Whom among you is worthy, William E. Gibson, Michael Knowlton, or T. Michael O'Mara , to serve as district attorney general for Tennessee's 13th Judicial District? Have your lies shown that you are trustworthy? Your incompetence on the job has been obvious? What about that foul stench of political corruption that you cannot wash from your person?
Hypocrites -- all of you!
It will be a sad day for those residing within the 13th Judicial District if any of these candidates is sworn into office. Surely there is somewhere in this district a person of honesty, character, and competency who is willing to serve as district attorney general. Whoever you are--wherever you are-- the people need you now more than ever!
Unless, and until a worthy candidate comes forth I must endorse Bob the G.O.B. for district attorney general. I urge each of you to write Bob the G.O.B. on your primary and general-election ballots. He may be our only salvation.
This sad field of unqualified candidates for district attorney general brings to mind a dog story, a legend form the American Indians that speaks of a time when there was a similar leadership vacuum in the dog's world.
Many years ago the dogs decided that they should have a leader, a chief, or a Top Dog. Therefore they called together a big dog convention for the purpose of nominating and electing a chief.
The convention was called to order and after some discussion the floor was opened for nominations. A wise old bloodhound got up and said, " I nominate the bulldog for chief." A discussion of the qualities that would make the bulldog a good chief ensued. Several dogs mentioned, and it was agreed, that the bulldog was very strong and that he was a fierce fighter. Those are good qualities to expect from a leader.
Then a poodle spoke up, "But the bulldog cannot run fast at all. What good is a fighter who can't run fast enough to catch up to anything?"
"Well then", growled a retriever, " I nominate the greyhound for chief. The greyhound runs with great speed and grace". There was a united chorus of disagreement as all the other dogs howled, "The greyhound can run down just about any other creature its true, but what can he do once he catches it? He's so scrawny he'll get the hell beaten out of him!"
From far back among the crowd a rather homely little mutt stood and whimpered, "For chief I nominate that dog who smells good underneath his tail." Almost instantly another ugly mutt nearby barked out, "I second the motion!" The motion carried and the dogs all stood and began sniffing underneath one another's tail.
"Phew! This one is certainly no candidate!"
"Oh Gross, you're not the dog's choice!"
"Gag! Definitely no chief material here!"
"Merciful Heavens Fido, what have you been eating?"
This went on for hours and soon it was apparent that a chief would not be named that day. The dogs agreed to recess their convention and to report back at a later date once a fitting candidate was sniffed out.
Today whenever you are out and about just watch the dogs. They are still sniffing underneath each other's tail. They have not found a suitable leader. They are still searching for their chief.
Oops, we'd better sit down boys, here comes that cold-nosed Gibson, Knowlton, O'Mara pack!