Like Son, Like Dad?
Those Huckabees -- whenever they go out, something's killed.
And the Baltimore Sun's reporter embedded with Huckabee's party got a taste of the pheasants' point of view:
Huckabee's primary business these days is warding off Mitt Romney to win next week's caucus. And without ever mentioning Romney by name, it's clear who Huckabee's real target was, with the unlucky pheasants along to serve only as metaphors (and, eventually, dinner).
In a direct shot at Romney before the hunt, Huckabee said he brings "authenticity and credibility to the campaign."
Romney, Huckabee, said, "is focused on telling people why I shouldn’t be president. I've been here focused on telling people why I should be."
Nobody wanted to argue. The man was armed. And it was very, very cold.
With that, the hunt began. Led by an English pointer named Dude, Huckabee trudged into a field along with his campaign manager, Chip Saltsman, a local official from the National Rifle Association, and a hunting guide.
Pheasants are rather ungainly birds that stick to the low-lying brush. Dogs flush them out and the trick is to shoot them down before they can climb too high. It wasn't long before one emerged.
The bird flopped to the ground. Had it been Huckabee? The media throng was too far away to be sure. Watches were checked. Time of death: 9:54 a.m. Initial press accounts had Huckabee nailing the first pheasant, but soon there was controversy. His safety was on, someone said. Another suggested checking the video in Zapruder-like fashion for the slo-mo truth.
Huckabee's party drew farther and farther away, circling their targets. POP! POP! Another pheasant down, the killer unknown. The journalists shivered and stomped their feet. Checking BlackBerrys is tougher with gloves on. Another hunter explained that pheasant is usually cooked with the buckshot still in the body. "You just spit it out," he said.
The party was still circling, coming back toward us. The reporters edged out to try and make out the scene. Another bird surfaced and it flew, and flew, and flew.
Right toward us.
POP! POP! POP!
We ducked our heads and scattered. "That was too close," a cameraman said. Nobody was wearing orange anything. The hunting expert said the buckshot wouldn't hurt us if it landed on our heads.
Huckabee's party drew closer and he seemed pleased at our discomfort. He produced three slain pheasants. Huckabee said he had shot one of them, but of course, there was no way to know.
"You like to speak in metaphors, governor," one reporter asked. "What's the metaphor for this?"
"Don't get in my way," Huckabee said. "This is what happens."
Indeed -- don't get in the way of the "Gods, Guns and Gays" hate-fueled base.
Don't get in the way of the next incarnation of Bush.
Don't consider whether the country needs to be led even further from its principles and foundation into the murk of testosterone-fueled, jihad-encrusted global lack of focus.
Bill Clinton got several blow jobs -- all from a consenting adult of the same species. For this, the man had to be impeached.
George Walker Bush -- who as far as anybody knows hasn't had any sex, inside or outside the White House -- ignored months of warnings about the activities of known fanatics who planned to attack within the United States, allowed the tragedy of September 11, 2001 to go unchecked on his watch while he flew about the country from hidey-hole to hidey-hole, has expended more than four thousand GIs in a war on a country and against a now-dead Iraqi 'dictator' who, even Bush admits, had nothing to do with 9-11-01. For this, impeachment is "off the table."
As a nation we are not merely doomed, but damned. Even Bush didn't openly shoot at the reporters embedded with his election campaigns.