Where's ol' Bullet?

Barnie Day was a Democratic delegate from Patrick County from his election in 1997 through the 2001 session. A former county administrator and business owner, he is now a banker.

Did you catch the recent five-state story in The Roanoke Times on the GOP's 20th Senate district challenge to veteran Roscoe Reynolds, D-Martinsville?

The subhead pretty much gave it away: "Republican Tom Peterson of Willis says his drunken driving conviction, bankruptcy filing and child support dispute have only made him stronger."

Would that be as in "stronger" candidate, Tom?

Said the newspaper: "On his campaign Web site, Peterson advertised himself as a 'Floyd County resident with a unique set of life experiences' "

You can say that again. My favorite part was the "imaginary demons coming through the windshield." What a rush that must have been.

According to the newspaper, the shrink on the case in that one described the incident as a "transient psychotic episode."

(Hey, brother, I know what you mean. I've been there myself a few times. Usually it involved about a quart of Jack Daniel's.)

Thankfully, new Virginia GOP chairman Kate Griffin stepped in and gave depth and context and meaning to Peterson's withdrawal. Just in the nick of time, too.

Said she: "Tom Peterson has decided to put his family first."

Umm-hmm.

(Hey, Kate, too bad you had to get back to refereeing the Kilgore-Matricardi match-up. You missed the best part!)

A few days later Peterson got back in. (See "transient psychotic episode," above.)

That's when 5th Congressional District Republican heavyweight and Sen. George Allen assistant, Tucker Watkins, stepped in and said he'd vote for his dog, Bullet, before he would Peterson.

Hey, Tucker, lighten up. Maybe it was just some get-a-job urge brought on by that child support thing.

Said the newspaper: "Kansas court records show Peterson missed 16 monthly payments during an 18 month period in 2000 and 2001. He was $10,440 in arrears as of February, according to court records. Peterson disputed that figure and acknowledged having trouble making payments during a two year period in which he had no income."

Say, Tom, why didn't you just send along the $6,500 you "loaned" your campaign? (Sorry. Way my mind works. Just a thought.)

So, what's a fella to do? At least you've got some GOP "experience" you can call on. Nothing like experience at a time like this, Tom.

Let's see. There's Gary Thomson, the former chairman. You could call -- well -- maybe not. His line is probably busy anyway. Besides, you never know who'd be listening in.

There's Matricardi, the former executive director. You could ... never mind. Since he's launched his new singing career he's pretty well booked. (No pun here, Tom. Honest.) Besides, he's got all the political paparazzi chasing him up and down the canyons of Richmond these days.

How 'bout Anne? You know, Anne Petera. Yeah, Kilgore's Anne. Give her a call. On second thought, better not. She'd just report you, first thing. Promise. See, she's got it wrote down right here. She'd have that phone record, too. See. Here it is. Look.

Well, there's always Vance. He ought to be able to help out. I mean, after all ... Who? I don't remember. What General Assembly?

Sorry. I'm not being much help here, Tom. There must be somebody you could turn to. Wait! I've got it!

Call Morgan. Morgan Morris. You know. He's the Republican running against Benny Keister over in Pulaski, in the 6th House district. He's the one who can't remember threatening to kill his wife and her boyfriend.

"I just wish I could recall what the details were," he told the newspaper when his story broke the other day.

He's your man. No doubt about it. Call Morgan. He'll know what to do.

Until then, Tom, tune in next week, when you'll hear some Republican, somewhere, say:

"Where's ol' Bullet when we need him?"

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