It’s About the Pipes, Stupid


“A full 67 percent of Americans say they’ve seen enough and they don’t want any more presidential debates. The other 33 percent are plumbers who want to hear their name on television.” – Conan O’Brien

McCain front man and pseudo-plumber “Joe” Samuel Wurzelbacher of Holland, Ohio, a.k.a. “Joe the Plumber,” continues to stretch his 15 minutes of fame to the breaking point and beyond.

Apparently, he’s gone all Nashville on us and plans to parlay his recent notoriety and mad music skillz (honed while singing the latest Aaron Tippin tune in the shower) into a recording contract. What a country!

The only question remaining is this: Who will play Joe the Plumber in the made-for-TV movie?

Bruce Willis seems like an obvious choice, but my money’s on Michael Chiklis.

The economy? National security? The threat of a new wave of soul-sapping socialism?

Meh. It’s about the pipes, stupid.

(Now before y’all go accusing me of being one of those un-American East Coast elitists for poking a little fun at ol’ Joe, let me remind you of my blue collar roots. I grew up in rural Southwest Virginia listening to my neighbors play bluegrass music on their front lawn every Saturday night (I kid you not). My father was a disabled Navy veteran and a postal clerk. My father’s father was a steelworker who retired at 65 and then worked as a janitor until he was nearly 80. My mother’s father helped build the Blue Ridge Parkway with the Civilian Conservation Corps during The Great Depression, cut lumber most of his life, made a bundle in flea markets which he kept hidden under his mattress and guarded closely with the shotgun in the corner and the pistol under his pillow, and as far as know, never paid a single cent in taxes to the IRS in his life–sorta like Joe the Plumber!

Oh, and he ran a little moonshine, too. I’m just sayin’.)

  1. Mike the Redneck

    Dang, Eyeguy! Thahutt’s sum serious redneck cred!

  2. Mike the Eyeguy

    Thank you. Now you know where you get it from.

  3. Donna

    My Dad used to drag us to these little hole in the wall places on Saturday night for blue-grass and maybe a little buck-dancing (to watch of course, we good little cofc girls wouldn’t dare dance…even at age 12!)

  4. Mike the Eyeguy

    My Scots-Irish neighbors and relatives called it “clogging.” I’ve seen old men and women otherwise debilitated with arthritis make it fly when the music got to goin’.

    I can drop my “Gs” with best of ’em.

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