And definately read his entire blog, it’s excellent:
What do you need to write cowboy poetry? Words like “tunbleweed” and “chaps.” Also, torchees, spondees and dactyls. Pencil and paper. Total cost: 79 cents. Maybe you and a half dozen other cowboy poets like to book the back room at the local bar once a month for an evening of cowboy poetry and a few beers. Total cost: couple hundred dollars. Maybe folks get word and figure you should get a bigger room and invite the pubic and charge a three-dollar admission. Why does any of this require national subsidies managed by bureaucracy thousands of miles away?
Well because these days, what doesn’t? Once upon a time, the cowboy embodied the rugged individualism of the frontier. In Harry Reid’s world, he embodies dependency without end. To “preserve” the “traditionn,” it is necessary to invert everything the tradition represents. From true grit to federally funded grit. Thus America, bouncing along in the Dead Wood Stage of history.
Whipcrack-away, whipcrack-away, whipcrack-away! Mark Steyn
There’s been whispered speculation, in Nevada and now outside, that Harry’s losing it in his old age. I think this is proof someone is on to something:
And this is good for laughs, even if like me, you’ve heard Mark on this already:
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