SPECIAL REPORT: The Strait Shooter Interviews Texas Veterans on Clallam’s “Hardcore” Sticker Warfare
By the Strait Shooter Staff
CLALLAM COUNTY — The local political resistance hit a dramatic high-water mark this week when local activists and Indivisible group members unveiled their most intense weapon yet: anti-Jake stickers featuring candidate Jake Seegers’ campaign photo with a giant black hole slapped over his neck — right where Charlie Kirk was hit by a bullet — captioned “Charlie Kirk Reinvented.”
Local activists and the keyboard commanders behind the anti-Jake coalition reportedly felt like absolute political revolutionaries when they slapped these graphics onto local stop signs and light poles. They truly believed they were launching an edgy, earth-shattering underground movement.
The Strait Shooter reached out to actual, born-and-raised Texas political veterans to ask how they felt seeing local Indivisible chapters and anti-Jake activists pull off such “hardcore, radical” tactics.
The response from the Lone Star State? A massive, collective snort of laughter.
“Wait... Y’all Think a Sticker is ‘Radical’?”
“Hold on, let me get this straight,” said Bubba “Big-Horns” Montgomery, a lifelong Houston political operative, speaking via satellite from a tailgate in Channelview. “Y’all’s local Indivisible squad put on their windbreakers, walked out in 65-degree weather, stuck a decal on a signpost, and now they think they’re running a high-stakes covert operation? Bless their hearts.”
According to Montgomery, watching local Pacific Northwest activists brag about sticker campaigns looks less like political warfare and more like middle school hall monitors trying to act tough.
“In Texas, we don’t even consider an election official until at least three high school cheerleading moms try to hire a hitman over a pom-pom routine,” Montgomery chuckled. “We’ve had land commissioner candidates campaign on horseback while throwing whole smoked briskets at each other. Y’all paste a picture with a black dot on a lamp post, call yourselves political masterminds, and expect people to quake in their boots? That’s adorable.”
“Texas-Tough” vs. The Indivisible Committee
When asked about the constant internet demands that Seegers “go back to Texas,” his childhood friends expressed pure confusion over how delicate his local detractors actually are.
“Jake grew up playing football on asphalt in 108-degree August humidity where the mosquitoes are the size of red-tailed hawks,” recalled Earl “Two-Step” Jenkins from San Antonio. “He’s been bit by copperheads, run over by stray steers, and lived through decades of Texas primary politics — which, for the record, makes Game of Thrones look like a polite book club.”
Jenkins shook his head while looking at reports of the local anti-Jake sticker push.
“Y’all’s Indivisible activists spend three hours debating the Roberts Rules of Order at their local library before deciding which street corner gets a sticker,” Jenkins said. “If these folks ever stepped foot in Texas during election season, they’d melt before they even got out of the airport terminal. The humidity alone would destroy their activist stamina in three minutes.”
A Friendly Message from Lone Star Country
The general consensus among the interviewed Texans? If local anti-Jake activists and the Indivisible crowd want to act like hardened political revolutionaries, they’re going to need a whole lot more than pre-peeled adhesive labels.
“Jake is Texas tough,” Montgomery concluded, adjusting his Stetson. “He’s sitting back, taking your little stickers and your high-drama committee meetings in stride, and running his campaign. If y’all really want to see what ‘edgy’ looks like, pack your bags, come on down to Harris County, and try surviving a mid-term primary. Until then, drink some iced tea, take a deep breath, and leave the big-boy politics to people who can handle the heat.”
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BREAKING: Salsa Squad Devastated to Learn How Washington State Primaries Actually Work
By the Strait Shooter Staff
CLALLAM COUNTY — Emergency strategy sessions were reportedly held across the local anonymous blogosphere late Tuesday night after Salsa Picante operatives made a horrifying discovery: Washington State runs a Top-Two Primary System.
For months, the local Salsa Squad operated under a strict mathematical theory: if they dropped enough uncorroborated rumors, typed in all caps, and deleted enough comments from their Substack, incumbent Mike French would get enough votes to banish candidate Jake Seegers to another dimension before November.
Sources close to the Salsa keyboard report that the mood instantly shifted from triumphant smugness to utter panic as the initial returns rolled in.
“Wait... He Doesn’t Get Evicted?”
“We don’t understand,” wailed an anonymous spokesman wearing a hot-sauce-themed ski mask. “We wrote three separate articles about a hammock! We checked phone numbers at dispensaries! We deleted every comment that asked us for evidence or pointed out basic spelling errors! French got votes, so why is Jake still on the ballot?!”
After consulting a copy of the Washington State Voter Guide for the first time in recorded history, the blog’s editorial team made the grim realization: in a two-person race, both candidates advance to the general election regardless of the primary percentage.
“We thought the primary was like Survivor,” the spokesman admitted, visibly shaken. “We thought if Mike French got 51% of the vote, Jake would be voted off the Olympic Peninsula and forced to move back to Texas immediately. Nobody told us the Top-Two rule meant the top TWO people advance! Who designed this system?!”
The Five Stages of Primary Grief
According to reports, the Salsa Squad cycled through all five stages of grief in under twenty minutes:
Denial: “The County Auditor’s system must have been hacked by a secret network of hammock enthusiasts!”
Anger: Immediately deleting 45 fresh comments on their Substack from confused readers asking why the election wasn’t over.
Bargaining: Writing a frantic 2,000-word post begging state election officials to disqualify primary candidates if someone once saw them looking at a weed shop.
Depression: Realizing they now have to stretch three anonymous tips over another three whole months until November.
Acceptance: Realizing they can just write an article claiming the election system itself is an “enabling infrastructure.”
Looking Ahead to November
When asked if this catastrophic failure of civics knowledge would change their approach going forward, the Salsa team remained defiant.
“We may not understand basic election law, civics, or how math works,” the blogger typed angrily into a draft post, “but we assure our three remaining readers that we will spend the next ninety days doing what we do best: ignoring policy debates, making up unsourced stories about rural corn roasts, and banning anyone who asks to see proof.”
As of press time, the Salsa Squad was seen frantically googling: “Can a county commissioner candidate be eliminated via ballot paper-cuts?” and “How to block the Washington State Constitution on Substack.”
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SPECIAL REPORT: The League of Women Voters Successfully Teaches Clallam Kids That Democracy is Won via Yard Sign Density
By the Strait Shooter Staff
PORT ANGELES — Local parents across Clallam County are raising their eyebrows after discovering that while the local chapter of the League of Women Voters has been tirelessly busy organizing anti-Trump rallies, supporting Indivisible rallies, and visiting classrooms to lecture K-12 students on Landback movements and youth-led street protesting, they may have completely forgotten to teach children basic, foundational civics.
Like, for instance, how an actual primary election works.
After weeks of intensive “civic enrichment” modules in local elementary and middle schools, parents report that their children returned home with a wildly colorful — and deeply alarming — understanding of American democracy.
“Mom, the Guy with 40 Signs Wins!”
When third-grader Timmy Miller returned home from school one day this past May, his parents assumed he had learned about the three branches of government, county commissioners, or the mechanics of a mail-in ballot.
Instead, Timmy sprinted into the living room to declare who was guaranteed to win the upcoming local race.
“I asked him how he knew who was going to win,” said his mother, Sarah. “And he looked at me like I was an absolute idiot. He said, ‘Mom, it’s simple math. Whoever has the most plastic signs stuck in the grass along Highway 101 wins the presidency of Clallam County. That’s how elections work!’”
According to several local families, students were under the distinct impression that county auditor offices simply count corrugated plastic rectangles on road shoulders on election night rather than paper ballots.
When asked about August primaries, local middle schoolers reportedly laughed in their parents’ faces.
“My seventh-grader informed me that voting in August is a ‘fake news conspiracy’ because voting only happens on one Tuesday in November, and anyone dropping a ballot in August into a drop-box is just feeding the paper shredder,” sighed local father Mark Higgins. “When I asked where he heard that, he said the guest speakers were too busy showing them photos of activist marches to cover the rest of the calendar.”
A Colorful New Political Vocabulary
Perhaps most striking to parents was the newly elevated political terminology their children picked up while observing local adult activists in action.
Rather than learning terms like quorum, ordinance, or bipartisan committee, local children have adopted vibrant new phrases to evaluate county candidates:
“Batsh*t Crazy” — Officially defined by local sixth-graders as “any candidate who doesn’t hand out free stickers at the farmers market.”
“No F*cking Way” — The formal, parliamentary phrase used by eight-year-olds when asked if they want to clean their rooms or listen to a 20-minute lecture on county zoning laws.
“The Status Quo” — A spooky bedtime monster that lives under the bed and eats library funding.
“My ten-year-old pointed at a campaign poster at the grocery store and loudly shouted, ‘No f*cking way is that guy getting my vote!’” recalled one horrified mother. “I almost dropped my eggs. When I asked where she learned that, she said she overheard the nice ladies in the windbreakers discussing candidate forums.”
Back to the Basics?
When The Strait Shooter reached out to a representative from the local activist coalition to ask if future school modules might include minor details like how ballots are counted or why we have primary elections, the response was swift and resolute.
“Teaching children about boring administrative mechanisms like August primaries or two-person runoffs distracts from the vital work of mega-rally logistics,” the volunteer explained, while furiously stapling posterboard. “Besides, if kids learn that yard signs don’t actually cast votes, half the political strategists in this county would be out of a job!”
As of press time, local parents were seen huddling together in school parking lots, frantically putting together their own emergency home-school curriculum titled: “Yes, Voting Happens in August, No, Yard Signs Aren’t Magic, and Please Stop Swearing at the Stoplight.”
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SPECIAL REPORT: “I Show Up, I Listen, I Deliver” (Except for Primary Night at the Courthouse)
By the Strait Shooter Staff
PORT ANGELES — Election workers, observers, and local media gathered at the Clallam County Courthouse on Primary Night to watch the preliminary ballot numbers drop. Eyes scanned the room for incumbent County Commissioner Mike French.
He was nowhere to be found.
For a candidate whose official campaign website boldly promises, “I show up, I listen, I deliver,” his absence on the biggest political night of the summer left observers scratching their heads.
However, Strait Shooter investigators quickly confirmed that while French failed to show up to the courthouse where his own election results were being processed, he has successfully shown up to a wide array of other crucial locations, including:
His scheduled summer vacation (where showing up was deemed a top administrative priority).
A local coffee shop line, precisely two minutes after the last blueberry scone was sold.
A town hall meeting, but only in spirit, via a pre-recorded Zoom avatar that nodded rhythmically.
The wrong aisle at the grocery store, where he spent twenty minutes listening to an abandoned shopping cart’s feedback on county zoning.
A local park bench, where he successfully delivered a half-eaten sandwich directly to a passing seagull.
When pressed on why the Commissioner ghosted the courthouse on the most important night of the campaign season, a representative from his campaign staff issued a clarifying statement.
“Look, people are fundamentally misunderstanding the Commissioner’s strategic vision,” the staffer explained, while handing out fresh campaign stickers that read ‘I’m Feelin’ French.’“When Mike skips an official duty or misses a major milestone, he isn’t being absent — he’s just Feelin’ French. It’s a state of mind. Feelin’ Frenchmeans delivering the concept of presence without the physical burden of actually being there. It’s avant-garde civic engagement.”
The View from the Courthouse Lawn
To get a truly unbiased perspective on the Commissioner’s primary night vanishing act, The Strait Shooter sent a reporter out to the courthouse lawn to conduct an exclusive interview with a local resident who was actually present: an anonymous courthouse raccoon rummaging through a municipal recycling bin.
When asked what he thought about Commissioner Mike French boasting a motto like “I show up, I listen, I deliver” while completely skipping out on primary night at the courthouse, the raccoon paused, wiped grease off his whiskers, and offered a candid political analysis.
“Honestly? It’s a lot like those skunk stickers his supporters keep passing around,” the raccoon chittered, gesturing toward a nearby light pole. “It stinks.”
The raccoon then grabbed a discarded press release, retreated into the bushes, and reportedly announced plans to launch a non-partisan write-in campaign for County Commissioner under the platform: “I Actually Live in the Courthouse Yard and I’m Always Here.”
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Letter to the Editor
A Confession from the Salsa Kitchen
To the Editor of The Strait Shooter,
I am writing this anonymously because if my fellow operatives at Salsa Picante find out I’m typing this, they will revoke my Substack publishing privileges and ban me from deleting comments for a week. But I need to get this off my chest.
People keep asking why we’ve spent months launching scorched-earth, rumor-filled tirades against Jake Seegers and Jeff Tozzer. The truth is much simpler — and much pettier — than anyone realizes.
It started with sheer, unadulterated scalp envy.
Look at them. You have Jeff Tozzer rocking a dome of such majestic, blinding, smooth perfection that it reflects truth itself. And then you have Jake Seegers with a mane of locks so thick and impeccably styled it looks like it was engineered in a lab to infuriate political bloggers. It set us off on an absolute rampage of destruction. We couldn’t handle the hair — or the lack thereof.
So we started the smear campaign. We spun the rumors, we typed out the wild corn-roast fan fiction, and we hit “publish” expecting them to explode. We waited for the toxic counter-attacks. We waited for them to get as nasty and miserable as we are.
And do you know what those two did? They stayed nice.
They reacted with calm, level-headed, relentlessly decent responses. They just kept talking to people, interviewing folks in recovery, and making podcasts like normal human beings. And honestly? That made us a thousand times madder.
Nobody can actually be that nice. Nobody can mean that well. It’s unnatural! It goes against every rule of small-town internet politics! Normal people are supposed to roll in the mud with us, not smile and keep trying to help the community. It’s downright offensive.
So consider this my official confession. We aren’t stopping. We are going to double down. We will continue slinging pure, unverified, organic fan fiction at the two men in Clallam County with the most iconic head-situations and the most infuriatingly positive attitudes you could ever hope to meet.
If they won’t lower themselves to our level, we’ll just have to keep making things up until the election — or until our keyboards wear out.
Sincerely,
A Deeply Jealous Salsa Operative
(P.S. Please don’t delete this letter, I’m used to doing that to everyone else.)
Anyone complicit in the Charlie Kirk reinvented stickers belongs in the same cell with the sick soul that killed his father and torched Spokane. Until that time when capital punishment renders its irrefutable justice; once you kill a killer they cannot kill again. Based upon preliminary election results, I am pleased to see the attack dogs appear to be biting off their own tails.
Good morning SS,
So very good this morning. Imagine a county vacant of the radical loonies.
Sounds wonderful 😊!
Thank you and have a great day!