Rod Miller: REAL Republicans & Broncpeelers Around The Ol’ Campfire

It was a dark and stormy night. The campfire sputtered in the drizzle, and the mood of the crew was foul as the weather.

Powder River Pete didn’t improve things when he waved a soggy piece of paper around and said, “I got this here bulletin in the mail, an’ it says if I don’t become a REAL Republican, my horse’ll founder.”

Bloodshot eyes looked up from beneath sodden Stetsons, and voices grumbled, “Now them sumbitches are comin’ after our horses? Goddam politicians!”

Rawhide from Rawlins exclaimed, “I got a text from ‘em, the Wyoming GOP I mean, an’ it said iff’n I didn’t swear to be a REAL Republican, I’d come down with a case o’ cooties from a Haitian hooker. They invited me to a rally to take the blood oath.”

“Don’t do it, pard!”, warned Sourdough. “My cousin went to one o’ them rallies to become a REAL Republican, an’ the poor bastid ain’t had a good bowel movement since.”

Muffled voices muttered through the smoke and steam of the fire. 

“What the hell happened?”, Rawhide queried. 

Sourdough explained, “Well, he bought this pair o’ gold Trump sneakers, an’ the invitation came with the shoes. The rally was somewheres out in the Red Desert. They built a compound outa paper maché that looked just like Mar A Lago….”

The encircled cowboys scoffed at this news. “Bullshit," grumbled several gruff voices.

“I swear. I heard it right from his lips, when he could finally talk again.” Sourdough continued, “The rally was at midnight, an’ they had the whole place lit up with mounds of burnin’ books He said the ceremony was double super-secret. The elders were dressed up in star-spangled robes n’ hoods.”

“They took the pledges’ shoes,” Sourdough said, “so they couldn’t walk back to Wamsutter an’ escape. Then they gave the new guys turnip-flavored Kool-Aid, an’ they had to drink every drop.”

Sounds of gagging drowned out the hiss of the fire as the crew digested this news. Rawhide looked seriously concerned, and asked, “What happened then?”

“My cuz said they all had to stab a finger, an’ sign a pledge with their blood to follow Trump come hell or high water. Then they placed their hands on an upside-down Bible an’ swear that Trump is not a loser.”

“Holy shit!” shouted Deacon from Dubois, “That’s a goddam sacrilege!”

At this point, Rawhide began to question his decision to become a REAL Republican. He remembered that, back in the day, all that was required was to register Republican, and a voter became Republican. He recalled that the Wyoming GOP bylaws said exactly that.

“Yeah,” Sourdough said, “They had to swear that, even if Trump lost his car keys or toupee’, they’d all claim he didn’t lose a damn thing an’ it was a communist conspiracy.”

“The initiation was the weirdest part.” Sourdough explained. “Each new pledge had to leave his clothes outside the Temple, grab a My Pillow an’ spend a half-hour alone with Trump hisself in the Orange Room.”

Stetsons shook in disbelief around the ol’ campfire.

“My cuz told me that most of ‘em came outa the Temple speakin’ in tongues an’ prophesyin’ about lovin’ Trump as savior. But he lost the power of speech altogether an’ hasn’t been able to shit right for a month.”

“Maybe he didn’t do the ceremony right.” said a puzzled cowboy. “Maybe his heart wasn’t in it.”

“Maybe he ain’t cut out to be a REAL Republican.” said another.

“I tell ya,” exclaimed Cookie, wiping his greasy fingers on his apron, “this country is goin’ to hell in a handcart. Either y’all gotta eat these beans now, or yer gonna get ‘em with milk n’ sugar for breakfast.”

Rod Miller can be reached at: RodsMillerWyo@yahoo.com