Showdown in Big Sky Country: The Tempter at the Gate

We've just had an update on the confrontation in Montana, between RALPH and California Blat.

In their attempt to waste California Blat, the Candidate and his followers used up all the ammunition in their Montana compound, including the "Terminator" reloads, mini-smart bombs, super-duper grenades and even the Windex refill and the can of Raid. But when it was all over, the intruder simply shook the dust out of his hair and said, "Well, if you’re not going to invite me to dinner, I guess I’ll crash in the back of my truck."

Ah-hah, said RALPH, I’ll nail him when he’s asleep. But to his chagrin the seven Rottweilers all bounded after California Blat, climbed with him into the truck and curled themselves around him like a living blanket, licking his ears and growling menacingly whenever anyone else came near.

The next morning California Blat emerged with a few stale crumbs of bread in the palm of one hand; with his snap of his fingers he turned them into a plate loaded with bacon, hash browns and scrambled eggs, and a huge mug filled with coffee. "Hey, Ralph!" he called, "Smells good, doesn't it? I can make you some too if you’d like, because I love you. I love the world!"

It was Sonny White who replied: "We have our own! Now get lost, Huggy Bear!"

"Not yet," replied the unwanted guest. "Not till I’ve told RALPH what I came to say."

When three hours had passed without the Candidate responding to the challenge, Blat gave in and called: "RALPH! What happened to your campaign? Where’s your duty to the American people? Don't you want to save them from You Know Who? You’ve been invited to participate in all the candidates’ debates, Republican and Democratic. That’s right - both national committees agreed to it, after the Newshounds of the Caribbean dropped all their other demands. They were so sick of Bill O’Reilly they said they’d pay a bargain price just to get rid of him. Isn’t that wonderful? You saved Bill O’Reilly! Now follow it up by saving America!"

No reply, though one could hear, from inside the house, screams of "RAPTURE!!" and "PULVERIZE THE DEFEATOCRATS!" punctuated by excerpts from the "Ride of the Valkyries" and "Smoke on the Water", and by other noises that might have been a pressure cooker exploding and a La-Z-Boy being thrown against the wall.

"The New Hampshire primary is only six weeks away, Ralphy!" his tormentor continued. "Why don’t you put aside your fears and put together a policy platform and show them you're not afraid of PIAPS or anyone else?"

He went on in the same vein without result until evening, when he retired with the Rottweilers to the back of the truck again. Soon afterward those in the house could smell pizza baking in a wood oven, and hear California Blat singing plaintively as he plucked on his guitar:

There’s a RALPHY who’s sure
That he’s bound for Rapture,
And he’s buying a stairway to heaven.

But while he hides away
All his foes win the day,
And he’ll see Campaign Blat in the White House.

Oooooooooooh, (chorus of baying Rottweilers)
And it makes me wonder...

The standoff continues.