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He kneels in a homemade tree stand, cloaked by the darkness of the autumn Midwestern woods. The silence of the brisk Wisconsin dawn is interrupted only by the sound of branches breaking in the distance. Once upon a time, two decades ago, he would have been accompanied by pledge brothers on his hunting excursion, tossing back Pepsis and trading stories of pursuing 18-year-old pelt throughout the breathtaking streets of Oxford, Ohio. Today, he scouts the forest in solitude, raising his bow to meet the buck awaiting its destiny in the remote forest. The archer releases his arrow. The buck staggers, then collapses.
The bowman steps down from the tree stand, and approaches his target. A perfectly-executed effort.
His name is Paul Davis Ryan, he is 42 years old, and he is one of many Americans who thought we’d have finally figured out how to manage and grow an economy by the year 2012. Instead, the unemployment rate sits at 8.3 percent, millions cannot afford health insurance, and the nation he loves so much can barely afford to pay its bills. We’ve both gotten our change, and have had our pockets emptied of it at the same time, left with nothing but credit liability and lint, and he’s going to do something about it.
Paul’s story is legendary. For years, Ryan went by the nickname “P.D.” which of course stands for Pube Devourer. Inspired by the Reagan Revolution during his time at Miami University, P.D. really loved him some bush. In what turned out to be early preparation for handling foreign relations with the Middle East, the future congressman would spend each night of the week diving face-first into unkempt camel hair. I’m talking nose to the snatchstone, never-worry-about-going-to-the-dentist-because-there’s-enough-pubic-floss-to-go-around, face-first-in-Jordan’s-oil-well kind of diplomacy.
Drill baby drill, indeed.
He eventually had to give up the moniker “P.D” as it was often mistaken for “V.D.”, and given his reputation for hating to rely on any form of a safety net, the notion of the former high school soccer star carrying a venereal disease was seen as a distinct possibility. But even the fear of imminent uterus burning sensations never stopped the sorority girls, sexy secretaries, and foxy flight attendants from lining up in the halls of Delta Tau Delta, just to get a piece of Paul Ryan’s box cutter.
The dark and hairy decade known as the 90’s passed, and like all of us someday will, Paul eventually traded in his limitless supply of trim for that one special fish. You know what I’m talking about. The kind of fish that you wake up next to in the morning, take a whiff of, and your dreams take you inside the women’s locker room at LA Fitness. The kind of fish that isn’t as wet and satisfying as when you first reeled it in, but still puts up a fight anytime you cast out your pole. The kind of fish that over time grows cold and scaly to the touch like a dead Galapagos tortoise. Paul’s fish is named Janna Little, and in December 2000, the two got married.
Like a lot of married men, Paul has had to find some new hobbies since leaving behind his undergrad glory days. Wearing his favorite Green Bay attire (he really loves some exciting Packer action), the congressman loves spending his free time going Randall Simon on some homemade bratwurst and Polish kielbasa, and you have to respect the man for that. Congressman Ryan is not afraid to grab this country by the proverbial sausage and command its respect.
The rising star of the Grand Ol’ Party, in March, Ryan released his 2013 Budget Proposal, dubbed “The Path to Prosperity.” It calls for drastic cuts in spending (almost too deep, actually, and possibly not realistic, not to mention it leaves defense spending virtually untouched; still, you can’t say it’s not bold), and a measured phasing out of government funding guarantees to large “Too Big To Fail” financial institutions. Congressman Ryan also calls for reforming the welfare system by moving to a block grant system that would allow for the fight against poverty to be done more on the local level, transferring power and resources from the federal to the state governments in order to allow the states to manage costs and address needs more efficiently.
Ryan is also pushing for a simplified tax system with just two individual rates, 10% and 25%, and reduce the corporate tax rate from 35% to 25%. To make up for the lost revenues, the plan would aim to eliminate many loopholes (though we all know some loopholes will manage a way to continue to exist and protect the money movers in this nation. Love it or leave it, folks). But, above all, Congressman and Veep candidate Paul Davis Ryan’s platform is about putting the “big fucking balls” in “The President of the United States has mammoth-sized big fucking balls.” He tells it like it is, and he’s not going to tiptoe around on eggshells.
My biggest problem with President Obama isn’t even his ideology; we all knew what we were getting when he was elected. No, it’s his apparent lack of testicular fortitude. Faced with a Congress hellbent on opposing him and waving a middle finger to not him but to the American public, President Obama’s unwillingness to drop the gauntlet and plow through legislation without so much as a courtesy spit has turned the US Capitol into the appendix of Washington, D.C.- sure, at one point many years ago, it served some useful role, but it was so long ago that no one even remembers what that role was, or why it stopped functioning. Paul Ryan can help us remember. Paul Ryan can fix that burst appendix.
Maybe not now, maybe not this November, but the Ryan Renaissance is coming.
Governor Romney made one hell of a choice. Let’s just hope that by the time the inevitable mudslinging and character assassination comes to a close, there’s still an ounce remaining of the man who will lead this great nation into the future.