Basement Files: My opponent

With the election just days away and his lead in the polls reduced to mere percentage points, it appears my opponent is growing desperate. What else could account for last week's vicious attack ad, an ad so vile the Riverdale Clarion was forced to acknowledge it was "filled with blatantly bad copy, poor lighting and the production values normally associated with local furniture store commercials"?

While I'm saddened by my opponent's embrace of such mean-spirited tactics, I can't say I'm surprised. Why else would the Durant Commercial Appeal refer to my opponent as "a lovestruck teen from the wrong side of the tracks who's just crazy enough to believe love might conquer the social divide"? It's time for a change, Nevada.

I supported my high school football team by making fun, glittery signs for all the cutest guys, while my opponent sat on the sidelines sneering at enduring values like pep and spirit. Is it any wonder the Glen Park Dispatch called my opponent "socially inept in large gatherings and burdened by the mistaken belief that double-breasted jackets are flattering to his short, stout frame"? We can do better.

Did you know that my opponent was for Florida in the 1996 Fiesta Bowl? I'm sorry, but that's just wrong. And the Hampton Chronicle knew that was wrong when it said my opponent "studiously avoids the use of the word timbre because he can never remember if it rhymes with amber or ember." Enough is enough, America.

Who opposed funding for my mail-order bride's breast enhancement? My opponent, whose disregard for women's health issues is a matter of public record. No wonder the Bloomfield Ledger called my opponent's track record "formulaic and derivative, with no real ear for dialogue." That's not the kind of vision we need to carry us into the 21st century.

Though he's at pains to deny it, my opponent once wrongly named "Calgon" as one of the inert gases during a debate on the House floor. Can we assume he meant Argon? We can only hope. To me, they'll always be the Noble Gases. But I'm old-fashioned that way. And proud of it. No wonder my own mother called my opponent "too slick for his own good, if you ask me. And that hair...what's going on there?" The people have a right to demand some answers.

My opponent still overcooks pork out of quaint fear of trichinosis. Personally, I don't mind a little pink in the middle of a nice, thick pork chop. In fact, I welcome that kind of challenge. And that's the kind of strength and leadership Nevadans are crying out for. The Glenwood Herald acknowledged as much when it called my opponent a "defensive liability in the late innings" and a "free-swinger who's known to chase breaking stuff low and away late in the count." That's not who I want representing me in Washington. How about you?

Who diverted funds from an insurance settlement meant to repair the damaged front end of a 2002 Ford Explorer and used them instead to buy a 2003 800cc Suzuki Intruder? That was me. It wasn't necessarily a popular decision at the time, but it was the right thing to do. Then and now. And it's why the Parsons Sentinel has described my opponent as "marbled with fat, gamey and slightly more fibrous than venison." I just think we can do better. In fact, I know we can.

Why won't my opponent call off the attack dogs of his ruthless smear machine? And where do you buy a smear machine? And what kind of routine maintenance is involved with a machine like that? These are the kinds of unanswered questions that prompted the Elko Intelligencer to call my opponent a "soaring, but ultimately heartbreaking pageant of man's inhumanity to man." That's not what I stand for.

My opponent has routinely called for teams to accept more delay-of-game penalties rather than spend precious timeouts when the play clock gets too low, claiming that in today's spread offenses, the loss of five yards is a lot less important than the loss of a timeout. That's just the kind of extremist rhetoric that forced the Medina Eagle to label my opponent "lumbering and unimaginative on the dance floor...and a bit of a groper on the slow numbers." That's not leadership. Not in my book.

My opponent has asked why you would name a program meant to level the educational playing field "Head Start"? If, my opponent asks, you're actually trying to make things even, why would you name it after an unfair advantage? When you're that out of touch with the lives of everyday people, it's no wonder the Eaton Daily Record calls you "flat-out boy crazy" and "at that awkward age when you can't help but be embarrassed by your parents." Let's say no to the same old politics.

It's no affair of mine that my opponent's daughter is a lesbian. I don't concern myself with the lesbianism and the man-hating and the spiky hair that's long in back and the little Toyota trucks with the cargo nets. That's not the issue. In fact, I'm quite sure my opponent loves his lesbian daughter. But the hypocrisy of it all hasn't escaped the notice of the Centralia Messenger, who labeled my opponent "stymied by and ultimately resentful of the long, unbroken words and arcane clues of the Saturday New York Times crossword puzzle." That's not who we need of Homeland Security. Not by a long shot.

I'm Grant Howard. And I approved this message.