Every year, the progressive enclave of Boise is invaded by state legislators whose ideologies mix with the capital city as well as bottle rockets and whiskey.
Suddenly, young professionals with ear buds tuned to Macklemore rub shoulders with men in polyester suits whistling the Pledge of Allegiance. Meanwhile, young mothers who only buy organic produce share sidewalks with women who think potatoes count as a vegetable.
Usually, it’s like oil versus water, fire versus ice, new Taylor Swift versus old Taylor Swift, Tinder versus FarmersOnly.com — we avoid each other like the Mucinex boogerman.
Bosieans love their city. Sure it has the typical crime problems of any city, but on balance, it’s very safe. That’s why a majority of Bosieans don’t carry a gun at all times, which is in steep contrast to the rest of Idaho, where, judging by their legislators, carrying a gun to protect oneself is more important than everything except God and family…well, at least God.
Out in Boise’s “north end,” there’s only one reason to carry a gun all the time. It’s called “war.” Using a logical progression that must mean the rest of Idaho is less like Mayberry and more like that scene from Black Hawk Down. You know, the one with all the shooting.
No. Thank. You. Bosieans prefer to remain safe in their enclave, where the beer is a different color going in than it is going out.
To the legislators from the hinterlands, Boise is a den of debauchery. Back home, where they come from, gay people can be fired for not being straight. And straight people, well straight people wait until marriage. Or at least they wait to get married until right before the bride is showing. To them, Boise is something that can’t be trusted, just like the left shark.
If Boise wants to be trusted, they need to put some energy into the flux capacitor of yesteryear. Here are a couple suggestions. More dip between your cheek and gum, less kale and more gravy. Also, there aren’t enough belt buckles. There’s a certain ratio of human to belt buckle that must be attained before any man can be trusted.
Will the two sides ever get along? Often it seems like the answer is “no.” Like no matter how hard we try, we’ll never see eye to eye patch. And maybe that’s true. We’re different: one of us drives around the city in a Smart Car while the other cruises town in a side-by-side ATV. But that’s where we’re strangely similar. In a collision with a speeding delivery truck, they’re both nearly indistinguishable.
So maybe the moral of the story is: “We’re all the same to a tow-truck driver,” or perhaps it’s, “Wreckage has no political preference.”
Either way, it illustrates that our differences aren’t insurmountable.
Just darn near.
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