Area 51 & the Water Witches

Well, thanks to some over-achievers in Reno, Nevada, we're about to lose another Constitutional freedom: our inalienable right to vote while wearing a chicken costume.

According to my exhaustive research (assisted by two data collection experts from British Petroleum running around the Gulf with a tape measure), Nevada state officials have been forced to add chicken costumes to their growing list of items that are banned at public polling places. I can't wait to find out what else is on their "banned at the polls" list. Ferrets, maybe? Voters?

Like many extremely stupid things, it all began innocently. Among the 12 current Republican primary candidates in Nevada is a woman, a nice Republican lady who, like most of us, is a millionaire casino executive and a former beauty queen. As part of her "Look How In Touch I Am With The Little People" political platform, the nice lady recently suggested that people barter with their doctors, just like when her grandparents used to "bring a chicken to the doctor."

Now, if you or I walked in to a doctor's office holding a chicken, it wouldn't go well. We'd probably be referred immediately to a tweed-wearing specialist with a goatee and a name like Altoid von Munchkin. But maybe the nice lady's grandma, back in her pre-golden years, didn't have veterinarians in Nevada. Or maybe all the veterinarians were busy moonlighting in Vegas casinos, half-naked in 10-inch stiletto heels and sequined skullcaps.

The nice Republican lady and her eleven opponents are all competing for the chance to run against Majority Leader Harry "Altoid" Reid, who's been Senator in Nevada since the day his ship crash-landed in nearby Roswell, New Mexico. And I'm guessing that each of the other 11 candidates has their own cute farm animal anecdote to share, too; their own memories of Granny and her haunting medical habits.

But political emotions are running deep in 2010, and when the clever Democrats in Nevada heard about the chicken quip, they responded like sensible, intelligent, reality-grounded career politicos, employing time-tested tenets of rock-solid political theory: they crashed their opponent's campaign events with volunteers wearing chicken suits.

Responding in kind, with a proud dignity reminiscent of classic political discourse in ancient Greek culture, the Republicans bought a bunch of TV time and started whining. As a result, chicken costumes are now banned in Nevada within 100 feet of polling places. Political shirts, hats and signs are also banned, just in case some rogue rooster shows up wearing a partisan Bojangles beanie or waving a "No More Omelets!" placard, and if you've ever visited Vegas, you know this is not entirely outside the realm of possibility.

A local party partisan carped that wearing chicken outfits while exercising one's right to vote would be "inappropriate," effectively transmitting an obvious anti-Nice-Republican-Lady message. A Nice-Republican-Lady spokeshuman said ... and I'm not good enough to make this stuff up ... "I think most voters are going to the polls thinking about far greater things than Harry Reid's chickens."

Most voters? Most?

In these odd days, there are hundreds of relevant, vital, life-altering issues on the minds of the voting public. For instance, where do the candidates stand on poultry-based bio-fuel? Are these undocumented hens? Can British Petroleum use chickens to plug that geyser in the Gulf?

I suppose, given their proximity to California, there are bound to be a few tin-foil-hat types that want to hear more about the critical Chicken Angle in this story. Well, fear not. I'm your man. And I'm wearing the boots to do it.

Admittedly, we don't yet know if these are naturalized chickens, or if they were hatched right here in this Best Of All Possible Nations If You Live For Ridiculous News Stories. But make no mistake: immigration is going to a front-burner issue in the 2010 mid-term elections. And it's almost impossible for any reasonable, thinking person to deny the logic underlying one simple syllogism:

1. The United States shares a southern border with Mexico;

2. Immigrants are entering the United States by crossing the southern border with Mexico;

3. So it logically follows that the immigrants are quite likely to be...what? You got it. Swedish.

Now, I'm not here to muddy up my story by injecting any actual facts. But as it turns out, the chicken has a long and illustrious place in the histories of Sweden and our other southern neighbors. There are thousands of historical documents which, for very good reasons, I haven't shared with you, that validate the importance of the chicken in the rich cultures of Meso-America. (literal translation: "Before the Spanish showed up, this place rocked")

You should know that in some parts of Mexico, and downtown Sweden, chicken is called "pollo." (pronounced "yard bird") Other countries do that a lot - it's almost seems, sometimes, that they have a different word for just about everything. Pretty rude, when you think about it. I mean, if English was good enough for the Old Testament, it ought to be good enough for Sweden and its next-door neighbor, Peru.

Marketing Sidebar: Due to extremely negative focus group feedback, "Kentucky Fried Pollo" never really caught on in Nevada. On the other hand, Swedish caterers don't care much for Peruvian Meatballs.

As we all know, Mexico is the home of the famous pyramid-slash-temple named Chichen Itza. (literal translation: "Jaguar? Tastes like chicken.") Within these time-worn walls, ancient mystics and millionaire casino executives would gather together to play an ancient form of basketball, and then round out the afternoon by throwing people into a well. This spectator-participation sport dates back to an even more ancient, but equally fun, group nicknamed the "Witches of Water," the dreaded "Brujas del Agua." (pronounced "British Petroleum") Then late one afternoon, around three-ish, the Spaniards showed up, having sailed across the Atlantic from Spania, and things got much more civilized. Not really.

Back in Nevada, however, they've a real problem on their hands. Committed partisan voters in chicken costumes are running around the desert with a tape measure, and then congregating exactly 101 feet from polling places. And at this point, I have to wonder - where do you buy a chicken costume, much less hundreds of them? And what's the other side wearing? Furry little Coyote Republican hats? Furiously partisan Chicken Hawk costumes?

And the ultimate poser for the political pundits: Why did the chicken cross the aisle?