Pack a’ Liberials!
“Romney, Romney, Romney,” said the tall dude in the YMCA locker-room in nearby Canandaigua yesterday (Wednesday, February 29, 2012) after I worked out.
Mitt Romney had just won Republican primaries in Michigan and Arizona.
I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually three days per week, about two-three hours per visit.
The tall dude seemed to be a closet Republican.
“The Republicans can’t seem to field a viable, respectable candidate,” he said.
“What we get is these flakes that represent some fringe element, or Romney, who seems more a candidate for Best Actor.
Say whatever’s needed to stay on top.”
“So bring back Dubya,” said Stumpy, an older guy who like me had a stroke that apparently wiped out part of his vision.
“Dubya is by far the worst president we’ve ever had. You know how I feel about Dubya.”
“Lord-a-mercy!” I thought to myself. “I’m in a pack a’ Liberials.” (Gasp!)
Here I was expecting tub-thumping bellicose Conservatives a la Rush Limbaugh.
Just the same, I better not say anything, and keep from laughing.
Yrs Trly avoids blogging about politics and religion, but this blog is writing itself.
“Seems ya gotta have a screw loose to run for president anyway,” tall-dude said.
“Too much scrutiny. The average Joe couldn’t put up with that.”
My blowhard brother-in-Boston, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say, is a tub-thumping bellicose Conservative.
He accuses me of being a freeloader, living on handouts, because I’m retired and collect Social-Security.
No matter I paid into Social-Security all my working life.
That Social-Security Trust Fund could pay for military adventures in Iraq and Afghanistan.
To my humble mind a six-figure salary, what my brother collects, is a handout.
I respect what he does, and he does it well, but no job is worth six figures. Not when people are starving in Appalachia, and children are dying in Africa.
Romney doesn’t pass the ‘protect-the-unborn’ litmus-test, or think separation of church and state is sickening. So Santorum goes ballistic.
(Or does he? Wait until next week!)
And when I hear Rush Limbaugh, feverishly bouncing at his gold-plated microphone, all I can think is “Easy now, Rush. Try to control yourself. You been hittin’ that OxyContin again, havencha.”
“The tall dude sounds like a New York Republican,” my wife said later. “Fiscally Conservative but liberal on social issues.”
“The kind Republicans now run away from,” I said. “People like Barber Conable and Amo Houghton, reprehensible and Of-the-Devil; Republican in name only.”
Where is Newty-Newt, colonizing the Moon, and open marriage?
• “Liberial” is how my loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston insists “liberal” is spelled. (Recently it’s “liberila” or “libieral.”) —Mis-spellings don’t matter, unless the media makes the mistake.
• “Canandaigua” (“cannan-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 14 miles away. —We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.
• “Dubya” is of course George W. Bush, 43rd president of the United States.
Mitt Romney had just won Republican primaries in Michigan and Arizona.
I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually three days per week, about two-three hours per visit.
The tall dude seemed to be a closet Republican.
“The Republicans can’t seem to field a viable, respectable candidate,” he said.
“What we get is these flakes that represent some fringe element, or Romney, who seems more a candidate for Best Actor.
Say whatever’s needed to stay on top.”
“So bring back Dubya,” said Stumpy, an older guy who like me had a stroke that apparently wiped out part of his vision.
“Dubya is by far the worst president we’ve ever had. You know how I feel about Dubya.”
“Lord-a-mercy!” I thought to myself. “I’m in a pack a’ Liberials.” (Gasp!)
Here I was expecting tub-thumping bellicose Conservatives a la Rush Limbaugh.
Just the same, I better not say anything, and keep from laughing.
Yrs Trly avoids blogging about politics and religion, but this blog is writing itself.
“Seems ya gotta have a screw loose to run for president anyway,” tall-dude said.
“Too much scrutiny. The average Joe couldn’t put up with that.”
My blowhard brother-in-Boston, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say, is a tub-thumping bellicose Conservative.
He accuses me of being a freeloader, living on handouts, because I’m retired and collect Social-Security.
No matter I paid into Social-Security all my working life.
That Social-Security Trust Fund could pay for military adventures in Iraq and Afghanistan.
To my humble mind a six-figure salary, what my brother collects, is a handout.
I respect what he does, and he does it well, but no job is worth six figures. Not when people are starving in Appalachia, and children are dying in Africa.
Romney doesn’t pass the ‘protect-the-unborn’ litmus-test, or think separation of church and state is sickening. So Santorum goes ballistic.
(Or does he? Wait until next week!)
And when I hear Rush Limbaugh, feverishly bouncing at his gold-plated microphone, all I can think is “Easy now, Rush. Try to control yourself. You been hittin’ that OxyContin again, havencha.”
“The tall dude sounds like a New York Republican,” my wife said later. “Fiscally Conservative but liberal on social issues.”
“The kind Republicans now run away from,” I said. “People like Barber Conable and Amo Houghton, reprehensible and Of-the-Devil; Republican in name only.”
Where is Newty-Newt, colonizing the Moon, and open marriage?
• “Liberial” is how my loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston insists “liberal” is spelled. (Recently it’s “liberila” or “libieral.”) —Mis-spellings don’t matter, unless the media makes the mistake.
• “Canandaigua” (“cannan-DAY-gwuh”) is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 14 miles away. —We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered.
• “Dubya” is of course George W. Bush, 43rd president of the United States.
posted by BobbaLew at 12:14 PM
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