McDougal's McCousin & The Ladies Auxiliary
At 11:00 a.m. Thursday we were en route to a hastily arranged campaign event at Mount Rushmore, when McDougal got a call from his cousin Dougal Maguire - a second generation Mic recently relocated to some Southern US shithole where blue laws and pre-suffrage voting requirements remain steadfastly intact.
Dougal's cousin is a former IRA soldier who escaped imprisonment and likely death by firing squad by stowing away on a Royal Navy frigate bound for the West Indies. A stolen identity, stack of fake citizenship documents and a rented Mooney flying into Miami at 300 feet above sea level later, McDougal's cousin's a thriving Southern gentleman who now sips mint juleps with the governor beneath a proudly flapping Confederate battle flag on the statehouse grounds.
Seems we're "half way to St. Patrick's Day," according to McDougal's cousin and we must honor the mark by visiting his strip mall pub two doors down from the Wal-Mart in this socially retarded backwater town.
In case you misread anything I said above - I hate the South ... well with the exception of Oxford, Mississippi, where through the help of an airborne rohypnol dispenser and a gas mask I was able to bed the entire Ole Miss women's lacrosse team in 1997.
But we weren't going to Oxford, and I've long since given up on date rape.
The only reason to venture south of Washington, D.C., is if you're going down there to kill someone, which (though likely the ultimate outcome) wasn't why we were going. McDougal wanted to drink Irish Car Bombs and "grip hands with the regular folk ... Goddamnit, I wanna shake some hands!"
So, like 38 hours later, the McDougal campaign bus rolls into Cannonball Run, Tennessee, or whereve the hell we were and McDougal's convinced himself that he's there to fight a religious war against Wal-Mart. (A mission he promptly forgot as soon as he put eyes on his cousin Dougal, thank God ... I think.)
Turns out our campaign manager had tried to make the best of the change in plans (as he's wont to do) and instead of holding a campaign stop in front of a historic national monument, we were going to sit down with a crash of dirt farmers high on crank and muscodine wine and ask them to support McDougal's independent Presidential bid with their votes and their wallets.
The event was, of course, an absolute disaster. Those rednecks didn't want to hear McDougal's rambling leftist views on the WTO or his (what must have seemed to them) idealistically opposite plan to abolish minimum wage laws and Federal taxes. They didn't want to hear about his plan to legalize drugs and remove prescription requirements for any and all medications.
I was not aware that McDougal was campaigning on banning prescription requirements, but must admit his ideas seemed logically sound at the time. "Jesus Christ, we're a free market economy. People don't need to go sit in a doctor's office for 45 minutes just to get a bunch of muscle relaxers and LSD (McDougal is under the impression that doctors also prescribe hallucinogens. I've tried repeatedly to explain to him that just because HIS doctor prescribes them doesn't make that the norm.). For Christ's sake, the drug companies tell you about the diarrhea and whatever else you need to know right there on the commercial."
He then went on his canned anti-Wal-Mart/anti-Chinese rant. Well, he might has well gone down there and told those redneck crackers that Jesus was a homo who smoked crack cocaine and bedded Roman hookers (which he later actually did say) than to attack the Wal-Mart, which has become a cornerstone for these people. One stop shopping there. They can get their beats and collard greens and anti-freeze all in one place. They've even got rides for the kids. And thanks to their partnerships with the Chinese government, they can sell inferior pressed board dining room suites for $30 so these ignorant mucks can pimp their double wides in the latest in New Millennium White Trash Decor. And McDougal's gonna go down there and bad mouth this!?
We're lucky we weren't lynched.
Of course, no one's gonna come after McDougal unless their ridiculously armed and even more ridiculously drunk. Turns out, however, that down there, clearly 80% of the populace meets both of these criteria.
By midnight, we were in a full fledged gunfight with these drunken buffoons, when McDougal gets an idea that he's gonna try to salvage the evening by hosting an auction. He stands up in the middle of the whole thing and announces he's going to auction off a dozen of his female interns.
He took six bullets in the chest while trying to explain his plan, but you know that kind of shit doesn't phase McDougal. He eventually got the room settled and by about 1 a.m. the auction was in high gear, with a couple of the girls fetching close to a thousand dollars.
Me and my buddy Ray each picked up one for ourselves, and I got to admit, McDougal had come up with a great idea.
Dougal's cousin is a former IRA soldier who escaped imprisonment and likely death by firing squad by stowing away on a Royal Navy frigate bound for the West Indies. A stolen identity, stack of fake citizenship documents and a rented Mooney flying into Miami at 300 feet above sea level later, McDougal's cousin's a thriving Southern gentleman who now sips mint juleps with the governor beneath a proudly flapping Confederate battle flag on the statehouse grounds.
Seems we're "half way to St. Patrick's Day," according to McDougal's cousin and we must honor the mark by visiting his strip mall pub two doors down from the Wal-Mart in this socially retarded backwater town.
In case you misread anything I said above - I hate the South ... well with the exception of Oxford, Mississippi, where through the help of an airborne rohypnol dispenser and a gas mask I was able to bed the entire Ole Miss women's lacrosse team in 1997.
But we weren't going to Oxford, and I've long since given up on date rape.
The only reason to venture south of Washington, D.C., is if you're going down there to kill someone, which (though likely the ultimate outcome) wasn't why we were going. McDougal wanted to drink Irish Car Bombs and "grip hands with the regular folk ... Goddamnit, I wanna shake some hands!"
So, like 38 hours later, the McDougal campaign bus rolls into Cannonball Run, Tennessee, or whereve the hell we were and McDougal's convinced himself that he's there to fight a religious war against Wal-Mart. (A mission he promptly forgot as soon as he put eyes on his cousin Dougal, thank God ... I think.)
Turns out our campaign manager had tried to make the best of the change in plans (as he's wont to do) and instead of holding a campaign stop in front of a historic national monument, we were going to sit down with a crash of dirt farmers high on crank and muscodine wine and ask them to support McDougal's independent Presidential bid with their votes and their wallets.
The event was, of course, an absolute disaster. Those rednecks didn't want to hear McDougal's rambling leftist views on the WTO or his (what must have seemed to them) idealistically opposite plan to abolish minimum wage laws and Federal taxes. They didn't want to hear about his plan to legalize drugs and remove prescription requirements for any and all medications.
I was not aware that McDougal was campaigning on banning prescription requirements, but must admit his ideas seemed logically sound at the time. "Jesus Christ, we're a free market economy. People don't need to go sit in a doctor's office for 45 minutes just to get a bunch of muscle relaxers and LSD (McDougal is under the impression that doctors also prescribe hallucinogens. I've tried repeatedly to explain to him that just because HIS doctor prescribes them doesn't make that the norm.). For Christ's sake, the drug companies tell you about the diarrhea and whatever else you need to know right there on the commercial."
He then went on his canned anti-Wal-Mart/anti-Chinese rant. Well, he might has well gone down there and told those redneck crackers that Jesus was a homo who smoked crack cocaine and bedded Roman hookers (which he later actually did say) than to attack the Wal-Mart, which has become a cornerstone for these people. One stop shopping there. They can get their beats and collard greens and anti-freeze all in one place. They've even got rides for the kids. And thanks to their partnerships with the Chinese government, they can sell inferior pressed board dining room suites for $30 so these ignorant mucks can pimp their double wides in the latest in New Millennium White Trash Decor. And McDougal's gonna go down there and bad mouth this!?
We're lucky we weren't lynched.
Of course, no one's gonna come after McDougal unless their ridiculously armed and even more ridiculously drunk. Turns out, however, that down there, clearly 80% of the populace meets both of these criteria.
By midnight, we were in a full fledged gunfight with these drunken buffoons, when McDougal gets an idea that he's gonna try to salvage the evening by hosting an auction. He stands up in the middle of the whole thing and announces he's going to auction off a dozen of his female interns.
He took six bullets in the chest while trying to explain his plan, but you know that kind of shit doesn't phase McDougal. He eventually got the room settled and by about 1 a.m. the auction was in high gear, with a couple of the girls fetching close to a thousand dollars.
Me and my buddy Ray each picked up one for ourselves, and I got to admit, McDougal had come up with a great idea.
I was a little embarrassed to be
caught on camera with my purchase.
Ray, on the other hand, was "proud as punch."
posted by Friends of McDougal at 5:22 PM
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