Former nudie model and perennial seeker of civil service jobs, Scott Brown, having been told to ‘pahk his cah in someone else’s yahd’ by Massachusetts voters, has been scuffling as of late — looking for another job, 3 hots, and a cot. After a brief stop camping out on the couch at the Fox Halfway House For Losers before he got kicked out, Brown picked up some day laborer work hawking guns and shampoo, but that fell apart too.
Finding the pickings slim, Brown packed up his truck — just like the Joads –and headed for the greener pastures of New Hampshire, looking for fresh start and a Senate seat to call his own.
Things have not gone so well — just like the Joads — and Brown has found himself trailing the third female candidate he has run against, incumbent Sen. Jeanne Shaheen who leads him 50-42 in the polls. Worse for him is that he is trailing Shaheen in the all-important Vagina-American demographic, 59 percent to 34 percent. In Brown’s last campaign he lost the lady vote to ethereal progressive godddess Elizabeth Warren by 18 points.
How to overcome this blatant misandry by women who no longer find Brown a hunka-hunka burning love with a happy trail that leads to the promised land of Penistown?
One way would be to run like hell when confronted with questions about lady’s vag maintenance, which is actually good advice for all Republicans.
While Brown is relatively cool with socialism slutpills, particularly as they apply to his daughters, he is also leery of twisting up the undies of the base who viewed the recent Supreme Court ruling on Hobby Lobby as the voice of God speaking through Strip Search Sammy Alito.
So when Guardian reporter Paul Lewis sought out Scott Brown to get the low down on ‘down there,’ Brown suddenly decided that he needed to take inventory in America’s National Urinal Cake Repository:
I found Brown at a table at a restaurant called Priscilla’s, introduced myself as a Guardian reporter and enquired if I could ask him some questions. Brown smiled nervously and replied: “What do you want to ask me about?”
“Hobby Lobby? That would be a start,” I said.
“I’m all set,” he replied. “We’re enjoying ourselves right now.”
“But you’re standing for Senate. It is routine for journalists to ask you questions and usually the candidates answer.”
“Not without notifying my office.”
Brown stood up, walked to the back of the diner, and took shelter in the bathroom. A campaign aide, Jeremy, looked bewildered. He lingered beside me for a few moments, before politely excusing himself – “Nice to meet you” – and joining his boss in the bathroom.
I decided to wait in the parking lot for Team Brown to emerge into the sunlight. Four minutes later, a white SUV swung round and parked next to the steps of the diner. Brown came out with a phone pressed to his ear. “Get in! Get in!” said a campaign worker holding open the car door. Another man asked me to leave. “You’re getting in the face of people that don’t care to talk to you,” he said.
Undeterred, Lewis followed the musky scent of Brown’s testosterone permeating the crisp New Hampshire air and tracked the skittish candidate down at the next lip ‘n grip on his schedule:
His next campaign stop, I was told, would take place three hours later, on the second floor of the Hobbs Tavern and Brewery, in West Ossipee. I was at the tavern, mingling with about a dozen locals, when the candidate arrived. Brown walked up the stairs, spotted me in the audience, frowned, turned around and walked back downstairs.
Jeremy, looking even more anxious than he did at Priscilla’s, took me to a corner and told me that while I could witness Brown’s electioneering, under no circumstances was I permitted to ask questions.
I was explaining to Jeremy that Senate candidates don’t get to dictate when and where journalists ask them questions, when Brown re-emerged. Gruffly, he told me I had intruded in a private event. He was not going to answer my questions about Hobby Lobby. “I’m not making any more news,” he explained. “You’re being unprofessional and you’re being rude.”
A large man with chest hair poking out of his shirt put it more bluntly. “You have to go,” he said. “We can either do this the right way, or we can do this the wrong way.”
“What is the wrong way?” I asked. “I don’t want you to find out,” he said.
You have to appreciate how the Brown campaign butches up when confronted with some news reporter person who wants to talk about lady problems. Why can’t Lewis talk about something manly in a New England bar …. like the Red Sox, for instance?
Okay, maybe not that…
Patriot’s camp opens next week.
I bet Tom Brady could beat Jeanne Shaheen.
Scott Brown, not so much…