Parade Of Whores By Rod Pennington At Isnare.com Ezine Articles

Normally Charleston is a lovely place to live. It has a temperate climate, great restaurants, the ocean, history, etc. But every one year in four, it becomes the home for the “Parade of Whores.” Because South Carolina has one of the early primaries and could decide who is the next president, every few days we get visits from politicians seeking our support.

Being a solid “Red” state, all of the democrats have to suddenly find those “religious nuts”, gun owners and annoying Pro-Lifers something that must be courted. The reason they hold their noses and schedule multiple visits, since they front loaded the primaries in 1976; no one who has lost the South Carolina primary has ended up in the White House.

The democrats have been forced to shake the bushes and find some speechwriters who can quote scripture without sounding like a pandering idiot. Those stock spiels about the war and Gay marriage that gets the stand “O” in New York City or San Francisco don’t play as well in a town with a couple of military bases and the USS Yorktown floating in the harbor.

For a democrat to win the SC Primary they have to attract a majority of the Black vote – far and away the largest block of democrats in the state. To Hillary Clinton’s credit, she cut straight to the chase and bribed a powerful South Carolina Africa American politician and minister. Sorry, bribe may be a bit strong. For only $200K between now and the election, State Senator Darrell Jackson will be doing “Consulting” work for Hillary. Apparently Obama only offered $100,000.

Say what you will. South Carolina has some of the best politicians money can buy. And during primary season, the pay window is open.

This pandering isn’t limited to democrats. Once a republican touches down in Charleston it is as if they’ve been reborn and the light of Jesus shines on them. For guys who think “John” is a bathroom, “Numbers” is a Friday night TV show, and “Genesis” is that thing they did in the Star Trek movie when Spock died, suddenly can preach fire and brimstone with the best Baptist in town.

Those of us that have lived through a few of these invasions of carpetbaggers know this new found warmth for the south will chill by next President’s Day when the primary is over. After that all those presidential wannabes can go back to thinking everyone living below the Mason-Dixon Line is closer to being a Neanderthal then an Ivy Leaguer. For right now, they need our votes.

Let the parade begin.

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