Hey, you wanna see what ObamaCare looks like? Here you go. It’s twice as tall as a can of Bud Light:
That’s a copy of the actual law. It turned up at the Wyoming Republican Party convention recently, where Sen. John Barasso made appropriate use of it. Hope he didn’t strain himself.
The photo above was taken by my ex-Significant Sweetie, Charles Curley who actually (OMG!) attended the convention. R’s in Wyoming are a little different than R’s in most other places, though. Nobody had a hissy fit when an armed man showed up and hobnobbed with both the state’s U.S. senators and Wyoming’s one and only congressthing. That’s just the Wyoming way.
I’m on the road today — or rather, I’m off the road at this moment huddled in a motel room in some state I can barely remember. (I passed through portions of four of them today.)
I’m a westerner, so I’m used to empty spaces. I lived in Wyoming, and believe me, Wyoming has a lot of empty. I’ve crisscrossed Nevada in every direction. Once you’re out of Las Vegas, there’s empty as far as the eye can see. Southern Idaho? Nothing but empty. And sagebrush. (Which sort of goes along with empty.) Eastern Oregon, Eastern Washington, Eastern Montana? Empty, empty, empty. Been there, seen ’em all more times than I care to remember.
But unless you’ve been in some godforsaken corner of Saudi Arabia, you’ve never seen as much empty as you’ll find on I-70 in Utah between Green River and Salina, smack in the middle of the state. Holy cats — 106 miles of purest nothing. Not even a gas station. Utah is a pretty state with lots of red rock and drama. But that stretch … well, it makes “the longest road in Wyoming” (the 90 miles from Casper to Shoshoni, and be sure to drink lots of caffeine if you ever have to drive it) look like the L.A. freeway at rush hour.
I don’t usually approve of civilization. But I was glad to reach a small patch of it tonight.