After church yesterday, my colleagues Earle and I — Jennifer felt she needed to have her fingernails attended to, though they looked fine to me and Earle — travelled to Sniffingham, in the southeast corner of the county, to talk about Sen. Rick Santorum’s compelling conservative vision of the American future with Wally and Deb F—, originally from Fresno, California. The couple repatriated to the UK in 2006 because of their adoration of the music of James Blount, apparently not realising that the singer/songwriter had himself moved to Los Angeles, whose name most Brits are unable or unwilling to pronounce properly; mispronouncing foreign place names is Brits’ second favourite recreation, after alcoholism. Wally works as an author of adult ebooks, while Deb devotes herself to home-schooling their mentally disabled daughter Nancy, whose biological father is the uncaught rapist who lowered the boom on Deb one night in 1998 in the parking lot of the Fresno Stop-n-Spend, where Deb worked as a product demonstrator. Deb believed then what Sen. Santorum has bravely gone on record as believing now — that a child conceived via rape is no less a gift from God than those conceived by a married couple with the lights out in the missionary position, with neither experiencing pleasure beyond that of doing God’s work.
If the sanctity of not-yet-born human life were the only issue, then, the F—s’ vote for Sen. Santorum would be what is commonly called a slam dunk, even though that term comes from basketball, a sport dominated by non-white athletes. But they turned out to have other concerns. Wally, for instance, is troubled by the Senator’s having been endorsed by the late folk rock singer Bono, who is of course very much alive. Given their druthers, in fact, the couple would vote eagerly for Gov. Sarah Palin.
As you can imagine, this revelation caused me no little delightt, as Gov. Palin has no more avid a supporter on the planet than I. But my first priority is of course to help remove from office the Kenyan-born socialist extremist whose idea of sound domestic policy is to redistribute the wealth of hard-working white Americans to swarthy welfare cheats who will use their new riches to buy crack and folk rock CDs and abortions, and at the moment Sen. Santorum seems to be the most viable Republican. On his way out to the garden for a smoke, my colleague Earle shot me a look that said, “I’m well aware you would prefer to rhapsodise about Gov. Palin almost until it’s too late for us to catch our train home, but we must remain on task here,” so I didn’t let on how much I’m secretly hoping that Sen. Santorum and Gov. Romney will be deadlocked going into the big convention in Tampa in August, and that the party will implore Gov. Palin to accept its nomination.
In the end, I was able to persuade each of the F—s to buy a Santorum Brown 2012 badge for £1.50 each. Wally bristled a bit, musing, “So what’s your markup on these bad boys, around a million percent?” I told him I didn’t have the actual figures in front of me, and that I would far sooner have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy, LOL, and urged him to bear in mind that the money would help ensure that future rapists’ children get to enjoy the same chance at life that he and I and Earle and Deb had all had, and he seemed mollified.
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