I'm assuming Foghorn Leghorn wasn't available to speak at the Conservative Political Action Conference that concluded this past Saturday evening in Washington D. C. but it probably wasn't for lack of trying.
I suspect it may have been a scheduling problem aggravated no doubt by the fact that Foghorn is a cartoon character, voiced by the late Mel Blanc (before Mr. Blanc became the late).
My heart is on the left side of my body and my politics tends to follow my heart but I have a great deal of respect for people anywhere on the political spectrum, so much so that my liberal acquaintances fear I'm a neo-con and those of the conservative persuasion think I'm a communist.
The joke on both is that I see myself as a relentless pragmatist who is suspicious of anyone who offers me a philosophy, on life, politics or dress color, and uses the instead of a. Of course, for the last decade or so I've worn eyeglasses in an attempt to better see other people's points of view (alas, without much success).
Which sort of brings me back to Foghorn and his complete lack of political coloration or affiliation. Henry would know, except he is, also, a work of fiction. Looking at some of the those who did speak, Scott Walker, Chris Christie, Jeb Bush, makes me wonder about the line separating fact from fiction and who moved it.
Fiction is where philosophically I would have placed Phil Robertson of Duck Dynasty a sort of make-believe reality TV person who might have been better served, I believe, had he remained fictitious instead of contributing to our ever enlarging scale and scope of fractious factionalism by taking a place at a political podium.
And we so often wonder aloud why more developing nations don't choose to emulate our style of democracy. With the President of the United States still regarded by many in attendance at CPAC as a Marxist Muslim Kenyan, I, for one, am grateful Marvin the Martian is not only imaginary but a terrible public speaker.
-bill kenny
Ramblings of a badly aged Baby Boomer who went from Rebel Without a Cause to Bozo Without a Clue in, seemingly, the same afternoon.
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