see more butts. Hey, would you blow me? Charlie, dude, Charlie, Willie, or Wony.

Charlie. What's up, dude? We have a show. Yeah, give me, give me five, man. I just got

to finish filling out these signatures for my petition to run for governor. Oh, sure.

Got to collect 10,000 of these things. Okay. Buster, Hyman, Mike, Hunt, Hugh, G, Reaction, James,

E, Craig. Hey, Mark, I need a woman's name. You just said, you just said one. Anita. Anita.

Cock. I don't work. Toast him. Let's do it.

No, boss, shit, no, boss, shit.

Let's just do it. Break it is double or bullshit, double or bullshit, no, let's get right

to it. Right now, Republicans are weird. They are a strange group these days. The country club versus

the Elk's club. White people, maybe the most self-segregating group in America, working class

whites, don't much like rich whites and vice versa. Never have. And yet, here they all are in the

same convention hall in Grand Rapids, trying to agree on which candidates to endorse for November.

The grocery store Gentry, the self-important politician, the preening lawyer, the social

skeleton, and the brown loafers political operative scheming in the corner. Juck's supposed to

them is the self-sufficient loon, the precinct delegates stoned on high grade cannabis,

the cow farmer who smells of old spice, and a suburban insurance adjuster and khaki and heels.

The aristocratic Republicans have always known that they don't have the political numbers,

so they've spent millions to warp the working man's mind. They've convinced him that things against

his interests are good for him. Like war, China, Wall Street, I could go on. But now the working

class whites have figured the game. It's their party now, and the rich boys have to play along.

How amusing it is, watching two men and blazers admire each other's Florida tans,

until a guy with bad teeth and a red hat shouts, I used to be a Democrat. And the tan guys and the

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