It was Leviticus or Cato or one of them sages that mused that “Those who ignore past history are almighty likely to repeat it,” or something like that.

A glimpse of CNN, MSNBC or Rush Limbaugh is evidence enough for me to predict that the Shmoo of 1948 is rising from the ashes of recall and will be appearing for the adulation of the multitudes of America, before the year of 2008 fades from the feed store calendars.

All the incompetents who are currently vying for the Bush Throne are actively espousing the return of the Shmoo, but that fact is dimmed to make it appear that they have re-invented that Al Capp creation of 1948.  As a matter of fact Thomas E. Dewey accused incumbent Harry S. Truman of “promising everything including the Shmoo!”

The majority of many young and tender souls are most likely wondering what in tunket is a Shmoo, and that is a legitimate question, so allow me to inform all ye whipper-snappers.

The Shmoo is strikingly similar to a bottle neck gourd, of the variety favored by Lisa Pearson, who dwelleth amongst us and pours coffee at the Hwy.6 Café, but her crop falls way short of the genuine Shmoo.  She embellishes her crop with paints and other improvements to enhance its natural beauty, while the genuine Shmoo needs no cosmetic rehabilitation.

The pedigreed Shmoo of the forties so loved the human race it would lay eggs or lay down its’ life to become a prime T-bone steak if its’ owner just looked hungrily upon it.  Its’ skin was actually fine grain leather, its’ eyes made perfect buttons and the whiskers were excellent toothpicks.  In a word, it was a wondrous creature that made a trip to the Big Rock Candy Mountains, an unnecessary safari.  And, best of all they reproduced faster than rabbits, thereby transforming a needful family who owned a couple into a want-free unit.  If Joe Biden had owned a Shmoo hatchery he could have won the Iowa caucus.

The last pair was owned by some worthless scalawag who got to craving a T-bone, and rushed its’ extinction to a sad end, much like the carrier pigeon.  It was a sad day, and the world was not a better place.  If we still had them they would gladly metamorphosis into five gallons of petrol.  Our most valuable natural resource was sacrificed to fill a belly.  A sad and lamentable commentary on the greed of humanity.

Should you doubt the velocity and veracity of this account I suggest you go to www.DenisKitchen.com/docs/new_shmoofacts.html .

When you face that correspondence don’t forget to say SHAZAM — like Billy Batson did to become Captain Marvel.

Let me hear from you.

My phone number is 254-893-5063.

My postal address is 333 W. Ayers, De Leon TX 76444.

You can e-mail me at Charles@CharlesChupp.com.

By Charles Chupp, Copyright ©2008 Charles Chupp