It’s obvious that the circus has come to town. With the GOP we have the elephant. And with President Bone Spurs we have the clown.
What’s up with all this name calling? Are we prepubescent seventh graders? In the seventh grade, this name calling would have resulted in an invitation to go behind the bus garage complete with an entourage of witnesses. I don’t recall any wads of paper being thrown. I learned early not to call people names.
In my humble opinion, our current sheriff is not fit for office. I fall into the group that they refer to as sheep. A sheep is an animal that I would slit its throat, consume its flesh and possibly harvest some of its internal organs. Naturally with some fava beans and a nice bottle of chianti. Don’t call me names.
Another name being thrown around is RINO (Republican In Name Only). If I was so inclined, a rhino is an animal I would hunt and render it to my game pouch. And dance around the fire in celebration of its demise. Don’t call me names.
I think the current and soon-to-be former sheriff made a poor decision by not choosing to uphold and follow laws, rules and regulations he was elected to do. But poor decision making might be genetic. “Share the road. Wear a helmet.” Don’t call me names.
Being a former Republican Party precinct committee officer, I’m a little embarrassed by the current chair Brandon Svenson. I’m of Scandinavian heritage. Hopefully they were adopted. “Let’s go, Brandon.” Don’t call me names.
What advice would I give people in these turbulent times? Don’t throw things at law enforcement. I would never dream of doing such a thing.
Besides, at 65 years of age, my hands are a little arthritic. Balling up a piece of paper might prove difficult. I’d hope to a go a different route. One last thing before I forget: Don’t call me names.