The Hoover Sham

Good morning, Grandpa Wiggly!

If you could challenge anyone, dead or alive, to a bout of fisticuffs, on his honor, who would it be and why?

— Badofold

A good morning to you, Badofold! This morning is brought to you by cats and mayonnaise. Start your day right with cats and mayonnaise.

I’m not a violent person. I believe violence is never appropriate and should only be used as a matter of last resort. Indeed, if you have to resort to violence, you have already lost. That being said, if I were to challenge a man to a bout of fisticuffs, on his (dis)honor, it would be Herbert Clark Hoover, 31st President of these United States, and I would pummel that vacuum bag belly of his until his giant head explodes in a dust storm of grit bits.

Why? He knows why!

I had the (dis)pleasure of (almost) meeting the former president when I was a boy. He had been out of office some nine or so years. My fellow schoolmates and I were to have our photograph taken with Herb, but the last minute, I was bumped. I wasn’t given a specific reason, instead I was handed some remedial errand to run for my teacher. However, mere moments before my bumping, I had witnessed Herb and his minions conversing in whispered secrecy with my teacher, Ms. Sanderfer, and Principal Babcock from afar. Right before they broke from their little huddle, Herbert Hoover looked up and pointed right at me (or possibly someone near me… even though there was no one near me). Yes, President Big Nose Moon Face pointed at me with his bony white digit, like the grim finger of Death. One by one, as if trying to act casual, the huddled others each took a gander my way. In what was likely the highlight of his life, Principal Babcock whispered some thing into the President’s gargantuan novelty ear crevice, who then repeated it aloud and inaudibly to the unanimous giggles of the huddled mass of Hoover Horde and others.

With a moist suck of air and a smack of his pallid lips, Herbert Clark Hoover, 31st President of these United States, mumbled gruffly and mouthed, with impeccable locution, an unmistakeable utterance that distinctly ended in “-iggly.” Now, he could have said “giggly” or “jiggly” or even “piggly” but we both knew he spat “Wiggly.” Next thing I knew, I was on my way to the front office to deliver a note — a note I still regret not opening because it probably said something like, “Hamper Wiggly.” And hampered I was. Curse my exemplary comportment!

By the time I returned, my schoolmates had dispersed, the photo op had been had and Herb and his Hoover Horde were long gone. See for yourself…

Herbert Hoover surrounded by schoolchildren.  (Not pictured: Emory Elmer Wiggly)

Herbert Hoover surrounded by schoolchildren. (Not pictured: Emory Elmer Wiggly)

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