The American Spectator

But, Uncle, you just did not five minutes ago.

“But it says in this pamphlet to wash your hands thoroughly and often in order to avoid the flu.”

You sure you didn’t have an accident on that driving trip through the Treasure State?

“Naw. But the driving. Lordy. You should see it. Miles and miles of stuff right out of the National Geographic. The place is so big, there’s a sign that says: ‘Rest stop, 2 miles ahead. Next stop, 106 miles.’”

I could tell Uncle was about to rhapsodize once more about the trip and that was okay, it might deep-six this “patient available” ad idea.

“You cross the Continental Divide on several highways. They got these signs on the steep upgrades, ‘Chain Up Area.’ Reminds me of the sorority girl I once knew there who took those signs to be an invitation to pull over and have a good time.”

Aw, com’on.”

“No really. A plain girl she was. Moved later to Hollywood and had to hire a stalker.”

I slipped the “patient available” ad under the telephone.

“Montana is one of the few states where dogs ride in the back of pick-up trucks. You go down to your Ford dealer and order a truck and they’ll ask what color dog do you want?”

Sounds like you kinda miss the place.

“Yes, and what I really miss is the people. There aren’t any. Most places.”

But you said lots of California folk are moving in, along with ex-NBA coaches and former network anchor persons.

“All to the good. The California money is doing for the place what Vermont money did for Colorado — saving it.”

Saving the state?