by Terry Meiners
Kentucky’s unseemly annual political spectacle Fancy Farm leads to a morning after walk of shame. Is this church sponsored hate parade really the best venue for Kentucky leaders to advance ideas?
Words matter. Stupid words not so much.
People expect to hear and read shrewd, sometimes rude, political jabs from professional talk show hosts, media writers, bloggers, cartoonists, and comedians.
That’s the gig, a gig of gags.
Politicos are rarely mistaken for standup comedians. They’re gasbags. On one Saturday a year, their gas turns to flat gags and suddenly news reports about Fancy Farm validate America’s suspicion that Kentuckians are a living Dukes of Hazzard script. (And not one of the good ones where Daisy bends over to pick up her MCAT acceptance letter).
“Noise proves nothing. Often a hen who has merely laid an egg cackles as if she laid an asteroid.” – Mark Twain
What is the value in dowdy politicians surrounded by costumed adults squawking, jeering, and whining about political rivals every summer at Fancy Farm? This less-than-august August shouting match is little more than a Westboro Baptist Church hate rally disguised as a Catholic picnic.
Loyalties are already locked and loaded; no minds are changed. This “picnic” is just a religiously sanctioned queer punch, something the Catholic Church can get behind.
See what I did there?
That’s an example of caustic name-calling and stereotyping that permeates this Fancy Farm bullyfest for political vermin. No solutions to Kentucky’s education, health, or financial issues are put forth. No enlightenment. No respectful exchange of ideas.
We’re still undereducated, obese, and have underfunded pensions but hey, that chinless Howdy Doody McConnell’s beard is probably wearing a wig! A beard with a wig! That’s f-ing hilarious! Go Cats! (McConnell is a Louisville guy, so in 119 of 120 counties that is a designation worse than lion-killing dentist).
At the podium, our elected leaders and hopeful replacements channel Jimmy Fallon but without his timing, elocution, inflection, or looks. Especially looks.
Is this Fancy Farm fecal storm really worthy of serious media coverage? Otherwise serious pundits scamper to Graves County every year to breathlessly report on poorly delivered “jokes” laced in acid. Fancy Farm is reported on national news where viewers only see edited clips of thick-accented rubes shouting unintelligible chants. Others hold upside down signs exhibiting poor sentence structure.
I’m looking at you, Alison “I don’t scare easy” Lundergan Grimes.
We are teeing it up for America to keep us at the bottom of the food chain.
A full day of Fancy Farm wisdom still doesn’t equal even one lonely Facebook post from the guy your high school picked Most Likely to Still Be Living With Mom. The Catholic Church has no business hosting a breeding ground (another joke!) for more hatred. ‘Tis summer and, by God, our people are gay. It’s in the song, monsignor!
Hey St. Jerome Catholics — Remember the Last Supper? There should be a picture of it hidden behind that giant BEVIN SELLS HELL’S BELLS banner. Take a peek.
Let’s upgrade your pathetic spectacle of white noise — are people of color still forbidden in Graves County, or is it only books that are banned? — to a sensible dinner party where one person speaks and gets to use her “inside voice” instead of fending off a covey of creepers.
If that collection basket thrives on venomous productions only, let a civic organization stage a respectful dinner setting along the lines of a White House Correspondents Dinner. Candidate speakers tell their jokes and, God forbid, share their visions for problem solving in Kentucky. Seated diners can choose whether to laugh, applaud, or remain silent. Hecklers are removed from the premises. No idiots with signs. Place a guard near the power source so a political zealot doesn’t get electrocuted snipping the power line with hedge clippers (generating another national story about Kentucky rubes).
And, just for grins, let’s ask everyone to wear a shirt. Preferably one without curse words on it.
Class. It doesn’t come in a moving van and it certainly doesn’t associate with St. Jerome’s Fancy Farm schtick-nic, once a civilized exchange of stump speeches.
Couldn’t get tickets? Just stay cool by watching civility streamed online. Hecklers are suddenly silenced by a NO COMMENTS thread blockade. Let’s hear ideas from the candidates, not some drunken loudmouth who’d scream at a baby for crying on a plane.
Less sniping through Skyping. The devil’s in the details.