I’ve been ‘Rick-rolled’

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Well looky here. Seems that ol’ Rick Crawford missed his calling, and became an Arkansas Congressman, instead of a comedian.

Now I think y’all know me well enough to know I was taught better than to be ugly about someone’s hairpiece, and you’re absolutely correct. It was base and unkind of me to do so, and I apologize. However, I do feel it’s pertinent to give a little background on this particular transgression, not to justify it, but to give both sides of the story, so you can understand why I did it.

Let’s travel back in time a little over a month – when the initial ELD delay [amendment to the appropriations package bill –ed.] was voted on in the middle of the night, and Representatives felt compelled to get their butts up and vote at an hour most nine-to-fivers don’t keep. This intoned it might be an important issue to them, and I wanted to know why those who voted “no” felt strongly enough to do so.

So I asked.

“Send out a search party.”“Send out a search party.”

I set up a list of 35 Representatives, from the “no” votes, and I began Tweeting the question to each of them, in various ways, over and over again. Note the “over and over again” part. To date, I’ve sent over 200 (collective) tweets, emails and messages to 35 Representatives and I have gotten ZERO response from any of them.

Except one, and it didn’t have anything to do with trucking.

You see, when I started this, and I realized these people were going to ignore me wholly, it became a thing. Because I know they’re seeing the tweets. I know they’re getting the messages — they are ignoring them because they can.

You know how I know this?

I caved. I popped off to Rick Crawford and I was just as ugly as the face of D.C. is, and I said something nasty about him personally, and lo and behold, he responded.

With a dismissal. Wave of the hand.

Hundreds of tweets, hours of composing emails, days spent following these people, in a effort to communicate a very important issue they need to be paying closer attention to, and a freaking hairpiece is what finally gets a nod. (No pun intended. OK, it was totally intended. Sue me.)

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This is where we’re at in Washington. It’s a pubescent kickball game, where the only response you’ll get is “I know you are, but what am I?” and that’s only after you lower yourself to their ridiculous high-school-clique standards.

Color me “disgusted,” Rick — disgusted, that is, with myself for stooping, and with you for going lower. We can do better.