Abbott’s Republican Range Riders vs. The Democrat Deep-Dish Defectors
Texas House Democrats skipped town—north toward deep-dish sanctuary in Chicago—leaving Austin without enough warm bodies to push through a cherry-red map. In response, Republican leaders issued arrest warrants that only reach state lines, yet swaggered as though they’d re-animated the Texas Rangers of pulp legend. (The Texas Tribune)
“Git Them Varmints!” — The Call to Stirrup
I watched Speaker Dustin Burrows slam his gavel, trade the mahogany podium for a weathered saddle, and holler, “Mount up, patriots!” Spurs jingled through the rotunda like wind chimes in an oil boom. Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick twirled a lasso the width of the Rotunda dome while Governor Greg Abbott barked orders to staffers wheeling out feed bags and bale after bale of hay.
“Chicago ain’t but a long trot if your heart’s pure and your horse runs on barbecue,” Abbott announced, patting a restless palomino named “Subpoena.”
Fashion Report: Ten-Gallon Cosplay
Ken Paxton strutted by in chaps stitched from campaign banners. His pearl-handled six-shooter? A glue-gun loaded with subpoenas. Senator Ted Cruz sported a brim so wide the brim entered the chamber a moment before the senator himself.
“Everything’s bigger in Texas,” Cruz said, adjusting a bolo tie shaped like the state—but with Illinois added as a decorative annex.
Reporters attempted questions; Cruz answered with a harmonica solo of “Rawhide,” riding the elevator as though it were an iron horse bound for Cook County.
Trail Logistics: From Capitol Dome to Deep-Dish Country
Aides rolled out an enormous parchment titled Operation Prairie Dragnet. Highlights:
- Route: I-35 to Dallas, veer east for brisket, reboot at Buc-ee’s, resume pursuit past St. Louis arch “for morale.”
- Supply List: three metric tons of jerky, one portable voting machine (for impromptu demonstrations), seventeen commemorative flag-print yoga mats (“for constitutional stretches”), and a podcast rig—because someone has to monetize the dash across Flyover Land.
- Rules of Engagement: wave politely in blue states, never pronounce the “s” in “Illinois,” lasso with courtesy.
Dialog on the Trail
Abbott (checking a star-shaped compass): “Chicago sits due north-ish. Keep that Sears tower on your right and the potholes on your left.”
Patrick (spitting into a spittoon someone slid under him mid-sentence): “What if they hole up in a deep-dish bunker?”
Abbott: “We’ll smoke ’em out with kolaches.”
Cruz (yelling from atop a mechanical bull he commandeered at a roadside carnival): “Remember the Leninist stronghold—Wrigleyville!”
Paxton: “First we gerrymander, next we commandeer Navy Pier for a boot-scootin’ fundraiser.”
Meanwhile, a lone aide asked whether civil warrants actually cross state borders. Every cowboy ignored the inquiry and started debating which rhinestone pattern intimidates Chicagoans most.
Reality Checks at the State Line
Horses balked at the Arkansas border sign; Wi-Fi died; somebody realized municipal hay permits cost extra outside Texas. The posse huddled under a Buc-ee’s billboard while a drizzle dampened patriotic fringe.
An aide muttered, “Could try Zoom.” Abbott glared, raised his hat, and a gust revealed the slogan painted inside the brim: ROADSHOW OR BUST. Thus, onward they clopped, dignity trailing behind like a long spur mark on wet pavement.
Epilogue: Paging the Texas Tourism Board
By dawn three days later, the Republican caravan reached southern Illinois, completely out of jerky and rhetoric. A Chicago Tribune headline greeted them: “Texas Lawmakers Arrive, Discover Warrants Still Expire at State Line—Order Deep-Dish, Hold Regrets.”
Cruz flicked marinara from his mustache. “We rode across half the continent for pizza?”
Abbott sighed, stared across Lake Michigan, and whispered, “Next time, we book Southwest.”
