of a quaint little farm on the Potomac, Farmer Gore sat on the
ground applying a third coat of lipstick to Bessie, his favorite
pig. "Darn it," he thought as he blotted a smudge
of Dusty Rose from the swines chin, "I am gonna git
this pig airborne, I swear!"
Gore had grown up on a farm down in Tennessee. He spent nearly
three weeks every summer shoveling manure, making pigs look
pretty, and generally learning by doing. He reckoned he knew
just about all there was to know about farming, and now it was
time to prove it to the world.
then pesky little Haley Barbour from down the road leaned over
the fence. "Farmer Gore, Farmer Gore, that pig aint
gonna fly no-how!"
"Well just see about that," replied Farmer Gore.
"Way I figure it, enough lipstick on her and shes
bound to at least clear yonder oak tree."
"Oh yeah, that pigs gonna fly," smirked Haley.
"When pigs fly!"
made Farmer Gore mad. "Well, youre just jealous because
your pig has a whole tube of Magic Magenta on her snout, not
to mention Pretty in Pink on her nails and $30 million in soft
money from HMOs, gambling and tobacco interests, and she still
hasnt flown more than a foot," snapped Farmer Gore,
hurling a handful of mud at his persecutor.
Gore turned his attention to Bessie. Maybe if I used a different
palette, he thought. Yes, that must be it. Shes more of
a Winter. He dug out a new shade and resumed his painting.
a moment Farmer Gore noticed Miss Irene, the local soccer mom,
watching him from her front porch.
"Howdy, Miss Irene. Im puttin' lipstick on Bessie
here in order that shes gonna fly. Its just one
way that Im fightin' for workin' families."
"I see that," Miss Irene replied, batting her eyes.
"I do believe its gonna work too, Farmer Gore. I
think with enough lipstick, that pig is gonna fly clear over
to the ol McCain-Feingold place."
Gore smiled. She believed him! She believed it was going to
in the end, that mattered much more than whether or not it did.