You know, I realize that Chewing tobacco at least is not as offense as cigerette smoke where those nearby don't have to breathe in the fumes. But geez, couldn't Allen try to not hit people with his spit. Personally I find it offensive! I do not want something laden with tobacco juice and saliva spittled at me - absolutely gross!
Now women have gotten their share of abuse from Allen:
http://www.swingstateproject.com/2006/09/vasen_say_hello.phpVA-Sen: Say Hello to Spitgate
Posted by James L.
First it was Macacagate. Then it was Deerheadgate, and, uh, Rugbygate. The slow drip of questions surrounding George Allen's racist past have turned into an all-out deluge this week with witness after witness stepping out of the woodwork and revealing more incidents of Allen's legacy of racism.
But forget about all that stuff for a moment. Lost in the shuffle of these explosive revelations is another one of Allen's nasty habits that speaks volumes to his character: George Allen likes to spit on women's feet. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but bear with me and say hello to Spitgate.
First, check out this Dailykos diary posted by a former writer for a Southwest Virginia newspaper to set the mood (emphasis added):
Mr. Allen visited our town to announce a major contract for the local defense plant. I was there because my editor had sent me. <...>
Governor Allen rode up in a big recreational vehicle. He looked so tall as he came out of the house-on-wheels. He was wearing a nice suit and his hair was neatly combed. He smiled and worked his way into the platoon of defense workers, who seemed to be all men. I looked around and realized I was the only female standing on the pavement in the sunshine. How about that?
I listened to what the governor was saying. My editor had told me Mr. Allen would talk about jobs and how wonderful this new defense contract was. I listened carefully, but the governor did not say a word about jobs. Instead, he made a few jokes with the workers, then he pulled a small, flat can from his jacket pocket. He asked if anybody else "dipped." One of the workers said yes, he dipped, but not the same brand, and all the men laughed.
Mr. Allen used his fingers to pinch out a clump of the finely chopped tobacco; he mashed it into his mouth and grinned, licking his lips. His bottom lip pooched out where he had lodged the tobacco. The other men chuckled like they were having a grand time.
Then the governor walked toward a building with some men who were not part of the platoon of workers. These other men were clearly Important; they wore suits. One of the suits had already told me I was not allowed to go into the building because a defense plant has Secrets.
I followed along as the governor walked, waiting to hear him say something about jobs. The situation began to look as if I would have to return to the newspaper office without hearing him say anything about "our fine workers." I didn't understand; I had to ask a question.
I stepped near the governor and smiled, told him my name and that I wrote for the local newspaper. Then I asked him a softball question, what some reporters call a "set-up."
"Does Southwest Virginia need these jobs?" I asked.
He stopped and looked straight at me. He had to look down at me, because he stood so tall in those cowboy boots. I thought I spotted a twinkle in his eye, and for a moment, I suspected he might give a humorous, light-hearted answer. Then he leaned forward and looked all the way down at the pavement. I figured he was planning a perfectly crafted answer to my question. I put pen to paper, ready to take it down. His lips puckered as if he might speak.
Then, the Governor of the Commonwealth of Virginia gathered up a glob of tobacco-laced saliva. He used his lips to squirt it out, as if he had practiced. The spit landed just at the tip of my shoe. He grinned, but didn't say a word. Then he walked into the building.
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