Ever heard of Irving?
You know, Irving. The Kosher Kid? The Jewish gunfighter? Big fat Irving? Ranked 142nd among professional pistoleers? Faced down Bad Max and the James Boys? Famous for his bovine art and impeccable table settings? You know, Irving.
Not ringing a bell, eh? Really? Well, obviously your education in American history is sadly lacking. Sigh. You never studied, did you? I pity you and your poor wastrel childhood, I do.
The Doctor would be so disappointed.
What do you mean, what doctor? No not that doctor, not that prissy Englishman and his silly call-box. I’m talking about a true American and the most brilliant doctor of them all, Dr. Demento, of course.
Since you haven’t done your homework, here, listen to Frank Gallop. Go on, I’ll wait. Hell, partner, tell you what, I’ll listen with you, I love me some heroic western storytellin’:
I was reminded of poor old bumbling Irving this week. To be honest I spent pretty much the whole day caught in between fits of giggling interspersed by singing various stanzas from the Ballad of Irving.
Rick Perry challenged Nancy Pelosi to pistols at twenty paces.
He was mean and nasty right clear though, which was kind of weird because he was yellow too!
Perry is like one of those dudes from “back east,” the kind of sarsaparilla cowboy that the real cowpunchers used to make fun of in the old Wild West. He fancies himself a steely-eyed gunfighter and he was King Shit back in whatever little cow town he’s from. He’s got himself a fancy rig: big horse and a genuine silver trimmed western saddle (made in China), chrome plated spurs, shiny belt buckle and an embroidered Brooks Brothers fringe-sleeved shirt. He’s got the biggest hat he could afford with a fancy leather band, and he spends his nights twisting the brim into the perfect Cowboy curl. He practices his patented Man With No Name squint in the mirror every morning and he’s got that pointy-toed gunslinger swagger down pat. There’s one of Colonel Colt’s equalizers slung low on his hip with the sere filed down and the trigger wired back and he spends a lot of time practicing slappin’ leather and fanning the hammer in front of a life-sized pasteboard cutout of Ronald Reagan as Farrell in Cattle Queen of Montana.
Just one problem, ol’ Hair Trigger Perry can’t shoot for shit.
Every time he goes into the saloon, the other cowboys knock his hat off and tape a kick me sign on his back and he can’t seem to get a shot off.
They’re out there, the wild bunch, the notorious Norquist Gang, in the street, waiting for him right now.
There’s Herman The Harasser Cain, who sprays hot lead in all directions and about half the time accidently guns down members of his own posse. There’s Crazy Horse Bachmann, she wears a faded saddle blanket like a poncho and holds her huge heavy pistol in a splayed legged two fisted grip, she screws her eyes shut and spastically jerks the trigger … and fires randomly into the crowd. Slick Mittens Romney, the grifter who runs the local poker game and kills men with a concealed Derringer he hides in his sleeve next to the spare aces. John The Ambassador, he’s an enigma, he doesn’t talk much, he just slouches in the back cradling his shotgun and stroking the trigger like it was a woman. There’s the Santorum Kid, he’s just an cowhand who was done wrong and fell in with a bad crowd, he rode with Quantrill’s Raiders during the war and now his soul is owned by the Devil. Doc Paul, pale and wizened, tubercular, a dangerous unpredictable loner, the ranch hands say he’s killed a hundred men (mostly uninsured renegade illegal Mexicans). And, of course there’s The Newt, disgraced prewar Congressman, now he’s a fast talking snake-oil salesman and proprietor of The Salamander Medicine Show, wanted by the Pinkertons in ten states and the Indian territories for horse thievery, robbing the stage, and serial buggery, rumor has it that he came out west after he got caught diddling a powerful Senator’s wife, he’s dying of the Pox and it makes him mean.
And there’s Rick Perry, looking for all the world like Marty McFly in Back To The Future III.
That’s what Perry’s fellow Texicans call All Hat, No Cattle.
Rock bottom in the polls. Mocked by bloggers (hello!) and late night comedians everywhere including foreign non-English speaking countries without cable TV. Contributions suddenly nonexistent, funding drying up. Campaign workers sneaking out the back door for other candidates. Every time Perry pulls out his piece he either shoots himself in the foot or it turns out that he forgot to load the damned thing.
Like Clint Eastwood-McFly hiding improvised body armor under his shirt, Perry needs a gimmick to keep from getting killed.
So he cooked up an idea to create a part-time Congress and hire Kelly Services temps to work the Supreme Court. On Perry’s Big U.S. Spread, the President will be the undisputed Cattle King. The Rail Tycoons are already rubbing their hands in glee and eying the homesteaders’ paltry few acres. The prices are up in the General Store and likely to stay that way and they’ve dammed up the river. Perry’s suddenly shaking hands and making the rounds of the bars and brothels shopping his plan. Apparently the logic being that since he just completely sucks giant fuzzy donkey balls at real live debating and can’t even hold his own against the likes of Michelle Bachmann and Herman Cain (see? Thus the giggling) let alone Ron Paul, Newt Gingrich, and Mitt Romney – and since he obviously has no chance whatsoever against the very eloquent Doc Brown Obama – he’s decided to go looking for somebody smaller and weaker that he can beat up.
He walked into Sol’s Saloon like a man insane! And ordered three fingers of two-cents plain…
Unfortunately for Perry, he picked on the town school marm – and just never mind the fact that she’s not even running for President.
Pelosi’s response? Her public response? On Twitter? Read by millions so far? Priceless: “Re: Gov. Perry – Monday I’ll be in Portland. Later visiting labs in CA. That’s 2. I can’t remember the third thing…”
He was sittin’ there twirlin’ his gun around, and butterfingers Irving gunned himself down…
Believe me when I say that I am not a fan of Nancy Pelosi. But, dude! She not only owned Perry in a 140 character double-tap, she saddled him and drove him around the internet like a little pastel pony-shaped squeaky toy. The only way Perry could have pantsed himself any worse would be if Pelosi did agree to the debate and then showed up wearing chaps and spurs and rode him around the stage waving her giant hat and slapping Perry on his bare pink shaved bottom. Gittyup! Little Perry!
Honestly, what was he thinking?
That Pelosi would be an easy mark? That debating her would have some relevancy to his sagging presidential campaign? Because conservatives hate her? Because Perry’s Texan base hates her? Because she’s a girl? He can’t hit in the big leagues so he figured he’d go down to the batting cage and knock out a home run there – and instead got himself beaned by the pitching machine. What? What was the reasoning here?
A hundred and forty-one could draw faster than he, but Irving was looking for one forty-three…
Who’s Perry going to challenge next? A ham sandwich? Seriously, if he can’t beat Pelosi, who I remind you again isn’t even running for the office and isn’t exactly the wittiest cowgirl at the dance, in a twitter dust-up of all things then who can he beat?
I saw a comment suggesting that he take on that talking baby from the E-trade commercials. I dunno, that kid was day trading at nine months, it’s a good bet the little curtain-climber can count to three. Seems like an awful risk for Perry. I’ve seen that kid on TV with a smartphone, he’s probably got a twitter account. What? I’m just saying that’s a sarcastic little drooler is all.
Bad Max said draw and draw right now! And Irving drew, drew a picture of a cow…
The problem is that Perry chokes in the clutch. Look, the bar girls down at the town saloon don’t call him Powder Burns for nothing.
What he needs to do is start small and work his way up to progressively harder debates.
Think Karate Kid. What I’m saying is that Perry needs to walk before he can stagger home from the bar. He needs to work on basic skills:
Establish a Clear Message: You can’t be a good debater if people don’t understand what you’re saying. Perry gets flustered when he has to deal with contrary people face to face, so he should start out by getting a little emotional separation from the other side of the debate. He needs to depersonalize it. He should start by debating a drive-thru speaker (takes a minute to start, be patient, it’s worth it. Thank you again, Dr. D). Start with something simple, say a happy meal and a juice box. Next, a special order like extra onions on the burger or no pubic hair in the Lo-Cal sandwich wrap. Once he can order for the entire campaign bus - from memory – at three different drive-thrus on the same food run and get everything he asked for correctly including the weird PR chick’s small hot water and extra ketchup packs, he’s ready for the next exercise, i.e. actual face time in a live training environment. Say like getting coffee for everybody at Starbucks. Simultaneously dealing with the baristas’ scornful contempt and the hostile remarks from those standing in line behind him while they wait impatiently for his huge order to be filled will be excellent practice for a real debate.
Understanding The Question:
Sociopaths NeoConservatives Texans Politicians have a hard time with empathy. They just aren’t good at listening to anything other than their own oversized throbbing ego. Perry needs to learn how to listen to constituents. He can practice by debating Rusty The Talking Dog . This is a timed exercise, if Perry can’t figure out what Rusty wants within a limited amount of time he’s going to need a roll of paper towels and a steam cleaner. Either way, he’ll learn a useful skill and if his presidential aspirations don’t pan out he can always find a job cleaning up the local park. Once Perry can walk the dog, he’s ready for the real skill challenge: Cats in tanks.
Dominate the Stage: In order for Perry to stand out in a presidential debate, he has to rise head and shoulders above some pretty big egos. He needs to learn how to boldly seize the moment and hang on unashamedly. Blatant self promotion is just another arrow in the political quiver and if Perry doesn’t stand up for himself, who will? For practice, Perry should debate Kanye West. When he can keep control of the microphone for more than thirty seconds, he’s ready to stiff-arm that candy-assed Wolf Blitzer and take control of the debate agenda like a boss.
Dress for Success: Since Perry isn’t very good at talking under pressure, he needs to appeal on a non-verbal level to the diverse bunch of folks who make up the core conservative base (the innovative entrepreneurs, the college educated, and Wall Street Executives). Perry should practice by debating as a street mime.
Wax on, wax off.
Once Perry has mastered the basics, like a gunfighter in a Dodge City saloon he needs to focus on his individual opponents. He needs to practice against the unique strengths and weaknesses of each member of Biff Norquist’s outlaw gang. The followed training scenarios should help:
Ron Paul (in this simulation, Paul is the one on the left)
Herman Cain (in this simulation, Herman is the one who says, “Well, of course I’m on drugs.”)
Michele Bachmann (not safe for small children, people with heart conditions, or those susceptible to cults)
Newt Gingrich (This simulation is not safe for work,but then neither is Newt. Newt is the blond)
Rick Santorum (Go on, push the button. I saved the best for last)*
The Ballad of Rick Perry, The Hundred and Forty-Second Best Debater in the West
- With apologies to the late great Frank Gallop
He was tall and tan and came out the west
With open pit BBQ smoke on his breath
He was smooth and slick right clear though
Which was kinda weird, ‘cause he was a douchebag too.
They called him Rick
Slick Botoxed Rick
Slick one percent Rick
The hundred and forty second best debater in the West
He came from the old Bush Family Spread
With a ten-million dollar campaign contribution under his bed
He always followed the evangelical’s wishes
Keeping the queers from getting married was just plain delicious
Big Bigot Rick
Big Gay Rick
The hundred and forty second best debater in the West.
A hundred and forty-one could debate better than he
Tongue tied Rick couldn’t even count to three.
Challenged Pelosi to a fight and said winner take it all
Got his ass kicked on Twitter and went home with only one ball
Big Stupid Rick
Big Girl Rick
The hundred and forty-second best debater in the west
One day drought happened in the town
It was so bad it threatened to bring all of Texas down
The people said we need relief oh can’t you see?
Perry prayed to Jesus … and then blamed D.C.
Big Christian Rick
Big fat hypocrite Rick
The hundred and forty-second best debater in the west.
A financial crisis was coming because of what Wall Street had done
The townsfolk were hurting, they lost their homes and mutual funds
Make me the president, I can fix it Perry coo’d
The first thing we’ll do is cancel unemployment insurance because, fuck you
Big Oil Perry
Big Rick the Dick
The Hundred and forty-second best debater in the west
Well finally Perry took three slugs in the belly
it was just outside the Tea Party rally
MIlitia man had an AR-15 and was foolin’ around
Second Amendment solutions, that’s what went down
Big Target Rick
Big he’ll live, he just won’t hold water Rick
The Hundred and Forty Second fastest Master Debater in the west.
Thank you and good night.
* What? Rick Santorum? Rick Perry? Don’t act like you didn’t see the Rick Roll coming. There’s a joker in every deck.