Brian Kemp is running for governor of Georgia.
He’s a tough-talking conservative who likes guns and trucks and trucks and guns. He spends most of his money trying to show us all that he’s no candy-ass pussy liberal; that he’ll shoot anyone in the face who even tries to take away his rifle. Hell, just watch his desperate-attempts-to-prove-his-manhood ads.
I’m challenging him to a fight.
I’m being serious. I’m a 6-foot-2, 190-pound sportswriting wuss. I’ve gotten in one fight ever, and my ass was kicked (alas, I was in middle school. But still). I don’t even believe in fighting. Or punching. It’s not a reasonable way to settle arguments.
But, in this case, I’ll make an exception.
I don’t need a gun to be tough. Or a truck. Or some nonsense scare language against illegal immigrants. Give me a ring, some gloves and Brian Kemp in front of me, and I will pound Mr. Toughie into paste. By the end of the first three minutes, he’ll be crying on the ground, begging for the massacre to end. See, punks like Brian Kemp (and Donald Trump) are only “tough” when they’re standing before a TV camera, or a mic, trying to convince people that they’re these Captain America-esque defenders of truth. Punk didn’t serve a day in the military. Punk has never held any sort of blue-collar job. I’m willing to bet someone mows his lawn and prunes his trees.
He’s just an image.
Just another con.
Bring it, Kemp.