#282 Political Capitalists
They had some kind of a farm fair around here the other day and you could hardly find any farm fare what with all the politicians crawling around, having learned, recently, to walk on their hind legs.
The governor wants to go into the cement business. By which, he means to sell the state’s main road. He’s here to sell that idea to people who don’t care but should. The senators are on Summer Break, which is when non-students flock into a college town because there are no students. They have nothing else to do. They can’t work because their factory, Congress, is closed. So they come here to places like
The Senators want to preen. When an event is big enough for Senators to come and preen, you have to figure the cows take a back seat. And the corn. By next year, they won’t have actual cows and actual corn, they’ll have virtual crops in a virtual field, and the political team can take the real field. The field of preens.
This is essentially harmless fun. It’s kind of like any other cheap campaign stop. And if you’re dumb enough, you can consider it some form of assurance that these semi-mythic creatures are real and therefore your government is in good shape and good hands (hands of cheap cologne that rubs off on you, but good hands, nonetheless.)
The guys that DON’T show up are far more interesting than the guys who DO.
Like the judge from the city of
No biggie. Just scammed two insurance companies out of a cool half-mil, claimed he was a crippled insomniac. Bought a motorcycle, an interest in an airplane and a bunch of golfing trips to the tropics, while claiming he could barely walk from the bed to the toilet.
This is no ordinary judge. This is a judge who judges BIG cases. You want a guy like that on the bench when the money laundering, biker drug lords come before the bench. This judge and his 15 benchmen vote on the fates of people like this. And corporate stuff. And divorces. And sexual deviancy. So this ain’t traffic court. More than seven thousand cases a year. A couple of hundred murders, a couple of hundred rapes, a couple of hundred drug cases.
You want a guy who’s good with an airplane for things like this. And a Harley. Show’s he’s street smart.
Wonder if he’ll be at Farm Fest next year. Roar in on that bike. Or buzz the silo with that Cessna.
I'm Wes Richards, my opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.
(c) 2007 WJR