The devil called down to Georgia, he was lookin’ for an election to steal. He was in a bind ’cause he was way behind, And he was willin’ to make a deal.
When he reached Raffensperger, the Georgian Secretary of State. The devil jumped up on a hickory stump And said, “Boy, let me tell you how to make Georgia great,”
“I guess you didn’t know it, but I’m a gambler through and through, And if you’d care to take a dare, I’ll make a bet with you. Now you play a pretty politician, boy But let me sow some oats. I’ll bet a toilet of gold against your soul If you can find me 11,870 votes.”
The boy said, “my name’s Brad, and I think that’s a crime So I’ll have to refuse, because you’re gonna lose, And you might wind up doing time.”
Brad taped this conversation, because he knew the Devil couldn’t be trusted. When Hell broke loose in Georgia, he got the Devil busted. He didn’t care about any old toilet made of gold,
He just wanted to let the Devil know that he wouldn’t sell his soul.
The devil started to plead his case and said, “Let me explain. I won this state. I’m doing great, and I’ve got my own jet plane.
Just do me this one favor, and I’ll do something for you.” Then a band of conspirators joined in, and it sounded like a coup.
When the devil finished, Brad said, “well, you’re pretty sure you won, But sit down in that chair right there And let me show you what you’ve done.”
He called the D.A. and Fani Willis made all sorts of plans To indict him on a RICO charge and fingerprint his tiny hands. Then Fani gave him a photo in honor of his “perfect” call. You see the scowl in his mug shot, and I guess that says it all.
The devil bowed his head because he knew that he’d been beat And he puked in the golden toilet on the ground at their feet They said, “Devil, just come back for a trial date if you ever dare, And we’ll put you in jail for life, or send you to the chair.”
They played “Fire on the Mountain” run boys, run. The conspirators are goin’ to the big House, one by one. And Devil Donald will be joining them there. Fani, will your dog bite? Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Peace & Love, and all of the above,
Earl
Original Song: The Devil Went Down to Georgia. Songwriters: Charles Fred Hayward / Charlie Daniels / Fred Edwards / James W. Marshall / John Crain / William J. Digregorio
Sun Tzu, who wrote The Art of War advised that is wise to keep your friends and enemies close, because these are people it is important to know and understand. So, I watched the first Republican debate.
First of all, it was a bit awkward, that the combined poll popularity of the eight people on the stage didn’t equal the 52.2% polling numbers of the person who the moderator called, “The Elephant Not in the room,” the man who will be taking a perp walk at the Fulton County Jail sometime today, Donald Trump.
It was obvious when the crowd practically booed Chris Christie off the stage for anti-Trump remarks, that the audience reflected this strong hold that Donald Trump still has on the Republican Party despite the multiple indictments against him in both State and Federal Courts. They think that the government’s case against their superstar is all politically motivated, with no evidence to back it up. (This, despite the fact that Donald Trump’s lawyers want to postpone the trial until 2026, just so that they will have enough time to go over the mountain of evidence that the government will present in court.)
After the debaters were reminded that they had all taken a pledge to support whoever won the Republican nomination, they were asked, by a show of hands, if they would support Donald Trump if he was the nominee. Most, quickly raised their hands in the affirmative. Further proof of Trump’s firm grip on 52.2% of the Party. Like the song says, it’s all about that Base, about that Base, about that Base.
So, why were the eight debaters there? They know that despite his popularity with the Party, there is still a chance that Donald Trump, who faces a RICO charge with a minimum sentence of 5 years in jail, might not be legally allowed to run for the Presidency. They all know that this is the only way that any one of them can get the nomination. For one of them to win, Donald Trump must be out of the competition. That’s why they were there? They believe that might happen.
So, while they wait for the Elephant not in the room to stumble and fall, the best thing they can do is to elevate their standings in the polls. They want to be the person who will inherit the win if the favorite is disqualified. Currently, their race is for second place.
The position is currently held by Ron DeSantis, who is polling at 14.5%. “In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king,” so despite his low polling numbers he got center stage because his numbers were higher than everyone else there. I don’t think he did anything to hurt or help himself, so I don’t expect his numbers to change significantly.
Vivek Ramaswamy, by virtue of his 8.9% polling numbers, was to his left. To tell you the truth, this was the first time I ever saw this guy, so I was curious to see how he would perform. He came out swinging, “I’m the only guy up here who isn’t bought and paid for by a Political Action committee.” Or something like that. I put it in quotes because it’s darn close to whatever he said. So, immediately, the other 7 debaters attacked him, and he fought them all off. The 38-year old businessman was quickly making himself known to the nation. He won the first hour.
Former Vice-President Mike Pence with 4.2% was next. Fortunately, no flies landed on him this time, but he was getting attacked by everyone else. He held up well to the attacks and even landed a few good punches. To me, he seemed like the most reasonable person there, until he announced Jesus as his running mate.
Tim Scott was next with 3.5% in the polls. He’s a Black Republican Senator. I don’t foresee the MAGA base getting behind him, and he didn’t really get in anything that would have swayed many people, either. I don’t think his numbers will change much.
Next, was former U.N. Ambassador, former Governor of South Carolina, and the only woman candidate, Nikki Haley. She started off evenly and the first hour of the debate did nothing to help or hurt herself, as she let the boys beat on each other for the hour in their own little Royal Rumble. In the second hour, though, she came out with fresh legs. (No Pants Suit intended.) She went after Ramaswarmy, and had him on the ropes. When he tried to fight back, she landed a volley of strong punches. He wound up taking a standing eight count, and never got back into the fight. I scored it a TKO for Nikki.
Next, with a meager 3.3% of the polling, was the elephant who was in the room, former Governor of New Jersey, Chris Christie. He’s a big man with weight issues, so, I can empathize with him. The crowd didn’t, though. When he spoke ill of the “Elephant who’s not in the room,” the crowd almost booed him off the stage. He didn’t flinch, though. While he was being booed he said that they could boo him, but it didn’t make what he was saying not true. He landed a few shots and took a few shots. I think he did well, but was trying to work a very tough room.
Asa Hutchinson, with a paltry polling of 0.7% was next. He took a strong stand against Donald Trump, and, while he earned my respect for that, he didn’t win any fans in the crowd. So, I don’t see him lasting long in the race. It’s all about the base, about the base, about the base.
The final debater was North Dakota Governor Doug Burgum, who hobbled around with an injured foot. He landed one joke. He told the audience that the people back home wished him well and told him to break a leg. He shouldn’t have taken that literally.
He’s from North Dakota, which has only 3 electoral votes, so, I don’t expect him to last long in the race, either.
Final score. I think Ron Desantis held onto 2nd place. I think that Nikki Haley, Mike Pence and Chris Christie will move up slightly, while Ramaswamy, Scott, Hutchinson, and Burgum will lose ground. They’re all just biding their time, though, just waiting for the circus to leave town and hoping that soon the elephant will go away.
It’s all about the base, about the base, about the base.
My brother Kevin writes a weekly column in the San Francisco Chronicle. Then every couple years, he produces a compilation book containing some of his best articles. He just published his third book, The Secrets of the Blue Bungalow. I have only published one book, a children’s book called A Little Bit Better.
I am envious, but I’m not jealous. I know that Kevin doesn’t really write his own stories. His family does. Kevin is a gay San Francisco cop, who with his husband Brian, adopted two young boys over a decade ago. The now teenage boys actually write the columns for him. All he has to do is observe them during the week and write down the good parts, or sometimes the bad parts, whichever makes for the best story.
Me, I’ve got to create my own bedlam. That was easy when I was younger, but now that I’ve travelled around the sun 75 times, I can’t drink that much anymore. So, I simply can not compete with the antics of two teenage boys. Kevin produces a column every Wednesday. I’m lucky if I can come up with one a month, and sometimes I can’t even do that. However, I don’t have the Damocles Sword of a deadline hanging over my head. So, I don’t have to be so prolific. I don’t have an editor breathing down my neck for a weekly fix of 750 words. I just get a text message from one or two of my readers if I go a few months without a column, “What’s up? You still alive?”
I don’t think I could produce a story every week, unless I, too, adopted a few teenage “ghostwriters,” like my brother did, but I’m not about to go through all that effort just to spice up my columns. I am deeply devoted to the wonderful readers of this column, but let’s face it, there aren’t enough of them to field a softball team, maybe not even enough for a bowling team. WordPress keeps track of those things, and they tell me that I have way over a hundred subscribers. I only ever hear from a handful of them, though, so the rest must be in the witness protection program.
So, this column is not about me. It’s for Kevin. Go to Amazon and buy his book. His kids worked hard to write it.
My family came into town this weekend for an early celebration of my 75th birthday. I offered to take them on a tour of Wheatland, the home of James Buchanan, our 15th President. They weren’t interested. They wanted to go ride the Strasburg Railroad, a 45-minute ride through Amish Country. I’ve taken the Amtrak from Lancaster to New York, many dozens of times, so I had about as much interest in another train ride as they had in Wheatland, none.
We decided that they would go for the railroad ride on Saturday afternoon, and then we would all meet at Clipper Magazine Stadium for a Barnstormer game and the all-you-can-eat buffet.
They started with a little warm-up train, and Kevin quickly became Cooper’s favorite uncle…
I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.
So, they moved up to the real train…
When they got back from their choo choo ride, they had questions about the ballgame. Who are they playing, they all wanted to know. I told them that they were playing the newest team in the league, the Spire City Ghost Hounds. That didn’t interest them, so I had to start listing all the food that was on the buffet menu to regain their interest.
The Spire City Ghost Hounds joined the Atlantic League this year and they didn’t even have a name until June 24th. They wore question marks on their uniforms.
“You know I’ve been to the ballpark on a team with no name…”
So, then they held a contest to name the team and The Spire City Ghost Hounds was the winning name.
It might seem strange that The Spire City Ghost Hounds could possibly be the winning name, until you hear some of the losing suggestions: Bone Shakers, Rail Frogs, Sawbones, and Screaming Alpacas
The first part of their name actually makes sense, though. They’re from Frederick, Maryland, a city which was immortalized in the Civil War era poem Barbara Frietchie by The American Poet John Greenleaf Whittier. It refers to the spires of the many churches in the downtown area of the city. The most famous lines of the poem, which we all had to read back in high school was:
“Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,
But spare your country’s flag,” she said.
The Ghost Hounds part of their name, well, that’s from a local Frederick, Maryland urban legend about a grey-eyed dog that haunts the city, and it probably makes some sense to them, but not to anybody else in the world. Woo. Spooky Ghost Hounds. What a joke. I can’t wait for the Stormers to have a go at this new team.
So, we headed off to the field preparing to party, and party we did.
“I want to thank you all for coming out today to celebrate my 75th birthday.”
Then when my nephew DJ and my brother Kevin spotted the Barnstormers Mascot, Cylo, they raced all the way from the party pavilion in right field to where Cylo was entertaining the crowd on the left field side of the stadium.
Kevin made sure that he got in all the pictures. He writes a weekly article in the San Francisco Chronicle, and he was determined to write a story about the weekend so that it could be written off as a business expense. Maybe, contrary to what Brother X and I have been telling him for his 65 years, he might actually be the smart one in the family.
Now, all we needed was for the Barnstormers to kick a little Ghost Hound butt.
That was not to be, though, as the Hounds of Hell kept blasting homeruns at us into the pavilion where we were sitting. They stomped the Stormers by a score of 14-4.
We still had a blast, but I guess the Stormers should not have taken the new team so lightly.
earlthepearl137 