“Psst…Rush! I’m over here!”---Bill Killeen
Onward, Through The Fog!
This running for President business is no simple affair. A campaign staff must be assembled, funds must be raised, a clever schedule constructed, all with an eye toward the first test of mettle, the famous Iowa Caucuses. To perform well there, a candidate must first try to understand the people of Iowa. Iowa was country before country was cool and it still is even though country isn’t. Iowa is, shall we say, rural, although not as rural as neighboring Kansas, where people live in caves and eat dirt. In Iowa, people just think about it.
Since 1972, Iowa has held the first presidential nominating contests in the country. Over the years, the Iowa Caucuses have grown in size, scope and importance, sometimes launching underdogs like Candidate Bill all the way to the presidency. The voters there delight in upsetting established political juggernauts and scaring the bejeezus out of smug favorites. If you are a hot-shot city boy with a degree from Yale you are liable to get vote-smacked upside the head by a guy who putters in from Texas A&M on his Massey Ferguson.
A caucus is sort of a neighborhood meeting, according to David Yepsen, a former political writer for the Des Moines Register. “In fact, the term caucus is thought to be a Native American term—an Algonquin word for a meeting of tribal leaders.” A caucus is more than just a vote. On caucus night, people gather at hundreds of sites across the state and discuss their reasons for supporting a candidate. Speeches are made on a candidate’s behalf and jockeying continues throughout the evening as various groups of supporters attempt to persuade other people to back their contender. This can take hours and caucusees will get very hungry, a perfect opportunity for Candidate Bill to march into the room with his smiling crew of blueberry muffin bakers and pass out sustenance. Hopefully, this largesse will boost Bill over the 15% of the room minimum vote it requires to stay in the contest. Candidates with less than 15% can start singing “It’s one, two, three strikes you’re out at the old ball game.” His or her insufficient coterie of backers must now support another candidate. See you in New Hampshire, Kirsten Gillibrand, Julian Castro and Tulsi Gabbard, et al. No baked goods, no neighborhoods. It’s another tequila sunrise.
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| Vermin Supreme, shaking his bootie. |
“Live Free Or Die!”
That’s the license plate motto of New Hampshire, ‘The Fentanyl State,’ but they don’t really mean it. The populace there just despises seat belts and motorcycle helmets and this is how they avoid them. Anyway, after Iowa, the little candidates pack up all their cares and woes and keep on truckin’ to New England for the first real election in the nation. New Hampshire’s primary actually used to precede Iowa but those wily Hawkeyes somehow managed to sneak under the fence in the middle of the night and change the calendars. New Hampshire is more fun, though. Where else can Corey Booker plop down next to a guy chomping his lobster roll at the diner and ask him how his day is going? It’s hard for Granite Staters to keep up with all the kerfuffle. “George, I thought you told me Obama wasn’t allowed to run anymore,” says Shelby. “Well, that’s what the teevee was a-sayin’” retorts George. Corey Booker tries to explain and thinks better of it, retreating to the next booth where a couple of ancient grandmothers almost drop their teeth as he lands.
“I can’t ever remember so many candidates coming into the state this early all at once,” exclaims Kathy Sullivan, New Hampshire Democratic National Committeewoman, a former state party chair who has had close-up views of the N.H. primaries for decades. “But I like that longshot, Bill Killeen. He’s a fellow-New Englander and he gave me a pastry.”
In New Hampshire, no place is off limits to the candidates. They bang on your front door, sniggle into the workplace, help you hang your wet clothes on the line. One resident claimed the other day, though, that they were carrying things a little too far. “I was in the confessional and that new guy, Pete Bootie-itch, gave me five ‘Our Fathers,’ five ‘Hail Marys,’ and a full-color brochure on his candidacy,” said Carmelo Bianchi of Manchester. “I was a little ticked off. I thought three ‘Our Fathers’ and three ‘Hail Marys’ were plenty.”
First-time candidates visiting New Hampshire might want to mull over a few things as they navigate the state: (1) In 2012, a man allegedly named Vermin Supreme was listed on the Democratic Party ballot for president. Vermin promised the voters free ponies but said he would require “mandatory tooth brushing.” He finished sixth with a paltry 833 votes. (2) Franklin Pierce is the only United States President to hail from the Granite State. While Pierce is generally considered to have had a lackluster presidency, New Hampshirites take solace in the fact that Nerve.com ranked him America’s sixth sexiest president. (3) N.H. voters are among the most reliable in the country in presidential elections, ranking fourth with a turnout of 71 percent. The national average is 57.5%. (4) Mount Washington is home to the highest wind speed ever recorded by man---231 mph, recorded in 1934---so a little political puffery won’t impress. (5) the unincorporated town of Dixville Notch is the first place in America to cast votes on presidential election day with voting beginning at midnight. The town’s small scattering of residents are famous for accurately predicting the final outcome, with a rare reversal of form being Richard Nixon’s 9-0 plurality in 1960. (6) New Hampshire is the home of the first ever widely publicized alien abduction. In 1961, Portsmouth natives Betty and Barney Hill reported being kidnapped by extraterrestrials near Lancaster, N.H. and swooped off in a UFO. This has nothing to do with politics, we just thought we’d give you a heads-up to be extra-careful vote-hunting around Lancaster.
South Of The Border
Nevada has the third presidential primary on February 22, 2020 but nobody cares. All the serious candidates are busily rustling around the coastal plains and goober-filled mountains of South Carolina, some of them now on oxygen after dismal showings in Iowa and New Hampshire. The politicos will discover in short order that South Carolina is not much like Iowa or New Hampshire. For one thing, the citizens speak with an elongated drawl and can induce three syllables out of a four letter word, which sometimes makes translation difficult. Second, they insist on inserting “Miss” or “Mister” before everyone’s first name, as in “Mr. Bill, would you like a cookie?” You are required to eat grits for breakfast in South Carolina, and don’t think you can get out of it by ordering something else because grits will come with it. Smile, and eat your grits. Salt and pepper helps but you are absolutely forbidden to use ketchup. Hot sauce, on the other hand, is acceptable on any food item, including dessert. Finally, barbecue was invented in South Carolina, and don’t bother to argue the point. South Carolinians will tell you the local Indians were pit-cooking hogs centuries ago off the S.C. coast. They will get testy if you don’t believe them. The best thing a new presidential candidate can say when entering South Carolina is, “Yes, ma’am, the first thing I want to do now that I’m in the Palmetto State is tuck myself into some of that scrumptious original barbecue, invented as we all know in South Carolina at the dawn of time.”
Oh, we almost forgot. Don’t make fun of the Lee County Lizard Man. He’s real, and it’s nothing to joke about. The Lizard Man made his debut in Lee County in 1988, attacking the car of a terrified teenager who reported a large scaly creature had charged from the underbrush and scratched up his ride. We hear you giggling and pish-toshing the incident but you wouldn’t be so cocky if we told you the police found 14-inch long three-toed footprints at the scene of the crime. Also, there’s a UFO Welcome Center in Bowman, which speaks well of South Carolinians’ interplanetary interests. It was built by a local fellow named Jody Pendarvis to welcome extraterrestrials whenever they finally decide to land. Who says southerners don’t appreciate illegal aliens?
South Carolina was the first state to secede from the union, so all you Yankee candidates better tread lightly. This is not the appropriate place to bring up any ancestors who landed on Plymouth Rock or for gay male vote-seekers to be seen canoodling with their cutiepie husbands. Words like “liberal,” “progressive” and “Ulysses S. Grant” are best left in one’s backpack for northerly climes. Women candidates, it goes without saying, would be better off home baking brownies. My main competition here is comfortable old Joe Biden, a recently convicted mass-hugger and serial snuggler especially popular at South Carolina’s 68,000+ trailer parks. “Who doesn’t like a little tickle every now and then?” ask the residents. I’m working on my technique.
That’s all, folks….
bill.killeen094@gmail.com
