Tippolomokeefenokee, Fla-Last week, Grace Marquart, a demure grandmother of eight living in the wilds of a Florida trailer home park, made some news of her own. She claimed a change of heart when it comes to hating Barack Obama and his liberal policies.
Tawdry Soup, upon reading this unusual story, was intrigued someone gorilla-glued to the right-wing saddle since 1964, could switch horses so abruptly, when only 6 weeks remained before the election.
So, after a 3 day lay-over in Jacksonville, Tawdry soup took a Greyhound bus to Tippolomokeefenokee, where he was lucky to secure an interview with the widow Marquart; the first southern white person to switch parties since Barry Goldwater lay to rest any idea the Republican party stood for anything but the wealthiest among us, and those too dumb to vote for anyone else.
In an intimate meeting, surrounded by a lifetime of nicotine-stained knick-knacks, Marquart explained how one person's simple moment of clarity could turn this tiny outa-the-way trailer park into a lunatic asylum. She talked about how her neighbors have disowned her, how she was barred from the garden club, kicked off the quilting bee, and doesn't get as much as a hello at the communal mailbox. But worst of all, she claims she is now the subject of a whisper campaign accusing her of having a secret lover, who is of course, black.
"Now I ain't gonna lie to ya, I've been a Negrophobe as far back as I can remember," confessed Marquart. "Then, the other day, I found myself sitting across the room from my oxygen tank after enjoying one of my Kool Filter Kings, and if it wadn't for my caregiver, Latrina Jones, who just happened to be watching a Here Come the Jefferson's rerun, I wouldn't have got my oxygen tubes untangled in time and I'd be pushing up daisies right now. It was right then I decided everyone should help each other, and if somebody needs a breathing tube, who am I to stand in their way. But then I found out, Romney's blue-eyed boy, Paul Ryan, prefers strangling people with their breathing tubes, rather than walking across the room to give 'em one, so I put my foot down. I decided to vote my conscience instead of the crap I've been fed by racist royal assholes like Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan for the last 50 years. It dawned on me, after all this time, that yes, we are all in this together, and I ain't never helped nobody by being mean to somebody cause their skin's a different color."
Right about then, there was a commotion outside. Tawdry Soup went to the door of the ramshackle trailer-house to investigate. He walked onto the porch amid the once vast variety of flower pots and containers that contained lush geraniums and begonias. They were now shattered across the small porch and Marquart's prized plants were broken and in disarray. A backwards swastika was sloppily painted on her doorway, with what appeared to be the remnants of a can of Flex-Seal. Seething in the muggy parking lot surrounding Marquart's home, was a lynch mob of senior men and women teetering around on a variety of Medicare-supplied mobility aids and prosthetic devices.
As the crowd hurled taunts through Marquart's open doorway, Tawdry Soup stepped off the porch to draw fire away from the frail Mrs. Marquart. As the racist sentiment of the crowd reached fever pitch, Tawdry Soup suddenly heard a distinct mechanical whir. A pasty old white man with a large bandage scotch-taped over one eye, and a crotch that looked like he was smuggling the Hindenburg across the border, hover-rounded out of the crowd of rickety rabble-rousers. Tawdry Soup stood stock-still, not knowing what this wild-eyed Ann Coulter Republican was capable of doing. Suddenly, the hover-round steering mechanism became stuck and the man and machine began spinning out of control. They veered back toward the hostile crowd, causing everyone to scurry haphazardly in every direction. Once control was established amid a hubbub of curse-words and southern slang, the angry old man, with two good eyes worth of daggers shooting from his remaining milky pupil, made a beeline toward Tawdry Soup.
"I don't know who you are, Mr. So and So," announced the man, as he slammed on the brakes, "But you need to stop protecting lil' Missy Marquart from her due. We are the heart and soul of the Republican party around here, and in this heart and soul there ain't no room for Obama lovers like Missy Marquart. We are protecting America from the socialists trying to liberate our social security checks..and...and..and.." Then something happened. The careening codger turned white, passed out and fell over the beleaguered hover-round steering mechanism. He spun around, and once again headed toward the limping lynch mob, but this time running over several people as if they were so many speed bumps. Then, he disappeared between two trailers, before driving directly into a murky mosquito and alligator-infested drainage ditch. The 2000 pound hover-round tumbled end-over-end into the black water, and like a millstone, took the future of the Republican Party along with it. After a few seconds, a collection of bubbles with an oily sheen rose to the water's surface.
Grace Marquart came to the door and looked at her favorite place to sit and have coffee and a cigarette every morning. She surveyed the damage done by the hobbling hooligans, then ripped out her breathing tube and defiantly lit a Kool Filter King. She used her cigarette to point at the mayhem taking place in the parking lot and laughed, "That right there is your heart and soul of the Republican Party, and I don't want anything to do with it."
Just then, a black SUV screeched to a halt inside the parking lot. It was Paul Ryan, whose stupidity-chaser surveillance system had zeroed-in on the tempest. He jumped out of the vehicle and climbed on the roof. Immediately, he rolled out his famous "I'ma gonna pinch you," hand thing he always does when he speaks to someone, and prepared to begin another lecture. But by now his audience had enough excitement and were hot and tuckered-out. They were ready for a glass of iced-tea and some good-old-fashioned Fox News watching.
"Not so fast, everyone," Ryan pleaded. "Don't you even want to hear my ideas about Medicare vouchers? What about the Ryan-Romney plan that promises a turnaround instead of a runaround? Anybody, Hello? I'm also running for the House of Representatives, you know. I know it's in Wisconsin, but..." Then he fell silent, his bold plans replaced by the sound of a gathering afternoon thunderstorm.
Ryan stood on the roof of the car and looked over the vacant parking lot. He was looking at what has become a familiar sight at his campaign rallies: No one there. He angrily and clumsily climbed from the top of the SUV, looked over at Tawdry Soup and Marquart, and took a deep breath as if he was about to pronounce something very important. When he saw the look of disinterest in their eyes, he deflated, got into the vehicle, and sped away.
Marquart shook her head and disappeared into a back room, emerging with an Obama 2012 sign. "Can you do me a favor, Mr. Soup?" She asked. "Will you go stick this in the ground right where Mr. McElroy went into that drainage ditch. I want to be sure he sees it if he ever crawls outta there."
"No problem," replied Tawdry Soup.