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Sunday, July 20, 2014

Rush Revere and the First Patriots: A Review

I have never fancied myself a reviewer of books. I read a lot and either I like a book or not (if not, I will put it aside unfinished). In most cases, I may not be able to say why I did or didn’t like a book, I just liked it or I didn’t; that’s all there was to it. However, after reading Rush Limbaugh’s latest, “Rush Revere and the First Patriots, I felt compelled to offer a reasoned explanation for crowing about it to my friends and giving this book two hearty thumbs up.
Rush Revere and the First Patriots is the second book written by Limbaugh in the genre of reading for young adults and children, although adults will find the book fascinating as well. (I have not read his first book as yet, but I have just ordered it for my Kindle.)
I read a lot of history. The books most enjoyed are those that get “up close and personal” to the subject(s). Recitations of dates and events (all necessary) are dry when they skirt around the personalities involved with the dates and events. Too often, we are left with paper thin caricatures of the people we’re interested in learning something about.
There is an axiom in the world of writers and editors that says, Show, don’t tell. Again, too often, we are left with stale, inadequate descriptions of how characters look, we read about what they do, but we read on without ever knowing what makes that character tick. Of course, unless a biographer has documentation recording the actual words of a historical figure, he or she cannot put words in that person’s mouth, and that’s a shame – it makes the figure more real.
Limbaugh, using easy to follow language appropriate for his target audience – young readers, takes the reader into the minds of such erstwhile patriots as Patrick Henry, Samuel Adams and cousin John, George Washington, Paul Revere and Benjamin Franklin. There is even an interview with His Majesty King George III, this all made possible by Rush Revere’s time traveling horse Liberty. It sounds strange but this is a very compelling aspect of the story. The reader turns the pages wondering where Liberty and Rush Revere (and whichever students go along) are headed next, and what interesting historical figures they will encounter.
The author takes pains to put a personality on his characters. Through the use of dialogue he offers his audience insight into what the Founding Fathers were up against in the initial struggle in dealing with King George. Rush, Liberty and two students time travel to Windsor Castle to have a chat with the king. After some trouble getting around the guards, they are granted an audience with His Majesty.
Rush Revere says to the king: “We are here to tell you that the people are not happy in America.”
An unconcerned George replies, “And what is that to me?”
Revere, taken aback by the king’s seeming indifference, explains that the colonists’ unhappiness is due to all of the taxes levied against them, particularly the Stamp Act. Revere says that, “They left this country looking for freedom and the chance to really succeed with their lives.” The king replies in a way that illustrates that he cares little for the dreams of the colonists, and tells Revere that if he thinks this information is important for him to hear, then “You are a foolish man.” Rush Revere persists in his unwelcome message until King George lays it on the line: “The New World is our land and the people are ours. They must share their wealth with the homeland, they must pay taxes to England, and they must obey the king.”
Anyone reading this response will know what the colonists were up against – a tyrant who had few, if any, of their interests at heart. This is a picture perfect insight into the psyche of the King of England and the American colonies. This is showing, not just telling. This is peeling away paper thin veneer and allowing the reader to see and realize the depth of personality that defined the real King George. We know who he was now, we have read his words, we have felt his scorn, and we know the kind of man with whom  the colonists were dealing. It is easier now to understand the anger and frustration of the first patriots, the source of their desire for freedom, and why they were compelled to fight the Revolutionary War and escape the yoke of the English king.
There are many examples Limbaugh provides for us to gain greater appreciation and insight into the minds and motivations of the Founding Fathers. This is a great read for children and young adults, and even for the older folks who enjoy a good story, well told, and have a hankering to gain insight into the history of their country. There should be more history books like this one.






Thursday, July 17, 2014

BO to See His Comeuppance

This b.s. on the border is exactly typical of this administration – it’s illegal, it’s secretive and it’s being lied about. El Semi Uno is, as usual, uninvolved and, instead of addressing the problem, i.e., acting presidential and helping to solve the problem, is out flying around in Air Force One giving campaign speeches. Isn’t it amazing how much damage one man can do to a country in a short time? My fear is he’s not done yet. He’s got another year and a half to make things even worse.
Particularly galling is everyone of BO’s schmos, the entire regime is lying to the rest of the country. No one there knows where the illegals are being sent, how many are being sent where, and no one knows there names or anything about them, not even of they have a communicable diseases or not. Of course if an American speaks against allowing illegal immigrants into the country, he or she is branded a racist.
I had just returned from interviewing El Semi Uno about his crap jobs initiative – that being the one in the Middle East and North Africa, certainly not in the U.S. when the border issue hit the news. I did an about-face and drove back to D.C. to have another chat with him.
I parked in a parking lot near the Not-So-White House. It was no surprise he was miffed when I strolled casually in the Ovoid Space. As usual, he insulted me by asking how I managed to sneak by security. To mess with his head, I replied I’d turned myself into a housefly and buzzed right on in. I punctuated my remark by zipping my fly, an action that caught his eye, as I suspected it would.
Resigned to my presence, he asked, “Whadya want this time, Newshawk?”
“Well, sir,” says I, “this business where you and your schmos secretly arranged an invasion of illegals from south of the border really sucks. You have some nerve. Those people aren’t welcome here and there is no way this country, in the condition in which you have rendered it, can absorb the expense of them.”
He shrugged and said nothing.
“The places they’re being sent are not able to afford them, “ I reiterated. “Most are stressed by your asinine healthcare program and your no jobs policies.”
“I have no such policies.”
“Of course you do.”
“No I don’t,” he lied.
“Do so.”
“Do not,” he lied again.
“Come on, don’t lie. Oh, I forgot, you can’t help yourself.”
I walked toward his desk and as I approached I took note of an architectural plan on his desk. It appeared to depict a very large building .”
Say, whatcha building? Looks like an indoor mall or something. It’s huge.”
“It’s the mansion I plan to build north of Chicago when I leave the presidency.”
“Boy, George Soros has been really good to you, hasn’t he? He calls, you drop your pants and bend over, call him Daddy, and he fills your hip pockets with greenbacks. Any idea where you’ll build your mansion?”
“He ignored the insult and said, I’ve signed an Executive Order that will create a new street up in Grosse Point.”
“An Executive Order? To create a street?”
“Yep. Calling it Obama’s Way.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, leaning over to have a closer look at the drawing of the mansion and environs. “Now I see – your new address will be 1600 Obama’s Way? Kind of hard to let go, isn’t it?”
My phone rang and a glance at the window told me it was a call I was expecting. “Forgive me, sir, I really have to take this. It’s from my buddy Joe the Developer.
“Hey, Joe, what’s up? Have you found a location near Chicago for the new immigrant detention center?”
“Nope, no luck yet.”
“Hey, I have just the place. There’s an empty lot at 1602 Obama’s Way in Grosse Point. An ideal site …”
“HEY,” screamed the president. “You can’t put them people next door to me! No way! Don’t bring ‘em into my neighborhood!”

“Ain’t that precious,” says I, “That’s what thousands of Americans are yelling, too. But you’ll learn to deal with it, sir, it’ll grow on you. Say, can you speak Honduran? Eh, eh.”



Sunday, July 13, 2014

Taxpayers Get Short Shrift - Again?

As we all are fully aware, the U.S.A. has been in a downward trend since El Semi Uno came to office. There were some problems before BO but nothing that wouldn’t have worked itself out.
BO’s pack of churlish libs have left no rock unflipped in screwing things up. They’ve been thorough, to say the least.
One would think that with an election looming just ahead, Democrats, who may have a rough time at the polls in November, would be doing everything possible to attract voters. It appears, however, that El Semi Uno may put the kibosh on many of their chances with this business at the border. My guess is BO isn’t really interested in which Democrats get elected this year (if any) – as long as they are elected sometime in the future (to the exclusion of all others), once a few million more illegal voters move in.
Will the fiasco at the border have repercussions at the polls for Democrats? I don’t think BO cares.
It would be nice if El Semi Uno would leave office in 2017 with an accomplishment to his credit. I did hear him say, during a speech at (of all places) a fund-raiser (imagine that), that his immediate plans involved “getting the country back on its feet. We need to create jobs.” Well, that’s what he said, anyway.
With the election ahead, I thought this could mean he really intended to make a move in the direction of  an accomplishment, if for no other reason than to help Democrats. So I made the trip to the White House to see BO.
The president and another man were deep in conversation when I sauntered into the Ovoid Space. My very cool entrance pissed him right off.
“Newshawk! Whatter you doin’ here?” he stormed. How’d you get past the guards? I told them to make sure you don’t ever get in here.”
“Ah, they’ve all read my book and think I’m a very cool guy. They don’t think the same way about you, by the way.”
“Well, maybe its time to clean house around here.”
“Careful. They’re all union members, you know. But you know all about unions, huh?”
“So whadya what?” he asked coolly.
“How about some good news? I heard you were planning a jobs initiative. That would be news.”
“Whadya mean by that?”
“You accomplishing something; that would be news. So what have you got going?”
“I’ll have you know that we’re putting together a comprehensive plan that will spark business investment, and that will reduce risk to investors as well as those actually creating jobs. This is a long-term plan – this administration is digging in for the long haul.”
“Wow! How very presidential; it really sounds great.”
“Yes, I know. There’s more. To assure investors a better chance of a profit, we intend to subsidize insurance policies for those placing their money at risk.”
“Shifting the risk to the taxpayers, of course,” I replied.
The look he sent my way was pure venom, But I asked anyway, “Will your plan provide opportunity for the small, first-time investor, or just for corporate cronies?”
He chose not to answer the question, but said, “Our system will provide counselors to provide investment know-how; provide business development services; advice on branding and marketing. There will be expert advice on product design and research and development. Legal services will be available for regulatory compliance.”
“Man, oh, man, Mr. President. That really sounds fantastic. What’s the price tag look like?”
“I’m spending a billion and a half.”
“Wow, cheap at twice the price, I’d say. But, I must say, its really a good thing you’re doing for we Americans.”
“Americans? I ain’t doing nuthin’ for Americans. The program I’ve just outlined is called MENAII – Middle East-North Africa Investment Initiative. What I’ve got for Americans is spending their money. I ain’t got nuthin’ else for them."

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Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Immigration: The Inside Scoop

Sorry, my wife forced a little R and R on me.
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Most Americans – realAmericans, that is (no, that’s not a typo) – would agree that we are an extremely fortunate group of people. The country we live in, indeed, the country our Founding Fathers created for us, is the best there ever was. No realAmerican would argue with that.
However, there are those, many of who run the current version of the government, that would not agree with such a notion. They are adamantly opposed to any opinion that puts the idea of a free society in a glowing light. These “socialists” believe that we the people do not deserve the benefits of a free and prosperous America. So they set out to destroy it. They need to be exposed and disposed of.
And the time may be coming. BO seems intent on spoiling chances for the re-election of Democrats in November. Many are already announcing their opposition to the floods of illegals jumping the border, and decry the secrecy of the event ordered by the regime. It’s typical Democrat underhandedness in dealing with the American people. You can bet that, in a couple of years, they will be changing their tune, to announce how they favored the sneaky immigration of thousands of illegals, all along. “Don’t worry,” they’ll say, “ we had your back, all along. Now, get out and vote for a Democrat.” The best thing Congress can do, when, hopefully, Republicans win the Senate this year, is to pass a law requiring citizenship and five-years of residency before new immigrants can vote. That, at least, would be a law with which most of us would agree.
I got real curious about the immigration business and looked up a couple of unregistered Democrats about what drove them to enter our country illegally. It went something like this:
“So, Pedro, you are re-wading the Rio Grande and returning to the land of your birth,” says I.
“Si, Senor Newshawk, I waded across the reever to come here to find a new life. I wanted to find a good job, so I can support my family in Me-he-co.”
“Did you consider you might be taking away a job from an American worker?”
“Oh, hell, no. It’s dog-eat-dog out there, man.”
“And were you planning to pay taxes on the money you earned by taking a job from an American worker, who would have to pay taxes to the IRS?”
“Not if I could help it, no sir.”
“So what makes you want to return to Mexico?” I asked as if I didn’t already know.
“There are no jobs, senor, almost everyday the government says the unemployment rate is going down, and more jobs have opened up, but no matter where I look, there are no jobs. Your presidente, Senor BO, ees always yammering about creating jobs. I theenk  BO tells lies, Senor Newshawk.”
“You won’t get any argument from me, Pedro. But you, Alberto,” acknowledging Pedro’s compatriot, “have decided to stay in the country. How come?”
“Oh, senor, America is a wonderful place to live.”
“Why do you think so, while Pedro can’t wait to get out of here?”
“The first place I go is the unemployment office, see, and a fat lady in an office tells me they have no jobs. But, she says the government will be glad to pay me for doing nothing, so she writes me a check. And says they will send me one just like it every month. The check is large enough to buy clothes, pay rent, and buy food, but the fat lady says I don’t have to spend any of the money she just gave me on food, and hands me a pile of food stamps and says I’ll be getting more every month.”
“Unbelievable, ain’t it?” I observed.
“I asked the fat lady what I had to do to earn the money …”
“And she said, ‘Nothing’, right?”
“Si, nada. I thank the fat lady and start to leave her office, but she says, Here, don’t forget your new cell phone. The government pays for that, too.”
“Gracias, I say. Then she says, ‘Don’t forget to vote for Democrats in the upcoming elections. Republicans are too hoity-toity to pay for this crap.’”
“I tell her I’m not registered to vote in America. And she says not to worry, I can sign up at Burger King. I say I have no I.D. She says, no need, give them your name or a phony name, they’ll never know the difference. That’s how friendly we Democrats are. Very trusting. And the bottom line is, she said, Democrats aren’t picky who votes for them, and I shouldn’t be either. And, oh, by the way, says the fat lady, healthcare for you and your entire family is free. The American taxpayer will take care of the whole thing. We are a very generous people, she said.
“And senor, you wonder why I want to stay here?”
“No, not really, what’s one more freeloader.”
“Man, oh, man,” whoops Alberto, “What a country! Everything free, while I sit around on my skinny immigrant ass and do nothing!”


Wednesday, June 25, 2014

The Making of a Politician

                  

      Most of us are pretty tired of the politicians we have. There isn’t too much bad that’s happened – wars, depressions, you name it – in which politicians’ fingerprints aren’t all over the place. If it’s bad, they caused it.
      The trouble is there is little we can do about it. We’ve tried changing and getting some new ones in office, but it doesn’t work. Somehow we end up in the same mess we’ve always be in. What we need is a really bright fellow who will find a way to invent a good politician. But such a fellow is indeed rare.
      However, there is a man, Dr Fred von Fredenstein, who has a plan to replace the existing rubble with a politician of our choosing, literally. Along with his faithful assistant Eegads the brilliant Fredenstein says he plans to build a perfect politician, and fittingly enough out of old scrap parts he has lying around the laboratory. Notice he is not using taxpayer funding to acquire parts he already has. We join the good doctor and his assistant at the very beginning of this historic journey into the political unknown.
     “Yes, Eegads, we are about to embark on a wonderful journey into the nearly impossible, building a politician that is fair and honest in his dealings, bipartisan, having the capacity to see all sides of an issue and decide what is best for the country and his constituents. It will be undeceitful, unselfish and truly altruistic,” Fredenstein said with a dreamy smile, sounding for all the world like Bela Lugosi of Dracula fame.
     “Why did you refer to it as an”it”, Mastah Fred.
“We really don’t know what we are going to end up with, Eegads. Parts are scarce and varied, but we’ll do what we can.”
“Tall or short? Fat or skinny? Good looking or ugly?”
“Good looking. The rest doesn’t matter. Politicians need to be good-looking.”
“He’s never seen Al Franken,” mumbles Eegads. But to the doctor he asked, “Which head should we start with? The silly-looking blonde chick or the one with a hole in it?”
“It’s a tough decision, but go with the blonde. Hey, what’s the gooey stuff dripping from her ears?”
“Her head was full of socialist crap, so I scooped it out and fed it to pigs out back. I’ll have to leave the brain cavity vacant for awhile, you know, air it out, so it doesn’t taint whatever’s put in there.”
“Eegads, perhaps we could leave it out all together. A politician without a brain wouldn’t be inclined to screw things up. Look at Senator Kent Conrad from North Dakota. They could take that man’s brain, shove up a fly’s rear end, and it would still rattle around like a B-B in a boxcar.”
“An excellent point, Mastah Fred. I’ll shove this bolt through the two halves to hold it’s head together … There we go!”
“Do we have a chest for our creation?” asked the doctor.
“Yep,” says Eegads, throwing one up on the table, “Big boobs or little boobs?”
“Well let’s give it a nice butt and nice boobs, they go together. Oh, oh,” he says shaking his head, “The only legs we have are hairy ones.”
“We’ll just sew them in place and get it a pair of pants. Oh, crud,” exclaims Eegads. “The arms are real hairy, too. I’ll just add a pair of pouty lips, maybe nobody will notice the hair. I’ll pop in a pair of bright blue eyes, false eyelashes. There we go! Large ears, small mouth, maybe it’ll listen more than it talks.”
“Wow,” said a wide-eyed Doctor Fredenstein, “A beautiful blonde ape. But, I have wondered from time to time what some of these politicians look like naked. Maybe we’re not so far off the mark.”
“I’ve often thought the same thing, Doctor. Great minds do think alike, do they not? How about a heart, Doctor, shouldn’t a politician have a heart?”
“Oh, yes, indeed, they all should, but most don’t. If we put a heart in this one, we will be completely misrepresenting the class of mammal we are trying to re-create.”
“I understand completely,” says the faithful assistant. “We won’t want to waste a heart on something that won’t use it,” tossing the heart into a corner.
“Yes, that is exactly true. Better put some feet on it, lest we forget.”
“Perhaps I should sew them on the knees, eh, eh. It would be a valuable asset for those trying to get ahead, if you know what I mean.”
“No, Eegads. Put them where they belong. Let the art of self advancement stay as it always was. Change it, and you set the art of groveling back a thousand years.”
“Not with feet on their knees. Ha. Ha. Never mind. I’ll put them on the bottoms of their legs like God did. Say, should I sew a pair of testicles on this thing?”
“On a woman?”
“Well, we’re not sure of that. There’s lots of folks around whose gender is a toss-up. As far as testicles go, sometimes it’s pretty hard to tell who has them and who doesn’t.”
“Wouldn’t you then have a man with a pretty face?”
“Not if you leave the other part off. Then you have a woman with testicles, and there are plenty of them out there who would kill for both of those parts.”
“Yes, and others who pay well to be rid of them. Let’s compromise. Sew on the testicles and we’ll keep the other part in our pocket, so to speak.”
“It’ll love the attention.”
Eegads finished sewing, then asked the doctor, “Well, sir, what do you think?”
“I’d say that’s one butt-ugly human being, all in all, but it’ll be okay as a politician, as long as it keeps its pants on.  With the lack of a brain and only half its junk, I’d say it’s fairly typical. We done good!”


    

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

The Officers of the Draw



     My wife and I were taking in a bull riding competition on TV awhile back, and I got to thinking, gee, cowboys compete with one another in rodeos, lumberjacks compete in roleos, athletes have all-star games and athalons of different sizes in which the best compete against each other. What do cops do to show who’s the top cop? Then it came to me:
     It would have to be high noon. The sun is tall in the sky as the two men circle for position, their hands hovering menacingly above their holsters. Tension mounts in the surrounding crowd of expectant eyeballers.
     “So you think you can draw faster’n me, huh?” sneered the guy in the blue outfit. “Nobody can do it faster’n me.”
     “Oh, yeah! We’ll just see about that, buddy boy,” replied the guy in different blue. “The day I can’t outdraw a guy that drives a giant Matchbox car and wears a UFO for a hat is the day I’ll stop drinking free coffee,” his hand inching closer to his holster.
     “I ain’t taking no lip from a danged city cop,” spitting the words. “Get ready to slap leather, hombre,” hunching over a bit, getting ready to make his play.
     The boys in blue circled warily, each eying the other through mirrored shades, the bright sun sparkling from the stars on their chests.
     It was then the alert observer noticed the holsters they wore were no ordinary holsters. This was evident by what they had in them. Or didn’t have in them. There were no guns! Now wait a minute, I deduced, how can these guys be having a fast draw contest with no guns to draw fast?
     I was flummoxed.
     There was something in the holsters but, for the life of me, I couldn’t tell what it was. The thing above which their hands hovered was a squarish, flat thing with a straight-edged top.
     My brow rumpled with puzzlement.
     Suddenly without warning, hovering hands dipped like a politician into my pocket toward expectant holsters … but wait! What’s this? A wrinkle! As one hand swooped to the hip, the other soared to the chest! Amazingly, in an apparent much-practiced move, each unholstered the squarish, flat thing and whipped a long, thin thing from his shirt pocket. The speed each displayed was blinding. Then, holding the squarish, flat thing in front of himself, each member of the thin blue line began to, yes, write! Holy moley, I thought.
     It came to me at last. The squarish, flat thing was a ticket-writing pad and the long, thin thing a pen!
     How wonderful, thought I. The thin blue line in training! Training with pad and pen would be safer for all of us.
     “Ha, told you I could draw up a parking ticket faster’n you,” chided the guy in blue, triumphantly, holding the instruments of the law aloft to the applause of the mostly blue-clad onlookers.
     “Oh, yeah?” sniped the loser with the UFO for a hat, “let’s do it again. A speeding ticket this time. Us troopers are better at moving violations.”
     Again the two fast-draw professionals faced off, circling and sneering. Again the swoop and the soar moves and the devil-may-care ticket writing.
     “Ah, ha,” exclaimed the face under the UFO, holding the tools of his trade high for all to see. “I told you us troopers were better at action writing.”
     “Oh, yeah, well how ‘bout we do a ‘running a redlight’?”
     “Nah,” drawled the victor, wiping drool from his lip, “let’s draw on a real man’s ticket – reckless driving!”
     They reholstered their pads, repocketed their pens and stood arms akimbo, looking very like the Mightier Ticket Writers.
     “Hey! Do a failure to keep right,” yelled an onlooker.
     “Yeah, then an unregistered vehicle,” chipped in another.
     Then silence fell over the throng of blue as a tall, slim-hipped, Western-looking man stepped out of the crowd, hitched his belt buckle, pulled his hat down low above steely eyes, and said, “Ain’t neither of you man enough to take me in writing a driving without a seatbelt.”
     The tension of the moment broke as a weasel-faced runt stepped up, ready to draw and said to the tall man, “You better stand down, Slim, ‘cuz that’s what I’m good at!”
     “Oh, yeah, well so am I,” chirped another, hitching up his ticket-writing belt.
     A plain-clothed detective pulled up and wanted to know what was going on. He was told it was a Write-e-o (sort of like a rodeo), a ticket writing competition.
     “Wow, that sounds like fun,” he said smiling and tossing his gun into the back of his car. “Let me get rid of this thing. I never need it anyway. Might as well be where the action is.”

     
    




Thursday, June 12, 2014

Making 'Em Do It the American Way

                                        


      There is a growing concern in the country about the ever-expanding influence of Radical Islam. This concern has little to do with regular Muslims who come to America to make a better life for themselves. These are decent hard-working hotel owners – we couldn’t reserve a room without them. It is those who find their way into the country with the intent of doing us some degree of harm that should concern you. These people are deadly serious and most of you are deadly oblivious.
      Radical Muslims have made themselves hugely unpopular in the countries of the European Union. Every country they have swarmed into wants them out. They avail themselves of  welfare and free schooling, then use all their free time and their new education to plot taking over the host country, killing its people, and contributing nothing.
      Washington, DC, is apparently swarming with Muslim theocrats attempting to have laws passed which favor their agenda. This, frankly, scares the hell out of me. With the exception of the newly revised House of Representatives, there are few there who have recently passed a law with you and me in mind. It has everything to do with an anti-American agenda and everything to do with allowing the gradual takeover by Radicals of all stripes. Read a book or newspaper other than the big-name usual suspects and you should begin to quiver.
      Getting Radical Muslims out of the country should be a priority, but there are few to take up the cause. I was talking this over with an old buddy of mine, Bubba Mobubba, over a beer at the K of C the other day. Bubba is a redneck in the true Foxworthy  (Wouldja git this here car engine out’n the tub so I can take a bath?) style. He is chubby from frequent beers, has a scraggly beard, and yellowed row of store-bought teeth. His hat is a little black straw cowboy affair with the sides rolled up real tight and an American flag sewn on the front. He wore a plaid shirt and a leather vest with a Confederate flag on the back, all of which fit over his bib overalls. We were just talking when the subject of Radical Muslims came up: I’m not sure how, they’re not a favored topic of conversation among rednecks.
      “Yeah,” says I, “they’re everywhere.”
      “Yep,” opined Bubba, not missing a lick of a lap in the Winston 500.
      “It would be good if we could thin ‘em out a bit, you know? Like if we had a good brand of Radical Muslim BeGone spray.”
      “Yep,” he said, nodding, after thinking about it for a while.
      “They aren’t much interested in American stuff, you know.”
      “That so?”
      “Yep. Did you know they don’t watch NASCAR?”
      “What? Well, hell, man, that ain’t right. What’s wrong with them people?”
      “They don’t watch football, neither.”
      “You gotta be funnin’ me, Newshawk. They don’t watch NASCAR or football? What do they watch?”
      “Soccer.”
      “Soccer? That there’s a sissy game.”
      “Tell them that. Know what else? They adamantly refuse to wear bib overalls.”
      “Oh, they’d rather wear their night clothes instead?”
      “And no cowboy hats – ever!”
      Bubba’s face turned red and he started breathing heavy through his nose. “Is that so?” he snorted. “They wear their underwear on their heads, but won’t be seen in a real man’s hat?”
      “And they don’t drink beer, neither.”
      He just gave me a dirty look.
      “Or eat beef jerky.”
      “Good grief, Newshawk, do they do anything we Amuricans do? Why do they bother coming to our land if they’re not going to do things we do? I’ll bet they don’t eat hotdogs and Jimmy Dean Pork Sausage neither, do they?”
      “Not a chance. They don’t eat pig. They won’t drive pickup trucks, neither.”
      “Well, now, that just about does it fer me, man. I’m done fed up with them varmints, and I don’t even know any of ‘em,” he said, getting up and walking toward the door.
      “Well, whatter ya going to do about it, Bubba.?”
      “Gonna find some of my buddies, get me an anti-Amurican putz shooter, and go find some Moslins. Show ‘em a thang er two about what Amuricans does.”
      “Gonna chase ‘em outta town, huh, Wyatt?”
      “I reckon somebody’s got to. An American somebody,” he said, hitching up his britches.
      “Might take awhile,” I suggested. “There’s a gosh-awful bunch of ‘em out yonder.”
      “Give us a day or two. Then fizt,” flicking his fingers toward the ceiling, “there’ll be a lot less Amurica-haters to deal with. We’ll show ‘em the Amurican way … or else …” Then after a moment he added, “Leastwise, that’s what we orta be doing.”