Stevieslaw: Sadly, Cousin Myron Caves
When I answered the summons to Cousin Myron’s house this morning, I didn’t know that I’d be running a gauntlet. As you may recall, my cousin is a fiery red-head with strong opinions. He’d announced earlier this year a potential run for president. His yard was clogged with people—some made up like Johnny Appleseed and others, dressed for the 18th Century, pushing what seemed like baby carriages around. To quote a piece of the Buffalo Springfield single, there were:
A thousand people in the street
Singing songs and carrying signs
Mostly saying, “hooray for our side.”
By the time I got to Myron, I could only manage a “what the…”
“American Crossroads found out I never liked Gerber’s baby food as a child,” Myron said, “And that I still can’t stand applesauce.”
“How,” I asked, though I suspected I knew.
“They got to my mom,” Myron said sadly. “They paid her for the story of my early life.”
“I sure she didn’t know how much it would hurt my chances,” he continued
I was not convinced, having just gotten a card from Myron’s mother from Maui, but it never pays to contradict Myron—who has the best left hook-right uppercut combination ever to come out of South Central Brooklyn, with the possible exception of Mike Tyson.
“I’m done for,” he admitted. “By now they know that I couldn’t stand peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and that I always hated Archie comic books.” “With the red-hair, the Brooklyn accent and my disdain for hot dogs and coca cola, I will be painted as un-American.”
“I don’t envy Hillary,” he said with a mirthless laugh.