A long time ago, in a Clinton campaign far, far away, James Carville famously declared that Pennsylvania is Pittsburgh and Philadelphia and Alabama in between. Aw, yeah: Pennsyltucky. We know thee well. It’s sort of like the Dukes Of Hazzard after smoking kielbasa. Like sweat socks with a Sunday suit. Like the Deer Hunter costumed by Wal-Mart. It’s the long dark Chicken Dance of the national soul. Lord help us all. Anyway, with the national press are already converging on the Keystone state to get some local
color on their laptops, we feel an obligation to Sherpa them up to the mountaintop electoral bellwethers that only a local nature boy would know. Every day, or close to it, from now until April 22nd we will be calling up some unsuspecting Pennsyltuckian picked randomly out of the phone book and ask them point blank: Hillary or Obama, bitch? Actually, we probably will 
substitute ‘Sir’ or ‘Madame’ for ‘Bitch’, but you get the picture. No doubt the bulk of these conversations will be us saying things like ‘No, not Phucker…FAW-KUR’ and ‘Yes, you CAN get the Internet on computer these days, no really.’ Invariably, these conversations will veer into questions about Obama’s Manchurian Candidacy and how ‘he doesn’t put his hand over his heart when he says the pledge of allegiance because his hand would burn with the fire of a thousand suns if he spoke the snaked-tongued oath of the Infidel!’ etc. Hopefully this will prove amusing, if not educational, as we attempt to speak fact to hysteria, but mostly it will give us something to do. Sometimes that’s enough.