I have a desire to be the first American citizen hit with a drone strike while I walk my dog, Sasha, and the reason I will spend my dying days painting a target on my aging white butt is to exercise First Amendment rights until the day I’m gone and CHALLENGE this administration to kill me. You would not preclude domestic strikes on U.S. citizens in a netherworld interpretation of our Constitution, Komrad Holder, so I’m saying to you, “Bring it on, Tin Horn, and tell your boss I asked for it.”
Man, oh, Manischewitz.
Right when I have a column written about our government violating the Constitution to not only spy on us and learn that it harbors no reservation about killing civilians, Hugo Chavez dies, a God-hating, mankind-baiting, sub-human, aberrantly hostile, twisted Castro disciple, manipulative freak, and Satan-seed, and American journalists are intent upon talking about his contributions. The suckling pigs in the media must tell their parents they play a piano in a brothel instead of confessing to what they do for a living, because the former makes the latter more palatable.
When I was a kid, the country adored President and Mrs. Kennedy. By contrast, today’s First Family tells children to expect something for nothing, glorifies bling, and makes joining a traveling circus seem like a career choice, thus contributing to generational malaise as opposed to pulling it out of the mud by setting expectations and providing a good example. Amy Carter was born right when Ritalin hit the market, but I have no idea what new drug will be needed to give the Obama children a dose of reality.
H.L. Mencken once opined, “The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed, and hence clamorous to be led to safety by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of which are imaginary”, and followed up with another poignant observation: “The urge to save humanity is almost always a false front for the urge to rule.”
Pretty sharp guy, that Mencken fellow. Pretty morally bankrupt people, those Obamas.
The presumptiveness of code-word lefties as “progressive” is 100% slicksteresque, for it presumes the high ground unwarranted as it might be, and less than subtly suggests that everyone who is not “progressive” is, what? Regressive? Backward? Archaic? Mean? Nasty? In constant search to try and pollute the air, water, deprive the sick, elderly, and infirm? In a vapid, feel-good world, pragmatism is out the window, and warm cuddly ideas are what sell to an increasingly ignorant and ambivalent society. “Blow in our ear and we’ll follow you anywhere, just don’t make us work.” More accurate labels for the party might be the Pollyanna’s, Dreamers, Impracticals, Impertinents, Unfixables, or that old reliable that predictably failed: the United States Socialist Republic.
The reluctance to move full speed ahead on the pipeline is the quintessential example of His Wussiness: an inability to make practical decisions and putting himself first. As much as it makes me want to vomit, the cards he holds in his hand would still allow him to slither into history with a much higher level of respect than he now has, yet, he cannot hit the bid. He suffers from paralysis from analysis and has surrounded himself with “yes-men” (let’s not forget how heavily weighted his top advisory staffers are bereft of female representation—–that’s progressive, isn’t it?) He can’t handle pressure, cannot actively or qualitatively analyze or differentiate that from which is practical or political, and retreats to the golf course or another Air Force One excursion in hope that going somewhere will be construed as doing something substantive. He is the quintessential coward, bully on the playground and strutter, replete with plaid bell-bottom pants and platform shoes. One punch in the nose and he folds like a WalMart tent in a light drizzle, so he runs from conflict and leaves constituents to wonder as opposed to facing the fire and proving his sack is empty.
On another note, David Copperfield is known for making an elephant and a 747 disappear, yet he has NOTHING on Mr. Obama. Soetero made 60 witnesses from the Benghazi slaughter vanish completely. He’ll continue to denigrate himself and Office but, there’s always Las Vegas waiting for an act when he’s done. That’s right, Hussein. Vegas, Baby!
I do not want to provide a solution that might allow him to leave office with dignity, but my love for the country outweighs my disdain for a radical simpleton. Abolish the Departments of Energy, Education, and the EPA and with those dissolutions thousands of regulatory handcuffs go out the window, for if you think China follows the rules you live in la-la-land. Unshackle coal, build the Keystone Pipeline, postpone for four years or permanently put in abeyance the exorbitant taxes otherwise known as Obamacare, and simply step aside and let commerce do its thing.
Unfortunately, his handlers and those from whom he received hypnotic indoctrination will not allow it. I still can’t determine if he is as simple as a ball point pen, if he carries a vendetta toward the U.S. success built on free enterprise and commerce, or if his brain melted from such intense propaganda he is incapable or unable to comprehend what he’s doing. Punxsutawney Phil is easier to predict and actually a more fascinating creature.
No column would be complete without commenting about the ongoing senility of Jimmy Carter, who took time away from pounding nails (ever hear of a nail gun, you incessant hillbilly?) paid homage to Hugo Chavez upon his death. Jimma and his wicked wife Rosalynn are still angry the country never grasped his wisdom, when in fact we’re still carrying burdens from his insanity, as in the Department of Energy, the Department of Education, and the man who gave aliens access to the money contributed to Social Security by hard working Americans, which has exacerbated its imminent insolvency.
You’re a Georgia Peach, Jimma, with an IQ 14 points below that of a birch tree. Instead of offering any more “insight” about a murdering, thieving, merciless, self-serving dictator, why don’t you go to Rotuma and set sail in a row boat for the U.S. with Sean Penn at the helm, for we need his inane ideas just about as much as we need yours.
Sean Penn, “the scholarly , erudite, yet un-read”, who’s never had an original thought or possesses the ability to discern wrong from straight up, but will glam onto the press or vice versa if his drug-addled brain can tape together a thought. If we’re for free enterprise he calls it corrupt. If he sees corruption, he calls it freedom. If he beats the crap out of another woman in his life he calls it self-defense, and if the woman dares go public to complain she suffers from hysteria. Too bad he grew up a Hollywood punk instead of being in a real neighborhood, because there was a time when garbage like him got tossed to the curb without police assistance.
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