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Politician Com'n to a One Question Village.

Village spends time dur'n campaign season get'n ready.

Sit'n stones around the fire pit gets all polish'd. Granite stage ledge gets spiffy'd up and the two Republicans in the village plant their packy'derm sign along the road entrance to Whiz Bang.

Same sign they been use'n since William Jennings Bryant's visit. Think a new sign every fifty year or so would be apropriate. But, what'ya gonna do? They be Republicans.

Village Democrats tie the village burro, wear'n a straw fedora, to the Republican's sign. Both stand there surrounded by piles of donkey poop in all their glory.

Way back, politicians first came to Whiz Bang rid'n a horse. Then Tin Lizzy's, follow'd by Jeeps. Now they come in somethin' they call an R.V.

Don't know quite exactly what that means, but I assume it stands for Rich Vultures or Rancid Venues.

Either fits, I reckon. Least-way from what I've been see'n and hear'n of late.

Over at Sally's Saloon, plates of sandwiches are set out and extra ice came early this morn'n. Be a lot of politic'n there come dark. Might down a couple mugs of suds myself.

Yeppers. Been a bit since I foam'd my upper lip.

Villagers have a nifty way of attend'n these political hog wallops. Everyone puts on hip waders and sit silently listen'n to the gas bags spew their stench.

This year all the villagers will be carry'n black balloons. I be think'n it's a nice touch to go with the hip waders.

Most of these political reprobates hate com'n to the village to campaign. They only get one question asked from the village concensus. Usually asked by a village elder.

Last election time, Hanna was given the task. This year, I was chosen to ask the question. I be ready to do so.

That million dollar R.V. just turn'd onto the path leading to the village. I waddled down the hill in my hip waders (they get'n harder to walk in the older I gets) with my black balloon's string, stapled to my walk'n stick.

Can see Hanna and the other elders greet'n the gas bag contingent. Me? I refuse to shake the hands of low-life vermin. Got shingles do'n so once. Still hurts when rain comes.

As a village elder I usually set on the stage ledge with the other elders. This time I plop'd my old butt on a sit'n rock next to Otis. Anna came over and sat aside me, chew'n on a Tootsie Pop.

Otis start'd pull'n on his butt. "What the hell's the matter, Otis?" I asked.

"Gots the hemmeroids," he said.

"Use axle grease, then!" I said. "Can't have you walk'n around dig'n at yourself. Ain't cooth."

Hanna began introduc'n the crooks and gas bags that came to slop up votes. Everyone went silent as the grave, with black balloons float'n above them.

Then came the promises written on air, concerns wrap'd in genuine imitation hide and more crap than a horse barn. I have to admit those political snakes sure put on a good show of illusion.

Finally, one of the main gas bags said, "I would entertain questions."

I can imagine what he thought, look'n out on the sea of people wear'n hip waders and carry'n black balloons. Probably thought we were all cretins. I could tell them politicos be get'n nervous, 'cause of the massive silence.

Pull'n myself up use'n my walk'n stick, I said the follow'n:

"20 year has pass'd since you gots elected. Each time you have promised many things. None of which, has come into be'n. A full third of children in this State live in poverty. Another third live on the edge of poverty. One in three be without work or a paycheck. Yet you come back carry'n the same message every time."

At that I threw a small leather bag onto the stage at his feet.

"That bag contains two gold double eagles, a hundred dollar saddle blanket bill, six real silver dollars, one twenty cent piece, six half cent pieces, four two cent pieces, twelve three cent pieces and two of my old gold teeth. Be dental gold. 18 carrot. If'n our votes don't have any sway over you, maybe this pouch of wealth be enough to bribe you."

"Here be the question. Why bother com'n to promise what you know you won't do anywho? Make you look like a dumb ass."

With that, I sat down on my sit'n rock, slap'n Otis's hand away from his backside.

Later, at Sally's Saloon, I put on a big foam mustache and kept it there all night.

Politicians or jigger bites? I choose jigger bites.

Originally posted to Wendy's Wink on Thu Jan 26, 2012 at 09:06 AM PST.

Also republished by Protest Music.

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