Today's topic: presidential candidates…
I was at the coffee shop, and the guys all agree: This Benazir Bhutto is for the birds.
Why, back in my day, we had real presidential candidates with names like Ike and Dick. And they were men, not like these Italian broads they have today. They wore Army helmets or maybe a nice fedora they bought at Higbees, instead of prancing around Pakistan in scarves.
Why, back in my day, we didn’t even have scarves. We just gathered up some leaves and taped ‘em on our head. And we didn’t try to blow up our presidential candidates like they do today. We shot ‘em fair and square. And if we didn’t have a gun, we’d just jump on ‘em really hard or bite them in the spleen. And we’d do it in some place you could spell, like Dallas or Los Angeles, not in these foreign places like they have today.
Why, back in my day, we didn’t even have foreign places. If you took the bus past East Cleveland, you’d just fall off the edge of the world. And it wasn’t like the falling they do these days, where you land on one of those adjustable firmness beds like Lindsey Wagner sells on the television. Back in my day, you’d fall on some dirt and crack your melon open, then drink whiskey and chew on a bullet while some Civil War doctor sawed off your leg.
And all the guys agree: Back in our day, you didn’t need two legs like they need today. You’d just crawl on you gut like a salamander, or sometimes a team of oxen would haul you. And if they did a good job, you’d buy ‘em something pretty, like a bouquet of dandelions or a new pair of shoes. Back in my day, we had real shoes. You’d build ‘em with a slab of pine and some twine…
This has been another deep insight from Dick Feagler. We now return to our regularly scheduled programming...
