Who Killed Rick Perry?
And Then There Were Fifteen Little Native Americans
Before the start of what the great American arbiter of talent, Ed Sullivan, would have called “a really big shew”— the thrilling second episode of the Republican Presidential Debates on CNN tomorrow night at 6 and 8 PM, New Jersey Time, featuring the massed field of worthy opponents ganging up on the One and Only, thank God, Emperor Donald – I suggest a moment of silence for a member of the cast who bit the dust over the weekend.
Rick Perry will go down in history as one of the original Magnificent 17, the first of the gallants to die in the battle of wits and half-wits called the 2016 GOP Presidential nominating race. That means there are now only 15 worthies still in the trenches, ready to go over the top tomorrow night, throwing themselves against a machine gun’s steady stream of invective, the one- liners, ad womenem and hominem attacks from the Emperor’s castle. On a clear day, it looks to His Majesty that it’s all over. The polls seem to be saying he can be elected by acclamation, saving money on the actual primaries and tedious voting process.
Cause of death:
Ratings anemia, which led to complications such as dearth of cash, followed by campaign interruptus. Sic transit Rick.
Admittedly, pollees were not thrilled with him, except for the 2% who supported him. But it was a solid 2 percent. Even though there is still another Rick (Santorum) in the race, it won’t be the same without the ex-governor of Texas and his potential comedic relief.
Now I’m not saying I would have voted for him. I mean, he can’t do emergency brain surgery like Doc Carson.
He doesn’t have a record of bringing a company down faster than Carly did to HP before her board fired her. With my eyes shut in the last debate, she gave me not only a headache but also a migraine.
Or make me laugh like Emperor Donald, the funniest candidate in the annals of American politics, more risible even than William McKinley.
I’m not saying I approved of what Rick stood for policy-wise. Give me a week, and I will come up with a list, if I can find my notes.
But I do remember he was proud of being the chief executive of a state that led the nation in executions. He promised to send Texas Rangers to the border to fight the Mexican rapists, a lot cheaper than building a wall.
He was ready to support our party’s basic philosophy of robbing the poor and giving to the rich, the Robin Hoods who believe in cutting food stamps for the starving and doing their darndest to cripple Social Security, Medicare, Affordable Care and other enabling socialistic schemes.
What killed Rick Perry was not the polls or his policies; his own team assassinated him. His own most ardent supporters betrayed him, the handful of Texas billionaires who turned out to be cheapskates. They didn’t want to pour bad money after bad down what seemed like a prairie dog hole. Rick was dispensable, like a used Kleenex.
As I was saying the other day, there is something morally wrong in a great democracy when 130 families or businesses are giving 50 percent of all the money funding our candidates in the race for most important office in the land if not the world.
Poor Rick didn’t have a Sheldon Adelson, a champion of lost causes, who kept writing checks to keep Newt afloat in 2012, even though he was the only candidate who had a $250,000 line of credit at Tiffany’s to keep his wife in the jewels she had become accustomed to.
It’s especially a shame for Rick needing to throw in his cards after he had gone to the trouble of finally memorizing the names of three departments to be closed if elected president, and leaning how to wear that pair of glasses that made him look like an intellectual (I personally thought he looked like Clark Kent),
Worse, he had gone the extra mile naming his cowboy boots “Liberty” and “ Freedom”, which Kevin Baker reminded me was an improvement on “ Foot Fungus” and "Plantar Fasciitis.”
As they used to say about Custer, Rick Perry died for our sins.
And so it goes. The cowboy is now walking down the streets of Laredo in the Sky, wrapped in white linen and cold as clay, as we bang the drums slowly and blow the Fyfe lowly for the late lamented Republican Party.
Who will be the next thrown off the island? Chris Christie? Pastor Huckabee? Place your bets.
A final debate tip:
For weeks the massed 15 brain trusts have been burning the midnight oil trying to come up with the magic formula for showing the public the Emperor has no clothes. My advice is they all should show up on stage wearing baseball hats with their slogans emblazoned.
September 15, 2015