Not Larry Sabato Radicalized Me
I just had a private conference with Not Larry Sabato and Black Velvet Bruce Li; and although the meeting was supposed to be completely off the record, I feel morally compelled to share the entire content with all of you right now.
Blogging ethics allow this.
Let's put it this way: The discussion ended with NLS head honcho Ben Tribbett screaming at me "I will bust you down to COPPER, Budzinski, I will bust your sorry little blog down to freakin' zinc!"
"Get out of town, you crazy bald man" I yelled back, "Zinc isn't even a metal!"
Well, it turns out we were BOTH partially right and partially wrong in that exchange, but who's to quibble over minor details. The important thing is that Don Ben is laying the heavy hand of blog dominance on my back, and I don't intend to submit without a fight.
We've had our run-ins with the Don before, as many of you will recall.
In this instance, the sticking point was illegal immigration. Namely, are those of us talking the talk walking the walk?
Normally, I love spending time with old Ben. The avuncular, genteel Not Larry Sabato has gained a well-deserved reputation as the voice of clear reason in a field of seething adolescents. He is the uniter. Many an evening has been spent listening to the old man regale us with tales of Father Coughlin, Jack Benny, and the Dodgers - the Brooklyn Dodgers. We young fellows are always happy to fetch the old guy a pack of Pall Malls and a fresh tom collins just for the privilege of hearing him rattle on about days gone by.
But tonight was a little different.
"Joe, how many Mexicans do you have locked up in your garage right now?" Ben asked.
"Jeez, Ben," I replied, "Nary a one."
"So then all your high falutin' talk about immigration enforcement is for show! You make yourself out to be best friends with the Sheriff candidate but you yourself aren't doing diddly!"
"Well, heck," I said, "I'm more of a communications and marketing type, and my garage is filled with household junk."
"That's exactly what is wrong in Loudoun!" said Ben Tribbett. "You all want to solve the illegal immigration problem, but none of you are trained by Immigrations and Customs Enforcement. You could be deputized right now. And if you cared about this issue, you would be."
Then it hit me, so then I hit Ben, across the side of his old, bald head: THWAP!
"Ben, if you're sayin' I should be rounding up the illegals myself, I surely will!"
And then I set out, shotgun in hand, to police the neighborhood.
Long story short, that did not work out so well, on basically human rights grounds. Some legal grounds, also.
Released on my own recognizance, I crawled back to the Don. "Don Ben," I asked, "What exactly should I do now?"
"Wait for my orders, Tin Man," saith the Don. "And then you can go about your immigration enforcement crusade. Your place in my sidebar will be determined according to your compliance. Ye may be metal or ye may be ore. Thus saith the Don."
So wait I will, as I have no other clear choice. In the meantime I am straightening up the garage, in case Don Ben needs it.
I am gratified to see that the NVTH Blog is currently safely held at nickel or worst, at tin. Either will be a blessing in my book.
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