No laughing matter for voters in Ohio, Kentucky
Lead Summary
By
Rory Ryan-hcpress@cinci.rr.com
Lately, my longtime pal Ratchethead Ledbottom has been quieter than a church mouse that found the parsonage diazepam.
In fact, it's been more than a year since I've heard from the notorious RH factor.
Thus, one can imagine my surprise when RH called from his native Commonwealth of Kentucky this weekend.
A call from Ratchethead Ledbottom typically means one of a very few things:
A. It's time to bet on the Super Bowl.
B. It's time to bet on whether the North Carolina Tar Heels (my college basketball team of choice) or his Kentucky Wildcats advance further in the NCAA basketball tournament, otherwise known as March Madness.
Or, C. It's almost election day.
Since the Super Bowl and March Madness are still a few seasonal holidays away, this call had to involve politics. And it did.
It seems ol' RH has been reading and watching with interest this little event we've come to know and enjoy as the Hillsboro mayor's race.
"You guys ain't the only ones who's got a comedian politician," Ratch told me on what had, to that point, been a pleasant Saturday afternoon.
"Hey, Ratch," I replied, in a tone intended to imply that my give-a-darn level had already exceeded a point beyond the limitations of the Richter scale, "I'm really busy today. I'm planning on seeing Kelly Red and the Hammerheads in a little while, then watch the Alabama/LSU game. So make it quick."
"All right, then. Listen up. We got us a comedian runnin' for office in the Bluegrass State, too," RH informed me.
That's wonderful, I thought. From pro wrestlers and erstwhile comedians in Minnesota to steroid-enhanced body builders in COLLYfornia to jokesters in Ohio and Kentucky, voters certainly cannot complain that politics is boring.
"OK, Ratch," I responded, "What's up in Kentucky politics that makes you interrupt my fine Saturday?"
"Well, you can read all about it in Harold's Leader."
"You mean the 'Herald-Leader'?" I asked.
"That's what I meant. Now let me finish. We got a guy named Farmer who thinks he's a comedian running for office. You guys got a comedian who thinks he's a farmer running for office. Your guy's running for mayor and our guy's running for the head of the agriculture department or something."
Having known Ratch for 35 years, and knowing his penchant for practical jokes (maybe HE should run for office), I couldn't help but ask the obvious question.
Is this a joke?
"Nah, it ain't no joke," he yelled into the telephone. "Bob Farmer is a Democrat comedian who wants to be the commissioner of Kentucky agriculture. He's running against Jim Comer, one of our half-dozen Republicans statewide. Now, is your comedian a Republican or a Democrat?" Ratch asked me.
"He claims to be a Republican since his teens, or roughly 40 years or more."
"I thought farmers were mostly Democrat," Ratch said. "But that's not why I called. You need to read this article by Leland Conway, who says our Farmer is a bad joke."
After more than three decades of friendship, I've learned that it's often best just to humor RH. So I took a gander at Mr. Conway's column at www.centralkynews.com. I'll have to admit, Mr. Conway, a Kentucky conservative, makes a compelling argument against the comedian.
In July, Leland Conway had this to say about the Kentucky agriculture commissioner's race:
"Bob Farmer should not be given the honor of serving the Commonwealth as commissioner of agriculture. I’m not one who is generally offended by comedy routines, even when they use humorous stereotypes — most often depicting those of us who grew up in rural areas with a little levity. But after hearing Farmer’s insulting comedy routine about the folks in Eastern Kentucky, which he has apparently been performing for more than two decades, I was appalled.
"…Should a man who is from the state’s largest city, admits to never being a farmer, and has made a nice living mercilessly poking fun at some of the very people he would be representing, really be the commissioner of agriculture? If he is incapable of understanding the culture, or finds it worthy of joking about, how can he properly run the office?"
"…Unlike Las Vegas, what happens in rural areas doesn’t stay in rural areas. The job of commissioner of agriculture requires serious leadership and real world experience. To me, that’s no laughing matter."
After reading the required editorial, I wrapped up my friendly conversation with RH Ledbottom. We agreed, for the most part, that professional wrestlers and stand-up comedians aren't always the best choices at the voting booth.
With "The Game of the Century" (see above: Alabama vs. LSU) just hours away, we parted company with Ratchet's final question.
"So, who do you think is funnier? Our comedian politician or yours?"
To borrow a phrase, neither one of them is Johnny Carson.
But we'll see who's laughing after election day – and not just immediately after.
Rory Ryan is publisher and editor of The Highland County Press.[[In-content Ad]]
In fact, it's been more than a year since I've heard from the notorious RH factor.
Thus, one can imagine my surprise when RH called from his native Commonwealth of Kentucky this weekend.
A call from Ratchethead Ledbottom typically means one of a very few things:
A. It's time to bet on the Super Bowl.
B. It's time to bet on whether the North Carolina Tar Heels (my college basketball team of choice) or his Kentucky Wildcats advance further in the NCAA basketball tournament, otherwise known as March Madness.
Or, C. It's almost election day.
Since the Super Bowl and March Madness are still a few seasonal holidays away, this call had to involve politics. And it did.
It seems ol' RH has been reading and watching with interest this little event we've come to know and enjoy as the Hillsboro mayor's race.
"You guys ain't the only ones who's got a comedian politician," Ratch told me on what had, to that point, been a pleasant Saturday afternoon.
"Hey, Ratch," I replied, in a tone intended to imply that my give-a-darn level had already exceeded a point beyond the limitations of the Richter scale, "I'm really busy today. I'm planning on seeing Kelly Red and the Hammerheads in a little while, then watch the Alabama/LSU game. So make it quick."
"All right, then. Listen up. We got us a comedian runnin' for office in the Bluegrass State, too," RH informed me.
That's wonderful, I thought. From pro wrestlers and erstwhile comedians in Minnesota to steroid-enhanced body builders in COLLYfornia to jokesters in Ohio and Kentucky, voters certainly cannot complain that politics is boring.
"OK, Ratch," I responded, "What's up in Kentucky politics that makes you interrupt my fine Saturday?"
"Well, you can read all about it in Harold's Leader."
"You mean the 'Herald-Leader'?" I asked.
"That's what I meant. Now let me finish. We got a guy named Farmer who thinks he's a comedian running for office. You guys got a comedian who thinks he's a farmer running for office. Your guy's running for mayor and our guy's running for the head of the agriculture department or something."
Having known Ratch for 35 years, and knowing his penchant for practical jokes (maybe HE should run for office), I couldn't help but ask the obvious question.
Is this a joke?
"Nah, it ain't no joke," he yelled into the telephone. "Bob Farmer is a Democrat comedian who wants to be the commissioner of Kentucky agriculture. He's running against Jim Comer, one of our half-dozen Republicans statewide. Now, is your comedian a Republican or a Democrat?" Ratch asked me.
"He claims to be a Republican since his teens, or roughly 40 years or more."
"I thought farmers were mostly Democrat," Ratch said. "But that's not why I called. You need to read this article by Leland Conway, who says our Farmer is a bad joke."
After more than three decades of friendship, I've learned that it's often best just to humor RH. So I took a gander at Mr. Conway's column at www.centralkynews.com. I'll have to admit, Mr. Conway, a Kentucky conservative, makes a compelling argument against the comedian.
In July, Leland Conway had this to say about the Kentucky agriculture commissioner's race:
"Bob Farmer should not be given the honor of serving the Commonwealth as commissioner of agriculture. I’m not one who is generally offended by comedy routines, even when they use humorous stereotypes — most often depicting those of us who grew up in rural areas with a little levity. But after hearing Farmer’s insulting comedy routine about the folks in Eastern Kentucky, which he has apparently been performing for more than two decades, I was appalled.
"…Should a man who is from the state’s largest city, admits to never being a farmer, and has made a nice living mercilessly poking fun at some of the very people he would be representing, really be the commissioner of agriculture? If he is incapable of understanding the culture, or finds it worthy of joking about, how can he properly run the office?"
"…Unlike Las Vegas, what happens in rural areas doesn’t stay in rural areas. The job of commissioner of agriculture requires serious leadership and real world experience. To me, that’s no laughing matter."
After reading the required editorial, I wrapped up my friendly conversation with RH Ledbottom. We agreed, for the most part, that professional wrestlers and stand-up comedians aren't always the best choices at the voting booth.
With "The Game of the Century" (see above: Alabama vs. LSU) just hours away, we parted company with Ratchet's final question.
"So, who do you think is funnier? Our comedian politician or yours?"
To borrow a phrase, neither one of them is Johnny Carson.
But we'll see who's laughing after election day – and not just immediately after.
Rory Ryan is publisher and editor of The Highland County Press.[[In-content Ad]]