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“I don’t know what he knows about,
but women sure ain’t one of them,” said Lonnie Johnson, licking
and sealing another envelope.
“You should have enough couth to
understand the potential repercussions,” is how Peetie Womac
summed it up, shaking his head in delight. “Say whatever you
want, but even a mesquite stump knows enough to leave women and
kids alone.”
Perhaps you heard Republican
vice-presidential candidate, Sarah Palin, share her humor at the
Republican National Convention when she asked delegates if they
knew the difference between a hockey-mom and a pit-bull:
lipstick.
Palin happens to be one of those
self-described hockey-moms. She also happens to be gun-friendly
and unimpressed by companies and people who try to spook her
into doing what they want. She was serving as Alaska’s governor
when presidential candidate John McCain came calling.
Within a day or so of Palin’s
joke, opposing presidential candidate Barak Obama derided one of
his opponent’s plans by saying even if you put lipstick on a
pig, it’s still a pig.
“What would he know about pigs,” huffed Hooter. “A Chicago
politician from Hawaii who sends a letter to a feedlot
encouraging them to let union organizers force their employees
to join the union rather than letting their employees decide for
themselves whether or not they want to be part of one.”
Keep in mind, though members of
the Rio Rojo Cattlemen’s Association (RRCA) appreciated McCain
for his well documented military service and subsequent civil
service, they weren’t agog with him—a record on agriculture
policy shorter than a midget’s bootjack, and more belief in
government intervention than the boys thought necessary.
In fact, when the presidential
candidates finally emerged, cousin Charlie pointed out, “It’s a
little like picking between drought and a tornado. At least with
drought you’ve got some options, though, and the chance to come
back to fight another day.”
But that lipstick remark changed
everything.
Whether or not Obama was aiming
at Palin directly with his remark, the boys were astounded by
the lack of common sense.
“You alienate a big chunk of the
nation you need to vote for you,” said Peetie. “Can you imagine
what he’d do for us with the rest of the world through his
foreign policy?”
“You mean his notion of sitting
down for unconditional conversations with dictators, some of
whom are linked to terrorist attacks on our country?” Hooter
said. “I suppose he would have invited Stalin and Hitler to tea
to visit about what was troubling them.”
Aunt Pinky was a mite more
direct: “That youngster needs a whippin’.”
Grass-Roots Punkin’ Chunkin
So it was that the RRCA had kicked off its Pigs for
President Campaign. Basically, this involved sending fliers to
every woman’s group they could find an address for. The flier
was simply a caricature of Obama with pig-shaped ears and
over-sized lips painted with glistening bright red lipstick.
“Pigs for President,” blazed across the top, and “Just Say No,”
along the bottom.
Now, the RRCA was o stranger to
political action. Some of the members knew Senators and
Congressmen; more knew folks who knew them. They’d pooled their
money over the years to support or oppose state and national
efforts they believed diluted their freedom. They weren’t above
some good old-fashioned mud-slinging, either, if it was
warranted. Especially Hooter.
Readers of this column might recall the notorious skirmish
Hooter had with Eunice Nicklecock and the People for the Ethical
Treatment of All Life (PETAL).
When PETAL said they had research
proving that corn and soybeans had human feelings, too, Hooter
enlisted Wild Bill Jimminez to load up the tanks of his crop
duster with hog manure and dust the PETAL headquarters and
parking lot. Wild Bill was doing loops in Canada before they
knew what hit ‘em.
When PETAL took out an ad in a
national newspaper railing against the senseless fire ant
slaughter going on in the Southwest, Hooter had another
friend—on a back-haul from the Big Apple—swing by in the dead of
night to stuff wasps through PETAL’s mail slot.
Ultimately, Hooter had sent Eunice over the edge, scaring the
bejeebers out of her with his white armadillos and the legend
surrounding them.
Self-Fulfilling Self-Destruction
None of those successes compared to the Pigs for President
campaign, though. As more fliers went out, exponentially more
phone calls came in from around the nation, offering names of
groups that needed to receive the flier, requesting fliers to
send out themselves, offering whatever support was needed.
“Apparently Mr. Obama struck a
nerve,” said Peetie when some reporters came to see how it was
that Apache Flats had become the epicenter of the effort.
“Apparently some voters expect more decorum.”
“Have you done any straw polling
so see what impact this effort is having on the campaign?”
wondered a reporter.
“No, other than Aunt Pinky,”
replied the RRCA president.
“Aunt who?”
“Aunt Pinky,” said Peetie,
pointing to Hooter’s aunt who was watching the interview take
place with about half of the rest of Apache Flats.
“Ma’m, how do you think it’s
looking for candidate Obama?” asked another reporter, sticking a
microphone in her face.
“See that cockroach there?” said
Aunt Pinky, pointing to an oblivious intruder crawling across
the wooden walkway. Aunt Pinky smashed it with a sudden, quick
blow of her cane. “’Nuff said.”
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