The Varmint County Chronicles
Varmint County’s “Occupy Barstool” Movement Offers the Best Solution
“Boomer” Winfrey
Varmint County Correspondent
I was just getting ready to take off for Doc Filstrup’s weekly poker game and political think tank last week when my boss, Varmint County War Whoop & Exterminator publisher Ginnie Hamm, called me into her office.
Ms Hamm, who goes by Ginnie rather than her full name Virginia for obvious reasons, resurrected the newspaper from the ashes of bankruptcy after her papa, former publisher H. Harley Hamm, experienced a little difficulty with the IRS. Harley, it turned out, was claiming as dependants his Siamese cat, his two horses and an entire kennel of Blue Tick Coon Hounds.Harley ran into problems when he grew a bit older and more forgetful. An IRS auditor noticed three H. Harley Hamm Juniors in the family, one of them having been in college for sixteen years.
“I need you to skip the poker game tonight and go down to the Dead Rat Tavern,” Virginia said. “Daddy called me last night and told me the paper needs to cover the local protest movement.”
“Varmint County has a local protest movement?”
“Apparently. Daddy says a bunch of locals have started the “Occupy Barstool Movement” and they don’t intend to budge until America wakes up.”
So I dropped by the Dead Rat, the bar run by Curley “Little Poison” Haig up by the interstate exit to interview the leaders of the local “Occupy” movement.
“How does the Occupy Barstool Movement differ from what those Occupy Wall Street people are doing out on the streets?” I asked.
“Well, first of all, we’re the real 99 percent,” Harley pointed out. “Those Wall Street protesters are just a bunch of kids, old hippies and college students, along with homeless vagabonds who join the protests to pinch a free meal.”
“Yeah, we represent the real majority, red-blooded Americans who work hard all day then come here to occupy barstools until closing time,” Ike Pinetar added.
“So your protest doesn’t start until people get off from work?” I asked.
“Well actually, most everyone has been here since the bar opened,” the occupant of the adjoining barstool cut in. “Most of us have been laid off and drawing unemployment since 2008.”
“So what are your demands, more jobs?”
“Nah, not much sense in getting jobs. That bunch up in Washington would jest take it and give it to one of them fereign countries, like Iraq, Aft-ganny-stan or France,” retired Road Superintendent Oscar “Pothole” Perkins growled.
“That Obama fellow ish shending all our money back to Kenya, where he came from,” another fellow, deep in his cups, slurred.
“That’s Ike’s cousin, Otis Pinetar. He’s retired and has been occupying his barstool 24 hours a day since we started our movement,” Harley whispered. “You’ll have to forgive him if he’s a bit incoherent.”“So what are your demands, exactly? Ending foreign aid?”
“Yesssh. And vote ‘em all out of office,” Otis Pinetar exclaimed as he slid out of his stool to the floor.
“Uh well, just one more question. The Occupy Wall Street people are getting some criticism because they’re complaining about things but not offering any solutions. Is your solution to organize voters and support a candidate?”
“Well maybe, but we’ have to leave the bar to do that. Most of the guys in here ain’t registered to vote,” Archie Aslinger replied.“Heck, most of ‘em can’t vote, they’re still on probation!” barmaid Boots Clotfelter giggled.“So, do you guys have a solution or not?”
“I’ve got one,” elderly Caleb Hockmeyer cut in. “Grow marijuana.”“You mean legalize marijuana?” I asked, realizing that such an act would put the notorious Hockmeyer clan out of work.“Heck no, don’t legalize it!” Caleb laughed. “I mean let the tobacco companies grow it and sell it to the Chinese. Pretty soon China will owe us money and there won’t be no more trade deficit or whatever.”
“Well gentlemen, this has been interesting but I don’t think you guys have a serious political movement here. What are you trying to prove with this ‘Occupy Barstool’ thing?”
“Son, I’ll tell you what our Occupy Barstool Movement is all about,” Harley replied. “Archie, Ike, Caleb, the entire Haig clan – we’ve all vowed to stay here in the Dead Rat Tavern 24 hours a day, on our barstools, until folks come in and fill the dance floor with food, toys and Christmas gifts for Varmint County’s needy families and fill that big jug on the bar with cash to pay their electric and water bills.”
“Yeah, times are hard and a lot of folks are out of work this Christmas, so we want everyone who can afford to come in here after work and spend money on booze, to pass on getting’ drunk and spend the money on toys and Christmas turkeys for them that can’t afford it instead,” Pothole added.
“You put Virginia up to sending me down here to cover your so-called ‘movement,’ didn’t you?” I asked Harley. “So you guys aren’t really protesting anything.”
“Well, yeah, we’re protesting. We’re protesting the fact that everybody seems mad at everybody else and the news media just stirs the pot that much more. It don’t matter whether you’re a Democrat, a Republican or a Pachyderm, who you like for President, whether you hate Wall Street or work on Wall Street,” Harley concluded. “Those of us here in Varmint County wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.”
Humbled, I thanked the boys on the barstools, dug into my pocket and left my week’s payday in the jug before heading back to the newspaper office.