Brace Yourself

~If you ever injected truth into politics, you would have no politics.~Will Rogers


Storyteller-n

sto-ry-tell-er

1.  One who tells or writes a story.

2.  Informal:  a liar.

When I was a little girl and tried telling a big ol' whopper to cover up some misdeed I was guilty as sin of, Mother would ask "Debra Lynn...are you telling me a story?".  Mother put up with a lot from us kids, but one thing she didn't hold to was lying. She didn't like being storied to and developed a fool proof method to deter my siblings and me.

She always kept a Bolo paddle board on top of the fridge...minus the ball of course.  If one of us tried storying to her and she caught wind of it, ('course...we always did and 'course...so did she. My mother could smell an out-and-out, bald-faced lie a mile away) one swift whack with that paddle was all it took to put us back on the straight and narrow.

 Let me tell y'all...that woman was a crack-shot...literally. She was never known to miss her target and to this day, I find it hard to even tell a little white lie without flinching...or clenching!

Which brings me to the subject at hand...the political conventions!

We got the Republican Party Convention going on in Florida and the Democratic Party's set for next week in North Carolina.  Not to make light of hurricanes, but the amount of hot air that's gonna get to swirling and blowing during this time could be just as dangerous.

(Absolutely no relevance to this rant post. Just an excuse for me to show Grayzilla...although this does kinda illustrate politicians and their talking, but not saying anything!) 

SQUIRREL ALERT!

I gotta tell y'all...I admit my ignorance. I don't quite understand the whole party/convention process...other than the balloons. I like balloons...'specially pink ones. 

There are delegates and then there are super-delegates.  The way I understand it...they are there to smile big for the cameras, make keynote speeches and form a party platform...complete with planks.  Now to my way of thinking, some of these folks need to be walking a plank, but I digress.  The main purpose for a convention is for these delegates...pledged and unpledged...to cast votes in the nomination process for president and vice-president.

Hmmm...she thinks scratching her head.

Not to be a party pooper y'all, but I gotta ask...doesn't this sound a bit like a fraternity to y'all?

AND...

I might be over simplifying this just a scosche...but hasn't that decision already been made?  What's the point?

I think I know.

They say convention...I say party time!

(Again...no relevance. Just a shameless excuse to use Graycie's photo whenever possible!)

Don't get me wrong...no one loves a good time better'n me. Heck...my middle name is Party.  Point is...don't flower it up. Call it what it is...an excuse to rock 'n roll and wear ridiculous clothes!  Fact is...I'd have a Tupperware Party Convention myself...if I could afford it.

Hey...maybe there's time to change it to the Cocktail Party!

I can see it now.  No wimpy vests for us.  We could all wear togas festooned...and I might add...held discreetly together by Deb The Celeb For Prez campaign buttons. Ooohh...and hats!  We gotta have hats. Imagine...red, white and blue Lady Liberty crowns complete with sequins, three foot tall, sparkly Uncle Sam hats and rakish, bedazzled straw bowlers with glow in the dark hatbands.  With all my artsy and crafty constituents...the possibilities are endless.  Feathers y'all...I'm seeing feathers!

(You know the drill by now. It's my party and I'll show what I want to!)

But my fellow Americans...the creme de la creme would be the party favors.  I would issue Bolo paddle boards...rubber balls still attached for an extra ka-thonk on the ol' ba-donkadonk...to all my attendees. Once armed in a playful mood, I'd load all y'all and a ragtime band up on a flat bed trailer, and we'd head on out to Tampa and Charlotte. We'd crash the RNC and DNC parties before they had time to know what hit 'em.  Imagine their faces!  We could all float down on balloons a la Mary Poppins amid glittering confetti and then...every time we heard some politician tellin' a story...

GIVE 'EM A RESOUNDING THWHACK!

It sure as shooting would beat the heck outta Whack-a-Mole. I promise you up and down...it would be a political party to end all political parties.  For souvenirs at party's end, we'd all take home guns to rival Rosie the Riveter's to prove it!

And the best part?

Who's to say we'd have to stop there? No more of He said/She said game playing. We could march...band blaring...our party right on up to Washington and start the new game of Whack-a-Congress...or as I would like to call it...If You Can't Join 'Em...Beat 'Em!

(Again...I do not make light of Hurricane Isaac and all who are or will be impacted. My prayers go to all those folks for God's keeping.  My prayers also go up for all Americans and our country in the coming elections.  I pray God will exercise His will over all our country's leaders and give them the whack they need to stop arguing just long enough to hear and listen to Him.)