A political discussion between Red State conservative Dave Simpson — a former reporter, editor, publisher and columnist — and Greg Bean, Blue Stater and executive editor of Greater Media Newspapers.
Dear Greg:
I think the most wonderful thing about the Democrats is what I call “the ninny factor,” which we’re seeing a lot of these days in Denver.
In their effort to keep everyone happy about everything, the ninnies go to ridiculous lengths to avoid run-ins with unions, Polar Bear Shortage nuts, granola eaters, ultra-liberal blogger jihadists, Friends of the Antelopes, people who won’t drink Coors beer, and hundreds of other rabid special interest groups that make up the party of the tragically aware and the terminally politically correct.
I’m still laughing about that Wall Street Journal article that told how tough it was to find fanny packs for the Democratic Convention that were made in America, made with all natural fibers, with logos printed by union labor. Turns out no American company made fanny packs like that, and for a while there, it looked like Democratic fannies would go unadorned. But, some company finally agreed to meet all the requirements, which was a big relief.
Then there was the food problem. The purists didn’t want anything fried, and told caterers to come up with only healthy food, even going so far as to specify colors the food could be. I don’t know about you, Greg, but I won’t eat fuchsia food, or mauve food. I like my meat as red as my state, and my spuds beige, like my van.
I’m guessing there won’t be any pork rinds on hand when the wild-eyed Democrats convene, because those puppies have a frightening carbon footprint, and Cheez Whiz is no doubt out because of the damage it might do to the ozone layer. And what will PETA say if a VP hopeful dares eat a steak in public? To quote another guy named Simpson, they’ll “have a cow, man.”
Think about it, Greg. Your Democrat friends can’t even have an egg in the morning without feeling guilty about exploiting women chickens. That is, unless they find an American farm where the unionized chickens earn a living wage, get full health and 401(k) benefits, coffee breaks, and free tuition for evening classes at a junior college so they can move on to more fulfilling careers in, say, social work, or the arts. And the farmer would have to give half his profits to some liberal cause like Save the Whales, and the other half to promoting chickenfriendly alternatives, like Egg Beaters, or the Pork Board.
And, if you could find such an egg, even frying it in non-trans-fat butter wouldn’t get the food Nazis off your back. You’d have to find a wind-powered frying pan, or a methane-fueled camp stove equipped with a cow and a tank strapped to his hind end. (The cow would have to be a willing participant, and sign a release.)
It’s a minefield for Democrats, Greg, and I’m going to pop open a can of diet beer and enjoy every second of the big show. I doubt our Republican ninnies will be anywhere near this much fun.
Your Old Pal,
Red State Dave [email protected]
Dear Dave:
You know, I get as big a kick out of the liberal ninnies as you do, and I end up laughing every time I read another story about how they’re trying to cater to the oddballs and politically correct nincompoops who will show up at the Democratic convention.
The thought of the LoDo district in Denver overrun by natural-fiber fanny-packwearing, mauve-food-eating, non-Coorsdrinking, whale-saving lunatics tromping around in their Birkenstocks while worrying about their carbon footprint just makes me cackle with delight.
My liberal brother works in that part of Denver, and I plan to call him every day to needle him about how nice it must be to have so many people with granola bits in their beards and tofu on their dashikis invading his space, sharing his philosophy, while, at the same time, seriously screwing up his personal feng shui.
All I can say is every party has its own share of nutballs to bear. Your party has the John Birchers and the religious right, so you know what I’m talking about.
We’ve got the folks who worry that aerosols in a single can of squeeze cheese might cause a dozen polar bears to fall off their ice floes and drown. And please, don’t even get me started about the people who want to take away my eggs and cheeseburgers. All I can say is they can have those when they pry them from my greasy hands.
We’re not all like that, however, and some of us are planning to watch the convention from a safe distance, and in a manner I’m pretty sure you’d approve.
At my house, we’re having a convention party, and I’m digging a big pit in the backyard for the roast pig. The wife is making her famous deviled eggs, and I’m gonna hit up my neighbor with the industrial-sized backyard deep fryer to keep us all supplied in hush puppies, onion rings and french fries. I’m also planning to buy about a dozen buckets of extra-crispy from the Colonel for those folks who don’t like pork.
As a tip of the hat to Coors, the beer that made Colorado famous, I’m going to have several cases of the original brew on ice in brown glass bottles (no lite beer here) and I’ll have designated drivers available to take home guests who overimbibe.
The designated drivers will be using my big, gas-guzzling pickup and maybe my neighbor’s even bigger, gas-guzzling personal assault vehicle. Every time he fires that galumphasaurus up, you can hear a great disturbance in the Force, the collective wailing of a billion “green” souls who sense the humongous sole of his environmentally unfriendly shoe descending from the heavens to squash them flat. After he stomps ’em, all that’s left is a big old carbon footprint in the ground and a mushy blob that looks like road kill.
The ninnies out in Denver might not like the shindig I’m planning, but I figure, live and let live. After all, we are the party of inclusion.
If you’re not doing anything that afternoon, you’re welcome to join us. I know how much you enjoy pork rinds.
Your politically incorrect friend,
Blue State Greg [email protected]