Peasant With Potomac Fever Ning-Nongs

I’m fifty-seven and one day old today.

I walk dogs.

Pitbulls.

Never mind all the bad PR that they’ve gotten

they only get nasty if you abuse them

or

if you train them to be killers, prostate

to fight in the ring against other dogs

my friend and I are working to eradicate it

from Wisconsin,

from the country,

from the world.

I publish a political blog

it’s called “Peasant With A Pitchfork,”

I like to think I fulfill the purpose

of comforting the afflicted

and afflicting the comfortable.

I don’t belong to a political party, viagra

but I’ll tell you there’s two kinds of Potomac fever,

there’s one that’s always been around

that’s akin to the yellow fever

that the white settlers would get

when they settled on or near the banks of the Potomac,

two or three centuries ago,

and then there’s the other kind of Potomac fever,

the kind you get from being around all those swells

and the very hoity-toity

rarified atmosphere of D.C.

The good elected representatives go there with the best of intentions

and after they’ve been there awhile

they wind up at these cocktail parties

and they get schmoozed

by all these big wigs

they wind up hobnobbing with

and a lot of money comes their way,

provided that they vote a certain way.

You’re going to tell me I have a good voice for radio,

everybody and their mama tells me that.

I did investigate the possibility some years ago,

but it sounds like it’s at least as hard to break into

as show business itself, and I thought eemmm

but if anyone was really serious about hiring me

I’d gladly come in and audition for that.

I’m a singer, I’m a baritone.

I wound up in a silly and pointless

but very terrible feud

with a few members of this Irish singing band.

Some of these people act like they are

the arbiters of what constitutes

true Irish music,

the way it should be sung or played,

and these are American born people!

Some of them aren’t even the least bit Irish,

but they would be very critical about the way

I’d sing some songs.

We started butting heads,

it really got to be quite contentious

so the founder of that group

(who’s also to this day a friend of mine)

talked to me about it in private and says,

“This feud you’ve got going with them

is tearing the group apart,

it’s tearing me apart!”

He was in tears when he was talking about this!

It was at that time when I thought,

well, it’s about time that I get out.

The next time we got together for a session,

I said, “I’m leaving the group

just so I can start my own group.”

That was it, I didn’t say anything about the problems

I was having with some of these

these, uh,

self-jumped up little ning-nongs,

so to speak.

I kept it positive,

I kept it classy,

after I made my announcement

everybody,

(except the ones who I was feuding with)

walked up to me,

patted me on the shoulder,

shook my hand.

My friend joined that group

she sang for one session

now keep in mind:

she is a native Irish woman,

this is the music of her native country.

These same horrible people who lit into me

for the way I was singing the songs,

lit into her too.

Aren’t you glad you don’t have a tooth with that nerve?

I’m not all that big

on rules and regulations,

but I’ve got one standing rule

and I insist everyone adhere to it—

“no one is bigger than the culture or the music that emanates from it.”

If anyone starts behaving like that

I’ll just tell them,

‘Don’t let the door hit you in the brains on the way out.”

I’m not putting up with that nonsense in my group