by Boone T. Resonator, Cultural Critic and Regional Contrarian
In the hills where the holler lays low,
Where the coal dust sticks and the Walmart glows,
Was born a lad with a bookish brow
They called him JD, and he’s VP now.
Raised on beans and RedState pride,
Mama’s rules and a stepdad’s hide,
He clawed his way from Dew-soaked days
And cashed in grief for Beltway praise.
He wore his roots like a campaign hat
Just long enough to get outta that.
Yale done scrubbed his vowels clean;
Now he gives TED Talks in boot-cut jeans.
“I seen the truth!” he hollered loud,
To a room full of billionaires feelin’ proud.
“The poors are poor ’cause they choose to be
Now where’s my spot in national history?”
He wrote a book ’bout backwoods pain,
Then sold the script and rode the Hollywood train.
He warned the coasts of flyover grudge,
Then married a clerk and learned to judge.
He’s Li’l Abner with a Silicon Valley loan,
Wearin’ flag pins and expensive cologne.
Every stump speech, a campaign play;
Every anecdote fades away.
So if you see him, slick and pressed,
Rantin’ ’bout the rural mess,
Ask him where his shadow’s been
It’s probably back in Jackson Bend.
’Cause Dogpatch don’t forget its kin,
Not when you trade your drawl for spin.
The more he tries to stand above,
The more he proves he’s what he was.
So tip your hat to JD’s game
He’s the hero, the problem, and the brand name.
A tale as old as campaign grease:
Li’l Abner with a law degree…
Sellin’ Appalachian grief.
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