|
 “This
whole election process just doesn’t work for me,” Dud said, sipping
his coffee. “There’s no way we can tell who is best for the job.”
Doc, being the senior member of the Mule Barn truck stop’s world
dilemma think tank, looked kindly at Dud. “Well, haven’t you been
reading what each guy stands for, Dud?”
Dud shrugged. “Sure. But I firmly believe they only tell you what
you want to hear. They’re the best, and the other guy is going to
take you straight to ruined aspirations.”
“Ruined aspirations?” piped up Steve, the cowboy with the owlish
look of pure bowlegged intellectualism. “That’s why I’ve always
thought we need a contest. A real contest. Have them put their
aspirations where they’ll do the most good.” [to top of second
column]
 |
“A contest?”
“Bull riding,” said Steve, nodding sagely. “Just put them on bulls
and the first one to fall off loses.”
“But what does bull riding have to do with taxes and warfare and
education and all that stuff?” asked Doc.
“Nothing at all,” said Steve, “but you can bet it will separate the
serious candidates from the oh-what-the-heck guys.”
“I like what I’m hearing here,” said Dud, with a grin. “Only problem
is, if they ride bulls, one of them might get killed.”
Steve grinned, “Simplifies that ol’ selection process, doesn’t it?
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles] |
