He’s the man who does the grunt work in America – without him, the prosperity of the past decade wouldn’t have happened because he cleared the land, laid down the foundation, hammered, cemented, plumbed and stuccoed the homes that put a roof over the heads of his fellow Americans.
He’s not above the law – so long as he doesn’t get caught. He’s never been victimized – he’s been ‘done wrong’. He doesn’t know about passionate lovemaking – it’s raw sex and the tender afterglow. He’s proud of his guns – it does a guy good to truck it out to the Florida scrub and shoot a few rounds.
He worries about what the future holds for his kids, more nowadays than ever. He wants them to have a better life than himself. College? The best he can do is make sure they graduate from high school. After that, hard knocks build character.
He worked for The Boss Man whose ethic was more about getting the job done in the least amount of time than it was about quality. Boy, he’d be running his own business right now, doing it right. But the economy sank. So did his chances of getting a small business loan.
He’s a couch potato but with a six-pack by his side, and a couple more in the fridge, his goal is to become a smashed potatohead. A good chugfest helps drown out the sorrows of “What life’s done to me?”
He smokes, weed included. Other drugs? Hard liquor beats hard drugs any time of the day. The meds meant to dull the down-to-the-bones pains of years of backbreaking work are now the only guaranteed source of income. The return on the dollar is too good to pass up. He’s an entrepreneur, a believer in supply and demand.
Football is the only sport and the rest are for pansies. Except for Jordan, Shaq, Bonds, Jeter and maybe A-Rod when he’s got his act together. Skin color doesn’t matter in sports.
He’s a can-do person. He can do this and he can do that but an occasional do-it-yourself job gets screwed up. Who does he call? His buddy. Between the two of ‘em they get it done – the best example of bipartisanship.
A dog’s best friend is his master. A man’s best friend? You guessed it – his guns. The right to bear arms is the only protector of The Constitution – the symbol of freedom that guarantees life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness and free speech. And justice for all.
White isn’t the flag of surrender. It’s a dare to come and get me and I’ll beat the crap out of ya!
Call it male chauvinism but a woman’s place is in the home. Cleaning, cooking, caring for the kids – those are her responsibilities. But he can’t get over the fact that he hasn’t been able to find a job in weeks, months, perhaps a year or more. So the little woman has to take on a job to help make ends meet. And that’s not right! Although he might not know it was Truman who said it first, but out of anguish for the plight he’s in, he howls, “I’m mad as Hell.”
And who’s he mad at? Those dirty, rotten, scoundrel, scandalous politicians, that’s who! Democrats are for the working man. Republicans are for gun rights. But their all a bunch of self-serving ego-headed maniacs that spend more time listening to bankers, lawyers, CEOs and who knows who else rather than the people who gave them their jobs and pay their salaries through taxes. Taxation with mispresentation, that’s what it is!
The Tea Party people seemed to have a certain down to earth appeal about ‘em but then he saw the SUVs, RVs and hybrid cars and there’s not a one of ‘em that looks like they’ve ever put in a back-breaking day of work in their lives as he has.
They’re the disgruntled. They’re middle class and he’s not. The recession to them is a depression to him. They’re fed up with the politicians in Washington but they’re being herded up just like every other American.
He displays the colors of patriotism day in, day out. His body is burned red from working endless days in the scorching sun. He’s forever in blue jeans. During the day his shirt is soiled from sweat and dust, dirt and grime from a hard day’s work, but when he’s all cleaned up, feeling good and accomplished, he dons a fresh, clean white T-shirt. You can’t get much more Americana than that!
So, what’s he thinkin’? A T-shirt Party would best represent him. Damn right!
And if that doesn't work out, how about a Wet T-shirt Party! Sarah Palin for President!
(Note: The content of this column has been edited. Add a couple hundred more words – they all start with the letter “F”.)