin. My friends call me Pete, but you can call me Mr. Shumlin!” he laughed. I decided to give him the dead-fish special. He countered by clamping my fingers in a vise-like grip. This, I realized instantly, was not a man to be trifled with.

“Well, hello there,” I said, extricating my hand and trying not to grimace. “I’m Jim Douglas.”

“I know,” he said, glancing over my shoulder. “So, how’s tricks?”

“Oh, fine,” I said. “I look forward to working with you on–”

“That’s great,” he interrupted. “Excuse me, gotta run!”

I’m not normally one for strong language, but I clearly recall the thought forming in my mind: “Christ, what an asshole!”

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People have often asked me what I saw in Brian Dubie, my loyal Lieutenant Governor who never seemed to be around when you needed him. (Not that we ever really needed him.) Simple: I needed a number-two who could easily be outmaneuvered if he tried anything funny.

One day, Neale [Lunderville] and I were in the office going over some scheduling. “We’ve got a bunch of requests for personal appearances,” he said. “Nothing great; no public-works ribbon-cuttings or any good photo-ops.”

“So what do you suggest?” I inquired.

“Let’s send Flyboy,” he sneered. “He’s not doing anything.”

“Not so’s you can tell,” I said, and we shared a hearty laugh.

After Neale calmed down, a thoughtful look crossed his face. “You know, Your Grace” — that was his little term of craven endearment for me — “Someday this Dubie thing could bite us in the ass big-time.”

“How so?”

“Well, what if you decided to retire?” he said. “Or say Bernie Sanders has an embolism during one of his marathon shouting sessions, and you appoint yourself to the Senate? The Party would be stuck with Brian Dubie, and you’d be off to greener pastures.”

“Eh, screw ’em,” I said. “You know what they say: Apres moi, le deluge!”

We laughed again. Those were good times.

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When I met President Obama at the White House in 2009, he famously asked me how I managed to keep getting re-elected in such a strongly liberal state. “Famously” because, well, I repeat it every chance I get.

At the time, I gave him some fake-humble nonsense about being in touch with the people or whatever. But the real reason is clear: the Democrats were complete bunglers.

Look at the record. I barely squeaked into office the first time around in 2002. I got 45% of the vote, but the liberal electorate was split and I won in the House.

In 2004, the Dems put up Peter Clavelle. What a joke. Then in 2006, Scudder Parker. Sounds like the treasurer of the yacht club. What the heck is a “scudder,” anyway?

2008 was the crowning glory. All I had to do was beat that retread Tony Pollina and the unorganized and underfunded Gaye Symington. Easy peasy.

So now I have a lifelong reputation as a master politician. But when you look at that procession of no-hopers, it’s clear that a potted plant could have done as well. I continually marveled at the Democrats’ inability to get their act together in the Governor’s race, when otherwise they were kicking our you-know-whats all over the state.

And, if truth be told, I didn’t mind that we were losing all those other races. It cemented my reputation as a political genius — the only Republican who could win in Vermont. And because the Legislature usually had big Democratic majorities, nobody expected me to accomplish anything. Low expectations: the secret of my success.