projectusa.org >> ezine >> 2005

Cowardice, like dishonesty, corruption and greed, doesn't play well anywhere, but I imagine this is especially true in Arizona, home of the famous OK Corral, located in the famous town of Tombstone, which, to this day, is nothing but a nest of varmints and armed vigilantes (armed and dangerous vigilantes! just ask the frightened townspeople listening to those shyster lawyers who've hung their shingle off the 18th floor at 125 Broad Street).

When challenged in front of the whole town to stand behind his word, will Sen McCain say yes, I believe strongly that what I am saying is true? Or will the aging and once glorious War Hero, locked in his own personal struggle against dissipation, turn away a defeated man?

What will he do when the town beggar, wiping spittle from his chin with a dirty sleeve, shouts above the din of the crowded saloon, Hey! Sheriff! Yer a liar! [The room falls silent. The piano stops a half-second later. Someone drops a glass.] Yeah, that's right. I said it. And I'll say it again. Yer a low-down side-windin' no-account double-dealing skunk of a liar.

You know, and I know, an' everyone in this saloon knows, that any legislation that gives an illegal alien the right to remain legally in the United States, absolving him or her of the requirement, currently in law, to return home, is an amnesty. Ain't no two ways about it.

You know, an' I know, continued the town beggar unsteadily, an' everyone in this saloon knows that chargin' a fee for the amnesty don't mean it ain't an amnesty. An' requirin' the alien to work a job he came here fer in the first place don't mean it ain't an amnesty neither. An' makin' 'em pay a fine, or makin' 'em learn to talk American, or makin' 'em do 20 push-ups don't mean it ain't an amnesty neither.

It's an amnesty cause the aliens is pardoned as a class of lawbreakers and relieved of the penalty required for breakin' the law they broke at the time they broke it.

It only ain't an amnesty if the aliens gotta go home. I told ya this enough times a'ready, I know ya know it.

The beggar had worked himself up into quite a sweat, and several of the ladies in the room turned away in disgust. Lurching forward, but continuing to look the rich powerful sheriff dead on, the beggar managed to slur out loudly enough for everyone to hear, Hey, Sheriff! I'll betcha ten of them crisp new 30-sheet billboards up there in Phoenix that that ain't nothin' right there in yer pocket but one of them amnesties ya cooked up with that dad-blamed fancy-pants easterner, Ted Kennedy, that crosswired two-timin' coyote who is more responsible for this country's immigration mess than any other human alive, in the first place, him and some of them newspaper boys up in New York City.

The sheriff was slowly sidling over to his staunchest supporter, the town jailer, undertaker, and billboard monopoly Sumter S. Chwinestine: I don't hafta talk to this non-contributin' trash, Sumter, the sheriff said, nervously glancing around and sizing up the crowd's support. I already done told him my answer.

I told him back in February of 2000, in Darlington, SC, just up the road from Sumter, Sumter, when I was runnin' for President an' here this beggar was then, too, putting up them billboards, an' he stood up right there in my rally in Darlington, SC and asked me, since I support an immigration policy that's doublin' U.S. population within the lifetimes of today's children, would I at least say where we should stop: one billion people? two billion people? three? never? Now, ain't that the blamedest thing, Sumter?

An' I told him, Sumter, you bethcha I did. From right where I stood. I looked him straight in the eye and right there in front of everyone, in front of that whole Darlington, SC crowd, I said to him slow and steady,

You an' I obviously disagree, Sir, an' hold differin' views on immigration. But in my view, there ain't any room in the 'publican Party for racists and white supremacists.

That's what I answered 'im Sumter, said the sheriff, glancing sideways at the beggar. You kin look it up.

But whatever you else you do, Sumter, you don't let that beggar put up any more of them billboards. You have that right. You own that speech, an' he's just a-lookin to bash folks in public anyways, and you and me and them lawyers down at 125 Broad St (17th or 18th floor, I forget) all of us agree about them billboards, an' we need to join forces to protect the First Amendment of the Constitution of these United States of America from them billboards.

But just then the beggar hollered, Whaddya say, Sheriff? I'm callin' you a liar!

I think yer lyin', an' I think ya know yer lyin', an I think yer too yella to stand behind yer word cause yer word ain't no good.

So here's my wager: If it turns out you don't support an amnesty for illegal aliens, I'll hire yer fren', Mr. S. Chwinestine, there, to put up ten of them billboards in Phoenix readin'

"ProjectUSA apologizes to Senator John McCain,
who does not support amnesty for illegal aliens."

If it turns out ya do support amnesties for illegals, however, you'll hire yer Mr. S. Chwinestine there to put up ten of them billboards in Phoenix, and they'll read,

"I, Senator John McCain, support amnesty for illegal aliens."

And 'cause I wanna take away somma your wrigglin' room, or mebbe 'cause I'm drunk, I'll agree to let the editorial board of the Arizona Republic, another nest of varmints if there ever was one, act as final judges of the resolution process of our little wager.

Whaddya say Senator? Is it a bet? Yer not too yella to stand behind yer own public statements, are ya?