Do I look like the back end of a 2007 Ford Ranger pick-up? Or the tail of a ’58 Buick?

Some folks certainly think so. It seems that no matter where I wandered during this year’s county fair, there was a politician lurking around the corner, waiting to slap one of their “vote for me” stickers on my shirt.

Politicians, you know, are good at lurking. Some more so than others.

I tried to laugh it off at first, as the first politician spotted me on the side of the road as the big parade for the fair made its way through town on Saturday, and came running over to greet me while simultaneously pulling a red, white and blue sticker off a big roll, slapping it on my chest and then wandering away with a smile and a wave.

The next one said, “I know you’re supposed to be an impartial journalist, but…” and stuck a bumper sticker on my chest.

Things got even stickier later, when a candidate for the county board of commissioners put a sticker on my shirt and then suggested we walk around the fairgrounds, “just for kicks.”

What I found most amazing, each and every candidate who tried to stick a sticker on me was a Republican.

It made me wonder. Just what is it about Republicans and monkeys? What was the great attraction? Or was it just me, Mr. Monkey, that they found particularly appealing?

The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if my monkeyness could cross partisan lines, and bridge the great divide.

So I walked over to the Democrats’ booth at the fair, just to see if anyone running for office who was hanging out there would try to put a sticker on me.

Amazingly, the people in the booth ignored me for almost five minutes. And when I finally broke down and asked them if they were tempted to slap a campaign sticker on me, the folks in the booth declined, and mumbled something about “damaging the brand.”

Then they suggested that if I had to stand around, maybe

I could go over there, to that booth over yonder, where they make wax hands.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “There’s nobody over there. I would get bored with nobody to talk to. Lonely, too.”

“Well, maybe you could talk to the hands,” a Democrat said.

“You’re lucky I’m not registered to vote,” I said.

I walked away thinking that the Democrats sure have a lot to learn about retail politics. When I asked for a drink of water before I left, they said I could buy a bottle of water for $1.25.

At the Republican booth, by contrast, they had tasty ice cream treats.

Now I ask you: If you were shipwrecked on a deserted island, or lost and left wandering the desert, who would you be happier to see, someone who wanted $1.25 for a bottle of water, or someone who had ice cream?

Next time: Home alone.