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Just Change the Name to Perrystan


OK, I know I’m not a political writer. I bitch about unqualified people commenting on complex topics, so I should shut up. But I live in Texas, where we have this governor who wants the state to secede from the union and wants to be President of the United States, too. Question: would he want to be President of The United States of Everything Except Texas? I guess he could hand-pick a president for Texas if he offered enough foreign aid. Maybe W would take the job; he’s not that busy reading all the books in his library.

So I met Rick Perry exactly once. Well, maybe I didn’t exactly meet him. Under duress I attended a fund-raiser for him that was sponsored by my former employer a few years back. At least I didn’t have to write a check! I was in the receiving line as Mr. Perry entered the room with his posse and shook each of our hands in turn.

If he had been, say, Bill Clinton, he would have looked me in the eye, shook my hand. placed his other hand on my shoulder, and asked me how everything was going. But this is no Bill Clinton. Perry stretched out his hand for a shake while looking everywhere else in the room except at me. At first I thought, I get this, he’s hungry. It’s  been a long day and he wants to find the shrimp. If he spots it, I’ll follow him over there, we’ll both put too many shrimp on our plastic plates, and we’ll have a nice chat about education and jobs and where the lottery money goes.

But then I had a revelation. A light shone from above, right through the roof and ceiling, and illuminated Perry’s head in such a way that I could almost see through it. No, it wasn’t God sending Rick a personal God-o-Gram or fixing his hair. The message was for me. Perry wasn’t hungry for shrimp; he was hungry only for big, tasty campaign cash so he could continue to run things in Texas. Whoever in the room could provide the most green would get Rick’s full attention this day – although even that may not be much – and it certainly wasn’t going to be me. Rick could tell that just by the cut of my jacket. So he didn’t even look at me while shaking my hand, and then he moved on.

The word “opportunist” has been spoken by many a political analyst regarding Perry. And they’re right. Perry doesn’t give a damn about policy; he just wants to be crowned King of Perrystan and not have to wear that wig any more. Actually, I do suspect it’s a rug. Let’s start that rumor: Perry’s bald, bald, bald. Now if he’s not he has to prove it on national TV. Maybe on the Letterman Show.