The Catapult Was the First Warning: How Brian Stone Failed to Win the Grassroots Horde
Crossing the Mij-Gum-Vuh: Guthrie Man dissects Brian Stone’s bold but ill-fated venture into the west side.
Good Sunday morning everyone. Especially all of the fine friends of The Guthrie Man.
If there’s one thing Guthrie Man hates most, it’s the coffee shop oldsters who always manage to shoehorn a reference to their Mad March Bracket into the conversation—usually as their lead-off—before the caffeine even kicks in.
Guthrie Man can only hear the same self-effacing, “Welp y’all, you know what they say about perfection, but . . . ” so many times—as the obvious setup to eventually let Guthrie Man know they’re, in fact, in first place in the coffee shop pool. You won’t catch Guthrie Man pretending to be humble before bragging about Guthrie Man's own first-place bracket, which is currently nosing into the top 10% nationwide, according to the wokesters over at the ESPN bracket-scoring company.
Self-effacement is the worst ramp-up to bragging. If Guthrie Man wanted to experience pointless, endless, self-indulging self-effacement, Guthrie Man would simply replay the footage of last week's Logan County GOP Convention and floor fight. Their MC was the undisputed champion of the never-in-demand skill of relentless, self-indulgent humility. Sheesh—maybe that works once or twice in a presentation, but by the time we’re in double-digit territory, the audience is right to assume there’s one of those politician clowns standing at the front of the room.
Word on the street is that this isn't this particular self-indulgent politician's first trip to Four Square Miler Ville. The county government office not so long ago awarded a contract to that politician's company—paid for with taxpayer funds from a new state government funding program.
Now, the fact that—until very recently—he was a powerful big-stick swinger down at the pork factory is enough to make the coffee crew raise a right-side eyebrow, full-on Spock-style, when the state government pours mega bucks into a funding program that first goes to local government, then straight back to that politician’s company. After all, he did manage to take the good ole CP on the enabling legislation—but not on the $12.5 million appropriation into the program. Now he’s out of office and apparently running for the next one—but it all makes for some excellent coffee shop analysis: in Oklahoma, politicians making mega bank from doing business with the government probably isn’t all that different from federal Congressmen making mega bank in the stock market.
Vote them out!
Their fat bank accounts will console them.
But, just a note to future GOP chairman-like people. When you have one of your burn-it-all-down convention events, don't invite out-of-county mercenaries and sneezy self-indulgent politicians to run the place. When Guthrie Man has to sit through the meanderings of the self-indulgent, Guthrie Man gets very, very revolutionary, very quickly. And, for some strange reason, the long-faced crew at the sign-in desk gave Guthrie Man the right to vote; so that revolution was powered by the vote of The Guthrie Man.
No more self-indulgent politicians! If there's anything Guthrie Man hates worse than coffee shop attendees who find a way to shoehorn in a reference to their "first place" bracket, it's self-indulgent grandstanding politicians.
Guthrie Man has seen a politician or two in Guthrie Man's time. Back in ’89, Guthrie Man was right there when Governor Henry Bellmon came to town. Bellmon was a fascinating study. He had a real presence in person that just doesn’t come through on TV. See Bellmon on TV, and it’s time to change the channel—but in person, he made quite the impression. You had to be there—in person, just like Guthrie Man, or it’s lost on you. It’s amazing how that works.
So, Guthrie Man’s rare venture out of the coffee club and down to the train depot was another opportunity to see some more elected leaders firsthand. Guthrie Man was most impressed by the quiet confidence of Jim Shaw. Shaw doesn’t have the swagger of a self-indulgent politician, but he has the determination of someone who knows where he’s going, and the firm but soft-spoken likability of a man on the street. That's a real rarity for elected official types around these parts.
Having a lot of coffee shop knowledge really enhances the experience of watching the inter-dynamics at play between these politicians—and, on rare occasions, statesmen (e.g., Shaw). Watching Shaw share the stage with the self-indulgent politician was quite the opportunity, because Shaw came out of nowhere last year to unexpectedly defeat the ally of that very same self-indulgent politician. That ally was the one in charge of appropriations power—in other words, he, along with Perry-based Senator Chuck All, wrote the $12.5 million appropriation into the government program that funded the local county initiative now funneling bucks to the self-indulgent politician’s company.
Wow. How fascinating that those two ended up on the same stage, right here in Guthrie Town. Talk about intense.
Now, how many of you fellow coffee club types who were in the audience that day knew about that dynamic? See, that’s why you attend the Guthrie Man Coffee Club: to truly appreciate the insanity you’re seeing unfold right before your very eyes.
Speaking of politicians, that massive catapult going up on the flats should have provided the slightest of warnings to Guthrie Town's next servant of the people.
As City Council candidate Brian Stone vies for the privilege of living up to the legacy of noted ballistic expert Jim Case, he was set up with a slam-dunk opportunity: he was the last remaining Republican in the Ward I race and the first-ever speaker to appear before the newly empowered grassroots hordes.
Now, as an important point of clarification, Guthrie Man can't tell you that Guthrie Man knows the exact path Stone took on his arduous travail across the creek, leaving behind the country club types on the east side of Four Square Miler Ville, and tepidly venturing onto the flats and the domain of the Ward III blue collars.
Stone probably didn't mind taking on the risk of a brush with the blue-collar types, because he had an advantage: his last remaining opponent, the dogged Menecca Gibbs, may have bested him in the Ward I primary, but now, as the runoff election is approaching, word had gotten out that she had committed a massive strategic blunder. At some point in her past, she aligned her political affiliation with the county's now-third-place, and still shrinking, political affiliation. Yes, her partisan affiliation could suggest that though we don't know for sure, it's actually possible that she might be one of the last of a dying breed: one of the few remaining rooster stampers in Logan County.
Speaking of rankings, unlike local Democrats, Guthrie Man's March Madness bracket is in first place. Has Guthrie Man mentioned that yet?
As Stone crossed the Fifth Street Bridge, or the College Street Bridge, or coasted down the massive edifice otherwise known as the Mayor Jon Gumerson Memorial Viaduct—the MJGMV (Mij-gum-vuh) for those who are not from the West side—straight into Blue Collar Ville, he likely would have taken note of the almost-setting March sun, creating an overwhelming ambiance of soon-to-be-springness in Blue Collar Ville, and glinting off of the massive catapult, constructed just yards away from his destination point.
Now, Stone, provided he’s the intellectually curious type, may have first attempted to discern the actual technical nature of this spectacular object: catapult or trebuchet?
But, regardless of its classification, that powerful device was most certainly an omen.
Now, there are some in the less-than-imaginative crowd who will chalk this up to pure coincidence. Perhaps the weapon of war was, in fact, just coincidentally part of the setup for the upcoming Guthrie Renaissance Fair. But circumstances are circumstances, and omens are omens—and this was the perfect omen-ish representation of the very circumstance Stone found himself driving straight into.
For you see, just the day before, Guthrie Man had, for the benefit of the Guthrie Man Coffee Club crew, vividly and accurately analogized the circumstances of the previous day's Logan County Convention.
No analogy better brought the captive listeners of the Guthrie Man into the moment of the convention than Guthrie Man's description of the few—but temporarily in-control—bunkered-down members of the Notorious SBJ crew, huddled behind closed doors, manning the entrances to the venerable Guthrie Train Depot. Meanwhile, the grassroots hordes assembled outside—probably locked out of the building—forced to gather in the cold, brisk weather but completely undeterred by any effort to discourage their ensuing rush of the castle gates.
As the hordes broke through, they vowed that unlike their predecessors they would hold their own accountable, especially those who have an R by their name. This contrasted with the establishment candidate of the Notorious SBJ crew, who either misread the room or who by that point just didn't care, and told the hordes that she had brought credibility back to the local party as it relates to building and maintaining relationships with those same politicians.
Let’s just say, that ensuing vote didn’t go well for the leader of the Notorious SBJ crew.
The grassroots hordes, just like their grassroots counterparts all across the state, are determined to defeat, remove and replace their deceitful political leaders who are taking the mantle and brand of Republicanism, conservatism, populism, grassrootism and all things good-isms and then doing what most politicians do: scoundrelism—first class, pure scoundrelism.
So two days later, the grassroots hordes, excited, high and happy from their great victory of the previous weekend, filled the iconic Sixth and Warner church building for their first-ever meeting from their newly claimed seat of power.
Their first-ever speaker? The Stone man himself.
Now, Guthrie Man’s clickable hand counter only goes up to three digits, so Guthrie Man can’t say exactly how many members of the grassroots horde filled the church building that night—but let’s just say, in terms of turnout, they gave the good old-fashioned revival meetings that have defined that building a serious run for their money.
Now, unlike the parishioners of the past, the grassroots hordes have yet to master the technique of the never-ending-soul-saving altar call, because that’s probably the only thing that could have saved Stone from the ensuing events.
For Stone, even the slightest bit of due diligence—or at least a little adequate prepping from his breakfast club associates—would have helped him prepare for what was about to happen. And there’s reason to suggest Stone might possess the necessary modicum of good judgment; after all, he has yet to adopt Guthrie Man’s suggested campaign theme: Get Stoned with Stone.
This was an easy layup. All he had to do was remind attendees that he was "the" Republican candidate on the ballot, explain that he was a Republican because he believed in the party platform of the party of Lincoln and Reagan—smaller government, less regulation, less taxation, less intrusion on personal liberties—and that he wouldn’t be supporting Chief Swigs’ warrantless surveillance system, the one that’s reportedly linked up with the ATF and the Wisconsin fusion center for some reason, or the next people-punitive tax increase drive rushing down the tracks courtesy of the tax-increase-obsessed City Hall crew—seriously, how much do these greedy creeps hate their own citizens?
But, he didn't seize the opportunity.
So, you know what happened next.
As the grassroots hordes looked on in dismay, their would-be first-ever hero of the people, went full on goombah and fumbled questions from the newly-minted independent journo, otherwise known as The GoodMan, regarding the Chief Swigs Warrantless Surveillance System, and then the intrepid Karmin Grider who pinged Stone on the tax increase plan.
Regular denizens of the Guthrie Man Coffee Club know all about The GoodMan and how he has strategically channeled his post-elected-official life into being an effective influence on public policy—ironically, probably in a much greater way than when he held office—by using a newfangled publishing platform known as The Substack to publish various exposures that otherwise would have never become public knowledge.
He’s a direct, tenacious type who, once focused on an issue, just doesn’t let go—and won’t hesitate to walk into a government building and ask the probing questions all the “polite” people are afraid to ask. If government is ever to be held accountable to the public, it’s The GoodMan archetypes who will do it. And if the grassroots hordes are to be successful, it’s the on-the-ground intelligence provided by The GoodMan—and others like him—that will strategically guide them to their target.
Now, once in a while, some coffee clubber, perhaps wanting to assert their own identity in the club, in an obvious attempt to set off a chain of events that will eventually lead to the overthrow of The Guthrie Man—not going to happen btw, The Guthrie Man Coffee club is a benevolent dictatorship—will lodge a complaint about The GoodMan’s "gruffness." It’s at this point that The Guthrie Man will draw upon Guthrie Man’s years of observing the local fare, and explain to the attendees of the complex ecosystem of Guthrie Town, and how the magic of this place has depended upon the gruff, who are oftentimes dissident voices, to keep the balance. When the ecosystem gets out of whack, and everyone is just going along to get along, the result? Absolute tyranny. Nothing but taxes and tyranny, for as far as the eye can see.
Just watch the most recent Ward I council candidate forum for an example. It was basically one long, sickening, tax-increasing, City Hall–loving group hug—the kind we haven’t seen up in the council chambers since Evelyn Nephew made everyone form a big hand-holding chain. So many germs!
Sure, The GoodMan can be a bit “gruff,” but here’s betting so was just about everyone who had the audacity to sign that “we have a problem with you” letter to King George. Had John Hancock been a timid fellow, Guthrie Man could very well be sitting in the Tower of London right now—courtesy of the unpopular, but somehow still-in-power, dictator of the U.K., “Sir” Keir Starmer, and his free-speech-hating, gunless, bobby-hat-wearing, child-abuser-hugging stormtrooper clowns. Although, a Guthrie Man Reform Party membership card sure would make for a good conversation starter.
The Gruff GoodMan is Guthrie Town’s version of Alex Jones—the guy who got Trump elected but who, as we speak, gruffly postulates that Trump may be found guilty of treason after daring to suggest an openness to rejoining the British Commonwealth, as just so accurately derided by The Guthrie Man. That’s why MAGA and the related entire grassroots movement is so great. They are not blind followers.
This nation was founded by the gruff, and if there ever get to be too few of those types in this place, we’re all in deep, deep, Red-coat quartering, socialist trouble.
If it wasn’t for The Gruff GoodMan, Guthrie’s own version of “Sir” Keir Starmer, known as Chief Swigs, would still be monitoring Guthrie Man’s travels down Highway 33 to the Missy’s #2 donut shop. But now, because of The Gruff GoodMan, Swigs’ warrantless surveillance system has been confined to the side roads, easily avoided by Guthrie Man and no doubt mightily frustrating to the Swigs crew as they potentially try to get a handle on Guthrie Man’s criminal level of calorie intake.
You should know that Guthrie Man is a big believer in Make America Healthy Again—but certainly not by means of the Chief Swigs surveillance state.
Now, Stone didn’t survive his brush with The Gruff GoodMan intact. And, at that point, he should have just called it quits.
But that's when things went from bad to worse.
It was The Intrepid Karmin Grider’s turn at bat.
Grider went right for the jugular.
How did Stone feel about tax increases?
Now, if there’s one issue any newbie knows to avoid in front of a potentially triple-digit-sized crowd of Republican grassroots hordes—still high on the thrill of successfully storming a castle once held by a small group of paranoid establishment types whose defining issue seemed to be defending the practice of cozying up to co-opted politicians—it’s higher taxes!
Come on!
Can this town please produce candidates for office who have even a modicum of good judgment, the type of good judgment that lets them avoid situations like this?
If Stone and/or his breakfast club associates can’t figure out how to manage this situation, then how in the world do they think they can run a city?
Stone was far too easy of a mark for Grider. Grider, you’ll remember, was the intrepid scrapper who, during the summer of 2022, nearly took down one of Oklahoma’s most powerful dark money groups and came within a whisker of defeating the state’s foremost political consultant and his then–"clean slate" candidate. One gets the sense that now—now that that candidate has, with extreme prejudice, viciously destroyed his own clean slate by exposing himself as a hapless sidekick of the feckless politicians at the pork factory—Grider could, at any time, give the local electorate a chance to correct that particular past and massive miscarriage of justice; that's why pencils have erasers and people do like to use erasers around here. And with the new power of the grassroots—something that didn’t exist in 2022—there’s little doubt in Guthrie Man’s analytical great brain as to how that election would turn out.
As everyone knows, Guthrie Man is always rooting for the principled and determined underdog who, against all odds, comes out ahead—and boy, would that be the ultimate underdog-makes-good coffee club example, one that Guthrie Man and the coffee club would use to inspire future underdogs for decades to come.
But, that’s a subject matter for another day.
After fumbling Grider’s question, and as the picturesque Ward III western sun set behind the ominous catapult/trebuchet device, Stone beat a Napoleon-esque-leaving-Russia-as-they-all-do-looking-at-you-Zelensky-can’t-someone-please-learn-from-history retreat back across the creek to the friendlier confines of the country club side of town, where his election outcome is still kept in limbo through the dogged efforts of the determined Menecca Gibbs, who despite her unfortunate affiliation with Logan County’s third-place political group, might have just lived to survive for one more day.
However, the Guthrie Man has been quite entertained by all of this. And after all, isn’t that what really matters? Guthrie Man's ADD fix? That's the fix that gets Guthrie Man through the post–coffee club caffeine crash.
This new Logan County Republican group is sure to give the Guthrie Man and all Guthrie Coffee Club types a plethora of dopamine hits and more than enough material to overanalyze for months if not years to come.
Will the grassroots be successful in finding real candidates for office, removing the many sellouts that currently hold power, and bringing about a grassroots revolution? Maybe. It’s been a long time since Guthrie Town has seen a political movement with this much potential.
Don't go away.
Until next time, all fine friends of the Guthrie Man,
Stay crunchy.