All hell the mighty state.
by Susan Bankston
The goat rodeo that will become the 2016 Republican presidential primary has its bull’s-eye right here in Texas. And, darlin’, I use the term “bull” with all the irony I can muster.
I heard they were pondering just listing “Texan” as a ballot choice since so many old straight white guys from Texas were running that sorting them out required way too many laundry baskets. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect all of them were looking for any damn way to get out of Texas. In our defense, after I looked them over, I’d cheerfully buy all of them a one-way ticket anywhere outta anywhere near here.
You probably heard that Rick Perry announced on the electric teevee last month that running for president isn’t an IQ test. Lucky for him, right? He thinks it’s golf, where the low score wins. He’s ready to put the big pot in the little pot and fry the skillet to prove even dumb guys have a constitutional right to make a damn fools of themselves.
And then, as if to prove his point about the IQ thing, he announces that he doesn’t have to announce he’s running for president, because everybody already expects him to run for president. (Warning: if you read that last sentence twice, you’ll get dizzy.) Up until he said that, I did not know that his winkie was big enough for him to step on.
My Aunt Verdelia, a member of the Belles of Heaven Republican Women’s Club, contends that Rick Perry is not dumb. “He just has real bad luck when it comes to thinking,” she explains.
Then, to put a little misery into our tranquility, presidential contender Jeb Bush, another son-of-a-bush, says he’s from Florida, even though he was raised right here in Texas along with his brother—Dufus Dubya Bush. Jeb’s son, George P. Bush, just got elected land commissioner in Texas. Best I can figure, that means he’s the boss of dirt. That’ll be a big help if his dad runs for president. They say that Jeb is the smart one, but let’s face it—the Bush family has set that bar about as high as a cockroach’s belly. On digging day. In a wagon rut.
The next Texan at the presidential home plate is Ted Cruz. He thinks gay people are dandy, just so long as they don’t do anything gay—and by anything I mean the wild thing. Hoochie koochie, mattress thrashing, the horizontal bossa nova, noddlin’, or sparkin’. He also likes women just fine, so long as they don’t want to control anything—mainly their bodies. Or government. He’s as mean as 10 acres of snakes, and you can paint that on the barn with waterproof paint. As far as his time in the Senate, it can be easily summed up: he came, he went, he left a long skid mark.
And last, but certainly indeed least, is Rand Paul. I know he’s representing Kentucky, but he was also born in Texas and visits his parents here. I have to tell you the dead-solid perfect guaranteed truth: I’d vote for RuPaul before I’d vote for Rand Paul.
Is Rand Paul kinda weird? Would a two-ton hog make a lot of bacon? He wants to do away with Social Security, health insurance, and your mother’s favorite hankies.
Honestly, I’d rather wade through hell in quicksand than let another Texan in the White House.
The only hope we have is that they’ll come after each other with intent to barbeque. Hell, I’ll buy a ticket and tote the beer to that event.
But I have to admit that our neighbor to the east ain’t helping the situation. Louisiana governor Bobby Jindal blamed LGBTQ acceptance for Hurricane Katrina and the devastating tornado that leveled the town of Joplin, Missouri. Damn, y’all, that’s a lot of blow jobs. Well done.
Yeah, I said that, but don’t tell Momma.
Susan Bankston lives in Richmond, Texas, where she writes about her hairdresser at The World’s Most Dangerous Beauty Salon, Inc., at juanitajean.com.
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