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The PJ Tatler

by
Mark Meed

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October 5, 2011 - 11:19 am

The latest answer to the ongoing question of how much more desperate and cynical the mainstream media can become can be found on the pages of the Washington Post in a piece entitled At Rick Perry’s Texas hunting spot, camp’s old racially charged name lingered. This towering work of investigative journalism concerns itself with a racially charged rock, the precise timing of when and how it was painted over — all over a quarter of a century ago — and the likelihood Rick Perry drove past it at least once without immediately leaping out with a jack-hammer in his hand. This is all based on the unimpeachable recollections of mostly anonymous people, whose memories of road-side slabs from a couple three decades ago are necessarily sharp as a tack.

Now, the more churlish among us might observe that the black community (or at least its self-appointed advocates), blighted by generations of failed progressive policies and currently looking at an unemployment rate north of 16%, might have bigger fish to fry than this unsuccessful excursion through Governor Perry’s dumpster, but this underestimates the capacity for selective outrage in some quarters and the limitless ability of the Left to process garbage.

Other wags might suggest that Perry could have made this all go away just by planting the meme that it was Jeremiah Wright’s handwriting on the rock. (Make no mistake, Reverend Wright has no history of reluctance to either use the N-word or leave a trail.) Minimally it would have introduced two very unfamiliar elements into the WaPo story preparation process — fact-checking and rigorous research. Given the alien nature of such practices the authors may well have thrown up their hands and spiked the story.

This would, after all, be the same maw of forgetfulness into which Barack Obama’s twenty year association with Wright’s church was hurled circa 2008. Ditto Obama’s depiction of his grandmother as a “typical white person” and other light classics of kumbaya tolerance. However, unlike offensive rocks in a remote patch of west Texas that were painted over some time early in the Reagan presidency, it is still considered ungentlemanly to bring such things up.

It’s probable the authors (who rumor has it have taken to adopting nicknames like “Scoop”) had great expectations of explosive, campaign-busting revelations rather than the squib they actually produced. Who knows, maybe somewhere between lingering over the wine at dinner and rehearsing acceptance speeches they were already roughing out the book version:

All the Governor’s Rocks
(Excerpt)

“Governor, they found the rock.”

Of all the calls Perry never wanted to get at 3:00 AM, this had to be the worst. Better to learn that Austin had been reduced to a glowing slag-heap than to receive “the painted rock call”.

Groggy but still canny enough to realize the phone might be tapped, he played dumb while he collected his thoughts:

“What in the hell are you talking about? What rock? Do you know what time it is?”

“The N-word Head rock, Governor.”

Oh Lord in Heaven, not the Imperial Wizard Crypto-Racist Southwest Politician of the Year Plaque, awarded personally by Robert Byrd, in full robes no less. Think Rick, think!

“Are you talking about that stupid sign at the hunt camp, the one we painted over, then flipped?”

“Yes Governor. Evidently if you turn the rock back over and look at it at an angle of 20-40 degrees off the perpendicular you can still see the N-word.”

Damnation! He had told his people not to cheap out on the paint. Two coats, they couldn’t understand two coats? Even strokes, put down drop cloths first, all ignored! How was he expected to restore racial purity to an unsuspecting nation if his minions couldn’t follow simple instructions?

“It was the Post wasn’t it?”

“Yes sir, they are relentless, especially the ones on the roadside artifacts beat.”

“Who in the hell gave them permission to turn stones over on private property?”

“There’s no evidence they did, governor, otherwise they would have published a picture of it as opposed to those really impressive stock photos. But they did talk to seven people … “

“And one of them turned it over?”

“No, but they do have near photographic memories of the 80’s, and dispute your version of when the rock was painted and/or turned over. I think they might be looking for a plea bargain.”

Perry stared hard at the phone: PaintGate and TurnoverGate. Fighting the panic clutching at his chest, he croaked out a final question:

“So, they haven’t done any digging under the rock, say 10-15 feet down, or done any snooping around the barracks, um, I meant the camp?”

“Not yet Governor, but an outraged population is demanding a full investigation on the strength of what they’ve already found.”

Perry hung up the phone, and, almost involuntarily, shook his fist in the air:

“Damn you Washington Post, and your almost certain Pulitzer prizes! You’ve just crippled a nation today!”

In the fantastical world of such people they are already collecting royalties.

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