“Pudding Fingers” crashes and burns
As the cornfields stretched on to infinity, and drivers felt the merest hint of a summer breeze , they headed to their destination. It was Menlo, Iowa. Many presidential candidates had been to the state and were still there. Iowa is the hub of all political activity at the beginning of political horse races.
And for one candidate, it was his last chance. He had been busily rebooting his campaign, and although Iowa was not where one would expect to find this man, that is where he was. And so he prepared to talk to voters — to pretend he was “Iowa strong.” To pretend he knew a damn thing about what Iowans cared about.
“PUDDING FINGERS!” Alas — the rejection stopped the man in his tracks. “PUDDING FINGERS, PUDDING FINGERS, PUDDING FINGERS!” Oh dear — THAT name had been resurrected — that nickname that simply refused to leave. “Ron DeFascist!”
And so it began. The Iowans’ swift and firm rejection of the man who simply adores slavery. Cowbells were rung while the protesters chanted over and over again, “PUDDING FINGERS!”
Sometimes the past comes back and destroys the present AND the future. Who knew that when Ronny reached out to that pudding bowl with his bare fingernails, it would come back to haunt him so many years later? Ron did try to speak, but for the most part, the protesting drowned out his voice.
Now THAT is award worthy! Because, as you know, Ron’s voice could send birds fleeing in terror. It could send tigers running away, petrified. It could send all creatures great and small into temporary hiding, hoping desperately that the sound of Ron’s voice would soon be gone.
And on this day it was. He hastily spoke a few words, mostly drowned out by jeering and then got the HELL out of dodge.. So, all in all, it wasn’t the best day for the pudding-craving Governor. And somehow, I doubt tomorrow will be that much better.
