So Rick Perry, a very desperate candidate, went to see Donald Trump and decided to run that old, old gag known as “birtherism,” up the old Confederate flag pole again. It’s the primal scream of a dying candidate in the primeval swamp of the rotting corpse of the Republican party. Perry, going the extra mile, offered to show his birth certificate “to anyone who wants to see it.” Newt Gingrich, anxious for any opening whatsoever, took up the cry, saying: “I’ll not only show you my birth certificate, I’ll strangle this puppy. In fact, I challenge Barak Obama to meet me tomorrow morning and prove that he’s willing to strangle a puppy or, for example, an Easter bunny or a Shetland pony, or better yet, all three, because quite frankly, anyone who isn’t willing to kill a small defenseless animal isn’t fit to be commander in chief of the United States of America.”
… As for all the GOP candidates raving (and drooling, barking, etc.) over which one of them has the craziest tax proposal, a pattern seems to be emerging: If the proposed tax plan, be it Herman Cain’s 999 or Perry’s flat 20% “just send in this little post card” or Michele Bachmann’s “I don’t think we should have to pay any tax at all,” the main criteria seems to be that if the plan would raise enough funds to pay for a weekly keg party for a family of eight, then it’s raising too much revenue. Meanwhile, on a positive note, the Asian markets rebounded strongly this week, apparently spurred by their excitement over the prospect of US adoption of a “frat tax.” …
Herman Cain says that he’ll figure out the details after he’s elected, don’t sweat the small stuff, like, “If you ask me who’s the leader of Ubeki-beki-beki-beki-stan… I’ll say I don’t know, do you?”
Michele Bachmann counters with, “I don’t even know wh
ere Libya is.”
Perry, not to be outdone, said, “Hell, I don’t even know where I am right now.”
Ron Paul, ever the Libertarian, came squealing back: “That’s nothing, I’m not even wearing any pants!”
I must say, I had a good time emceeing the Pickin’ For Petit benefit at Threadgill’s on Sunday. An impressive 500 people paid admission to hear the Booze Weasels, Van Wilks, the Flatlanders and Two Hoots & a Holler. I snuck in a short trio of murder ballads in between emcee duties. The silent auction raised a respectable amount of dough for Jimmy Petit, ace bass player, too. Other money attracting items including the handful of limited edition posters for the event, which featured a big red rooster, signed by the artiste, Joe Ely.
I collared several people who were kicking tires over at the auction table and put on the hard sell. I said, “Look, what’s $200? You can tell people, ‘Hey, guess what, I have Joe Ely’s cock hanging on my living room wall. Yeah, I stuck it up there with double sided tape but it kept falling off so I had to hang it on a nail. Joe Ely’s cock, there it is.'” I think you know what I’m going to say next–we sold a bunch of those rascals after that….