Ramblin Man: Political speak

■ Dave Porter / Contributed

My wife thinks I read too much political news. It started with a simple lunch at a local diner. I was in the mood for liver and onions but I didn’t see it on the menu. So I asked the server.
She said they don’t have liver and onions. I decided I should lobby for the dish.
“The American people will not stand for this attack on beef liver,” I said. “When did this war on liver begin? If you don’t have liver and onions, will you compromise and bring me liver without the onions?”
The server just stared at me.
“My good friend,” I continued, “I’m just a humble American with humble roots, the son of a coal miner. A descendant of immigrants. Sure, it was 400 years ago, but hashtag immigrant.”
My wife started kicking me under the table. I decided to ramp it up.
“You know who didn’t like beef liver? Hitler. The people were complicit. Nazi, fascist, liberal, pinko, socialist, crony capitalists, millennials, anchor babies …” words were just spewing out of my mouth in no particular order.
I caught my breath and continued. “This doesn’t pass the Jimmy Kimmel test,” I
protested not realizing the server had left the table and the manager was now on his
way.
“Of course,” I said, “a militant male manager and a female server. Where is the
gender equality in this restaurant? Or at least the gender neutrality? I mean, I don’t
like to label people, but at the end of the day, a dress is a dress.”
People were now staring.
“Look,” I said. “May I be candid? With all due respect, beef liver is an American
staple. The science is settled on this. Yet, here I sit, in an American diner offering
American fare and am surrounded by science deniers. We need to drain the swamp.”
My wife was now slunk down in her seat.
“This menu has a serious deficit. I move that we repeal and replace this menu
immediately. It’s a bold proposal, but you’re risking a fiscal cliff with this pre-
existing condition. I’m a dreamer, too, and right now, I’m dreaming of delicious,
overcooked beef liver.”
I can’t even see my wife over the tabletop at this point.
“I realize this is a partisan establishment, but my read-out is that the public sector
expects access to beef liver. Is it your monetary policy to sequester beef liver?”
Flipping through the menu, I continue, “This list has a series of culinary gaffes. I
predict a media firestorm when this gets out. Why don’t you reach across the aisle
and declare amnesty for beef liver?”
The manager interrupted my filibuster and said, “There’s an enthusiasm gap for beef liver entitlements because they create a budget deficit. So, we kicked that can down the road. But, realizing the margin of error, we do offer a chicken liver basket of deplorables as an alternative fact.”
Finally, someone who speaks my language. I conceded: “I’ll just have a cup of
covfefe.”


Copyright 2018 by David Porter who can be reached at porter@ramblinman.us.
Who knew lunch care could be so complicated?

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