It's been a long time since I wrote, but I been busy. The latest indignity heaped upon my rapidly grayin' head is this Korea mess. What good's a two-war policy if more than two insists on getting' in on it? It ain't enough we gotta fight Afghanistan, Osama, the U.N., France and Tom Daschle, now Kim's gotta chime in too.
 
At least things is lookin' a bit better here on the domestic affront--or least that's what George Will tells me 'bout the California Gubernatal race. George says he's way more optimistic and he's upgraded Bill Simon's odds from Not a Chance in Hell, to a state a' Guarded Pessimism.
 
A while back, ol' Bill got his pecs caught in the wringer over some shady business dealin's which was either outright crooked or at the very least poorly executed incompetence. In the end Bill come off lookin' like a bank robber who forgot to bring his gun.
 
Between you and myself, Bill Simon is one royal horse's patoot.
 
And sneaky, too. When the stuff hit the blades ever'body here lost interest in visitin' California. Trips was bein' cancelled so fast you 'd a' thought it was West Nile Virus Central. I sure didn't wanna go, but I hadda honor up on a promise I'd rashly made to show the flag for the doofus. This is one reason I don't promise nothin' to nobody no more.
 
Anyhow, we done our best to be intimate with his people that they didn't need to go overboard on schedulin' joint appearances with Bill-we figured none would 'a been just about the right number.
 
So when we landed, 'fore we opened the airplane door (that's "hatch", to us ex-airmen) the first thing I did was peek out the window just to make sure ol' Bill wasn't nowhere to be seen. When I didn't see 'im, I breathed a coupla reliefed sighs and started down the steps. But 'bout halfway down I noticed a commotion commencin' in the reception line. There seemed to be some kinda bulge in the line that started at the end and was makin' it's way up to the front--sorta like a mouse in a regurgitatin' python. And who the hell is it turn out to be but Bill, all teeth and sweaty palms, breathin' hard 'n jus' itchin' to lay his mitt in mine.
 
And in front a' all them cameras, too.
 
Well, what the hell was I gonna do, turn 'round 'n go back up the stairs? In fact I tried that, but Karl gimme a firm shove, so I didn't have no choice but to keep movin'.
 
The moment was kinda pregnant, though, now I think 'bout it. Ol' Bill was so obvious glad I was there his eyes was rimmin' with tears. I shook his hand (he first tried to hug me, but I syruptittedly interposed my knee into his softer parts, 'n he backed off.) When it was over I quietly wiped my hands on my pants.
 
After that we had a bunch a' fundraisers, 'n some uvvem we let Bill come to, 'n some uvvem we didn't. But In all of 'em I don't believe I could a' used the word "Bill" more 'n twice: once in speakin' bout the Candidate hisself, and 'nother referrin' to some anti-forest legislation we was proposin'.
 
You may remember I backed Rich Riordan against Bill in the primary, then Gray Davis aced Rich out 'n left us stranded with Bill. Somethin' told me somethin' awful 'd gone down, 'n I was dead right. Bill ain't a candidate as much as he's a flag; and the California party's been so busy salutin' him they never noticed he wasn't rooted in the ground all that firm.
 
George says the only chance Bill's got is that Gray Davis ain't no more a good bet for sainthood neither. Gray can be found anywhere there's a check bein' signed, and he is supernatural fond a' anybody who gives him one.
 
I recall back in Louisiana in '91; ol' Eddie Edwards (now safely locked up) was runnin' 'gainst David Duke the racist (which is prob'ly a bad thing to be.) Eddie won the election with the slogan "Vote for the crook."
 
Thing is, if either uvvem was to use that one in California they'd have to be a hell of a lot more specific.
 
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