Of course I’m a regular guy, despite some media critics who call me professional and aloof. I’m a lawyer, for crying out loud. So is my wife. We just don’t like to mix it up with common people. They get the wrong idea.
Pennsylvania is full of common people. They’re everywhere. Pennsylvania and Ohio are two peas in a pod, cut from the same cloth, molded in the same image. Both states have tattered economies and can’t figure out what happened, and don’t believe it when I told them that Bill Clinton sold them out with NAFTA.
To get votes in Pennsylvania I have to act like a regular guy. That means drinking beer, bowling, kissing babies, and getting personal. Yesterday I had to wear a flannel shirt at one rally. At another I had to throw a bowling ball. I’ve never done that in my life. Black folks don’t bowl. We just don’t.
One thing I have in common with Pennsylvania voters is beer. I like a good, cold glass of beer and french fries. Yesterday I stopped at a roadside joint in Latrobe, the home town of Arnold Palmer. He’s the old white guy who sells golf balls or something on television. They love him in Pennsylvania.
Anyway, I rolled up my sleeves and talked with local folks, drank a beer, paid for it myself, and even left a tip. The tip was scrawled on a napkin. ‘Get a life, folks.’
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