Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Bitter lying elitists

After I finished cleaning my guns this morning -- one, a double-barreled Super Soaker with five reloadable water cartridges, the other an automatic pressure-gauge Sears steel model that can blow through one caulk cartridge a minute -- I went out to my shed, where I keep my bowling ball, my fishing gear, my ridin' lawnmower (a John Deere, of course), my power tools and my back issues of Car and Driver, to look for my power washer. By the way, that's me with the Super Soaker. Couldn't find the damn thing, as I haven't been able to for the sixteen years I've lived in my house. Did happen to find, though, the hacksaw I used to cut off my right ring finger and pinkie 'bout ten or twelve years back, when my neighbor's damn dog -- yep, the one with rabies -- bit the damn things off after I teased the lil' sumbitch about that stupid-ass patch across his eye. You'd think that stupid-ass dog ain't never had a beer bottle waived in his face, going "Here, dummy, here dummy, whose gonna' kick my ass now dummy?"

Just bit the damn things off. Just like that. Two fingers . . . up and gone.

Told my slack-ass wife about it when she got home from her shift waitressin' over at the Waffle House. You'd think she'd sew the damn things back on . . . but, hell no, she just stood there, sayin', "Dumbshit, this, dumbshit that, dumbshit, this," bitchin' up a storm 'cause I ain't unplugged the damn drain in the bathroom yet . . . the same one I ain't even allowed to go in.

"Fuck this shit," I told her, like I always do. Had to staple the damn things back on with my power riveter, which I did find near the power flusher I use the drain the cesspool in my backyard.

Anyway, back to what I was sayin' about whatever it was I was talking about. Right, my power washer. Fuck it. Let that shit grow on the deck. Give the wife something else to bitch about.

So I went inside -- remind me to fix that damn hole in the screen door -- and figured I'd read the paper, see how ole' Number 33 doing in the standings (My liberal neighbor with the McCain sign likes little Jeff Gordon 'cause he's just so damn cute. Of course, he's just so damned pussy-whipped by that damn uppity wife of his, who thinks she's so great since she got to be shift manager at the Waffle House instead of my wife. Does he know that little bun in the oven she's cartin' around ain't his? Don't think so!). Then I came across this:

"You've got conservative whites here, and I think there are some whites who are probably not ready to vote for an African-American candidate. I believe, looking at the returns in my election, that had Lynn Swann [2006 Republican Pennsylvania gubernatorial candidate] been the identical candidate that he was --well-spoken, charismatic, good-looking -- but white instead of black, instead of winning by 22 points, I would have won by 17 or so."

And then I thought: Who the hell is Eddie Rendell, the damn Pennsylvania governor, to tell me I shouldn't vote for Lynn Swann because he's a Negro! Hell, I would have if I could have, but I don't live in Pennsylvania. Here's some news, Eddie: I live in Maryland, and I'd vote for Gilbert Arenas, Frank Robinson or Paul Blair if they ever ran for governor. Shitfire, I'd vote for Alex Ovechkin, and he's a goddamn, mutherfucking' goddamn sumbitch fucking RUSSIAN! Hear me, Eddie?

Ole' Eddie was trying to explain that even a good-looking, educated, fancy, articulate (which is what "well-spoken" black men like to be called, by the way, when white people talk about how someone being black just ain't all that big of deal to them) black man like Barack Obama would have trouble gettin' people like me to vote for him. Let's just see about that. And let's just see if I make it a point to go up to Pennsylvania to buy Fred and Marissa's new baby boy some fireworks this weekend. May as well change your state slogan to, "You've got a friend with a pointy-headed white sheet on his head in Pennsylvania."

So Barack is all in trouble now because he said regular working guys like me are all pissed off and "bitter" and mad and determined to "cling" on to our guns and God and unfinished home improvement projects 'cause we've taken one up the ass on the economy. Now, Barack is all articulate (see, Eddie, was that hard?) and everything, but I gotta say, he's got this all wrong. I'm really happy I voted for George Bush twice because his economic plan has worked, even though it may not seem like it. Here's how it works: Ole' W told me that if I wanted to make sure homosexuals did not start teaching in public schools or joining us on Harley weekends, or if we wanted to make that we could sing songs about our Lord, Jesus Christ, before high school football games and put up Christmas lights in our front yards or just get out there and shoot some squirrels or some Jews who were trying to rip me off on my investments, I needed to let him invade Iraq, give rich people more money, make health care more expensive and less accessible and make sure we let the big companies who sponsor NASCAR races move their factories overseas. Well, I thought about it. And then I'm, like, hell yeah -- I'm in.

So here comes ole' Hillary Clinton sayin' that Barack is all elitist and everything, looking down on people like us. And I'm like, who's exactly us, Hillary? I made $10,500 dollars last year sellin' my wife's shit on Ebay and my wife made $23,100, not including bachelor parties, that she reported to the I.R.S. Damn, that woman made $109 million over the last ten years! No wonder she's doin' shots of Crown Royal with her beer -- it's the damn shit that comes in a velvet cloth. Hillary, if you wanna' come down and party with us at The Outhouse sometime when we're throwing 'em back on a Friday night, talking about how happy we are that are major companies are shutting down and moving to China and all those Diarrheastans or whatever the fuck they're called, order some Jim Beam, or everyone will think you're some kind of elitist. Shit, I'd order you a Rolling Rock, but they done got up and left Latrobe for St. Louis, who I think is a Catholic Saint or something. So we don't drink that shit no more.

What was I sayin'? Oh, yeah. So Hillary's all, like, "Hey, I learned to shoot gun right there in Scranton, PA, when I was teenage girl working part-time at Dunder-Mifflin. In fact, you know Pam, the adorable, smart, misunderstood, underestimated and shapely young woman who answers the phones there? I had that job before I went to Wellesley and Yale, fine public colleges near Harvard, where Senator Obama got his degrees. Now, I don't want to suggest that being a smart, articulate, clean and well-behaved black man in the early 1980s had anything to do with it. Senator Obama, for all our differences, should be proud that a young black man who had a black father and attended Muslim elementary schools outside the United States and went to church pastored by a crazy black minister who hates white people could attend a school like Harvard. And as much as I would have liked to have dated Jim, I couldn't resist a certain future governor of Arkansas I would meet at Yale, which is a two-year community college that specializes in worker retraining programs. From the moment he said to me, 'I like your curves and the way your hair falls down your back,' I knew he had saved those words especially for me and would never again say them to another woman."

I'm listening to this, thinkin', "Is this woman related to my wife? Do any of them ever stop talking? Goddamn!"

Then I turned on my new plasma, which I just bought for $1250 over at SmartTech (that's because I have the V.I.P. credit line), and I'll be damned if I don't see the Big Dog himself, telling reporters that Barack Hussein Obama, who Hillary is pretty sure is a Christian, "as far as [she] knows," out there doin' his thing with reporters. He was talking and all about his campaign stops and all the support for Hillary he sees out there. So he says he sees these signs that say, "I'm not bitter, I'm not bitter." But, it turns out, that all these reporters covering the Big Dog said that no
such signs existed. Could it be that he just made all this up? Now, all my drinking buddies down at The Outhouse make up shit all the time, but that's just what you'd expect from a bunch of happy, underemployed, borderline alcoholics (By the way, my buddy's got this really great shirt that says, "I don't have a drinking problem. I get a beer, open it up, drink it down. No problem." Funny shit, that shirt). Hell, I fib every now and then, like when the wife asks me if I'd been down at Hooters eatin' wings and onion rings with that shifty ole' Mike Henley and I'm like, no. And she says, "Are you sure?" And I says, "Yeah, I know where I was. I was volunteering at the shelter cooking up dinner for the homeless." And she says, "Why don't I believe you?" And I says, "What kind of relationship do we have if there is no trust?" And then I stomp out to . . . you guessed it . . . Hooters, to meet up for a second round of wings and rings and beers with that shifty ole' Mike Henley. Ole' Jack Ellerbee joins us every once in a while since I taught him this trick.

Shit, I love her, though. I still keep this picture of us on our wedding day on my dashboard.

I just don't know who to vote for. There's John McCain, but I'm not sure he knows what day it is most of the time. And, when you really think about it, he's just too damn liberal, although I'm not sure why, other than Tim Russert said he's some sort of "maverick," who I thought was Tom Cruise in that movie about guns. Whatever. Plus, some of my neighbors down at the trailer park aren't too happy with his plan to foreclose their homes. "Shouldn't of borrowed the money," he says. Well, no shit, Sherlock. Maybe next time they'll rob a bank, like all them sumbitchs over at that Stanley company did. Was that the company that makes power tools? Well, they suck, compared to DeWalt. There's Hillary, the blue-collar mama who made a $109 million with some help from the Big Dog since leaving the White House. Not a whole lotta people around here doin' Crown Royal shots in designer pantsuits with $300 haircuts. Really, though, could you see Hillary hitched to the back of a Harley gettin' ready for Memorial Day weekend? I don't know. How would I talk to her? "Hey, Hillary, could you hold the hose while I drain my radiator? " And do you guys have any turpentine to wash the damn paint off my wife's fingernails? I tried to tell the missus that nail polish ain't the shit you buy at Home Depot; you buy it at Rite-Aid, same place you buy condoms and lotions and jellies and all that kinky shit SHE's into. Then there's Obama: He's clean, well-spoken and articulate (and it's African-American, Eddie, not black) but is somehow under the impression that people are angry, resentful and "bitter" that things are tough at home and we ain't killed that asshole Bin Laden yet, although we did nail that sumbitch Saddam, and that has made the world safer, at least according to ole' W. Hillary saw that coming and voted for it, even though she says she didn't, except that she did, sort of, kind of, but not really, even though she should take credit for it, but that's not her style.

So I think this happy redneck is gonna vote for the woman, even though she'll probably just go on and on and on about how this or that ain't quite right, and how it wasn't her decision to go to the Jack-in-the-Box but mine, even though she made it, but only did so because she thought it was what I wanted, even though it wasn't.

Y'all think about it. If there is one person is this country who isn't bitter, who doesn't lie and isn't an elitist, it's Hillary Clinton. Hop in the back of my truck, babe. We're gonna ride this out together.

1 comment:

Carlos said...

Its funny - I heard that comment from Obama as I was cleaning a gun I had just used in a wildcat cartridge competition shoot...the reaction in Philadelphia was not a good one for Obama...I'm surprised the polls haven't reflected it yet.

If the "guns and faith" get brought up at the debate, and Hillary isn't a total ass about it, Obama will have a tough time winning the state.