Shots and Beers

I hadn’t eased in to the Liquor and Rubber Balls Sport Emporium and Pants Pressed While-U-Wait for a few weeks, so it’s nice this evening to see a nice cross-section (pardon the pun) of the regular lesbians milling ’round without weapons drawn.

“It’s because the race is over,” Duck Diamonds tells me, as I sit beside him at the bar.  Once the horse is dead, only the horse’s asses keep on beating it.”

Duck, a professional gambler (he denies it), has his usual newspaper spread out in front of him, the 2 inch remains of a singularly disgusting wet cigar butt chewed to shreds between his teeth, and a mug of black beer in his hairy fist.

You figure Obama has it made, do you?

“Shit yeah.  See this?  ‘His campaign has now raised more than $600 million, almost equaling what all the candidates from both major parties collected in private donations in 2004.‘  That’s the Times.  And it proves again what I told you in the primary.”

Remind me, Duck.

He slurps his beer, belches.  “This whole goddam election bullshit boils down to one single factor: The one who raises the most money comes out on top.  End of fuckin story.  You can forget the vote, the campaign, the press releases.  Screw the debates, the attack ads.  They should just make it a contest who can bring in the most dollars and declare whoever does is the winner.”

You did say that.  Now I remember.

“Been sayin that for years.   In politics, there’s nothin you can’t overcome with enough cash to throw around.  It ain’t like sports, where the big payrolls can lose to the little ones. The smart money is the most money.  Period.”

Don Tequila, bartending tonight, lumbers over and replaces our drinks.  “Nobody’s richer than a well-aimed bullet,” he growls.  “And hate to say it, but there ain’t a Black man in America safe from an armed maniac.  You hear what goes on at those husky-sucker’s rallies?”

Duck nods his head.  “Y’know what?  That happens today he gets elected anyway.  Dead man for President. You don’t think Lincoln woulda got re-elected if they thought to run his assassinated ass?  Change Obama’s name to Bernie.  That’s how much money he got.”

I dunno Duck.  He’s spending a lot of time here in Florida.  That’s troubling.  Worse, there’s lots of people would say it’s good Americans protecting the nation from a commie Muslim terrorist.  You read the blogs?   These people aren’t just ignorant racists, they’re fanatics.  Maniacs.  Deluded.  Desperate.

“Yeah yeah what else is new.  Black men scare white Americans.  He don’t know he needs to be careful?  He doesn’t have an army of security out there every time he’s in a crowd or a room of strangers?  He’s a US Senator, remember.  Not saying it can’t happen, I’m just telling you money buys everything, including a covered ass.”

Hope you’re right, Duck.  He’s got my vote.

Duck shoots me his bemused look.  “You actually vote?  I’m impressed.  You back it up with the occasional wager, too?”

No.

“Ha ha ha!” he brays, and downs his beer.  “And let me add, Ho Ho Ho!  Guess I’m buyin’ then.”  He signals Don Tequila over.  “Here’s to the winner!  Wanna talk about your Phillies next?  Vegas made ’em the underdog today.”

Now you’re on, you scumbag.