It seems that almost every word uttered by a Democrat in these days before the elections is untrue. This is truly the most undignified, lowlife form of political animal I have seen at work in my lifetime. It is unbelievable that nearly half of the population deems these cretins worthy to lead the country. But indeed they do. Hopefully, though, not for long. And something is terribly amiss in the psyches of their supporting cast, who have shunted aside all considerations of decency to follow, nay promote, the candidacies of such despicable politicians.
This in mind, I hopped in the Fredmobile and headed toward Shamalot. As I drew near the Sodom of the Potomac, B.S. (brown stuff) gradually began clogging the streets and whizzing off my tires as I sliced through the crap on the way to Crapitol Hill. As you know the Fred is a “brown” car and runs on B.S., so I gassed up. B.S. is free in Shamalot and all I had to do was shovel it in. As I looked round I had to marvel at the depth of brown stuff sloshing in the streets. Passing cars caused two-foot waves to wash up on the sidewalks keeping desperate citizens dancing, as it were, to keep from being inundated in political crap. It deepened mightily as I approached Crapitol Hill.
I had no idea where I was going. BO was out tooling around in his 747. It was rumored he was in “conference” with several Krauthammer types, a diagnosis was expected soon. No one cared – no one would believe the verdict anyway; such is the nature of cretins and their repugnance for the truth. I decided I would pay a visit to Liberal Darling Pelosi, to see what she was up to. If one is going to visit cretins, it’s best to start at the top. I thought it odd that I strode right through the halls of Congress unchallenged. Nary an SS man in sight. My unasked question was answered when I passed a bulletin board announcing that a bevy of Columbian prostitutes had been spotted over on K Street.
I found Nancy Pelosi’s office and walked in. There was no receptionist at the desk but I heard voices coming from a room in the back. I knocked, and saying hello as though I was expected, opened the door. I don’t know what the smell was; something sweet and mildly sickening, a cloud of it hovered above. Below, in a clatch around a small table, all holding hands, sat our government leaders, summoning spirits from beyond.
Nancy Pelosi said: “Oh, for crying out loud. Look what the cat dragged in. Newshawk. How did you get in here? I left strict instructions to obstruct your entry.”
“Yeah, so did I,” said Sleazy Harry Reid with a grimace.
“Me, too,” said Airhead Joe Biden.
“Just a second, I’ll have him removed,” said Valerie Jarrett, rising from her chair.
“I just thought I’d stop by and find out the secret to running the country into the ground, that’s all,” said I.
“Let him stay … and learn,” said the house minority leader, a know-it-all look setting her botox aglow.
They again joined hands and began to hum. It was sort of an ahm sound. I thought perhaps they were trying to summon Buddha. Another sound emerged from the depths. I wasn’t sure what I was hearing at first, but mingled with the ahm came an OO-oo-oo, OO-oo-oo. Those around table stopped ahming to listen. Very slowly, a specter materialized – a whitish thing that quivered. All eyes were glued on the thing. I thought what passed for a face bore a strange resemblance to Saul Alinsky
“OO-oo-oo,” said Saul’s spirit, “OO-oo-oo. Helloo-OO-oo, Weird Nancy and Sleazy Harry and Airhead Joe and Behind-the-scenes Valerie. I am the ghost of Saul Alinsky and I’ve come to congratulate you for the wonderful job you’ve done ruining this once great nation.”
“Thank you, your Majesty,” Nancy Pelosi said curtsying to the spook.
“Yeah, thanks, Saul,” said the Airhead, the irreverence not lost on the King of Radicalism.
“And to what do we owe the privilege of your visit, Sire?” asked Valerie Jarrett offering a sweet but somehow nasty smile.
Sleazy Harry said nothing, just sat staring at the quavering white thing.
“Where is BO-oo-oo?” he asked. “Out flying around, I suppose. No matter. He’s not needed to continue our work. But I wanted to congratulate him for that wonderful line about American exceptionalism. Man, eh, eh, that was classic!”
“Well, aren’t you going to tell us what the fuhrer, er, I mean the president had to say, pray tell?” asked Airhead Joe.
“Of course. After all, it will almost certainly be presented on a plaque in the BO Library, someday. He said Americans are proud that the borders are open to ebola patients who come here for treatment “
“Oh, wow …” cooed the Airhead.
“Well said …” said Sleazy Harry with a grin.
“Boy, he sure knows how to shovel it, doesn’t he?” replied Nancy, clapping silently.
“What do you think about your boss, Ms. Jarrett?”
“Oh … him? He’s well-spoken and he does what he’s told.”
“I see,” replied the shimmering guru of hate speech, giving the White House watchdog a leer of mistrust.
“By the way,” he continued, “I wanted to congratulate you all for all the crazy radical crap you’re doing. It’s working nicely. The country is so screwed up, it’s hard to recognize it anymore. Isn’t political correctness a treat? Nancy, that thing you threw out about Hamas being a humanitarian organization was beautiful. Too bad you’re so nutsy, no one believed it.
“And Sleazy, I must commend you for the power play against the rancher Cliven Bundy and then to brand him a racist for making a few remarks about race in America was brilliant. Just brilliant. And your continued tirade against the Koch brothers is magnificent. Keep up the good work, Sleazy. It’s too bad your reputation for corruptness makes you such an unreliable source. But if you repeat a lie often enough … you know …
“And Airhead Joe’s here. My, my. Except for your occasional impromptu and sometimes super stupid remarks, you don’t add much to the cause, do you, Joe?
“And Valerie Jarrett, nice to meet you. You are some piece of work, doing all BO’s thinking for him. You say he does what he’s told; does that mean he gets his marching orders from you?”
Valerie smiled slightly and shrugged like a high school kid when asked if he wants a can of beer – “Idunno.”
BO enters and stops short at the sight of the great guru of madness.
“Lord Saul? Is that you, Lord Saul?”
“Whatter you doing here? How’d you get here? Why are you dressed that way?”
“Well, if it ain’t ole El Uno himself, the Anointed One. I never thought you’d amount to anything, never coming to class the way you did, but you’ve done admirably making a mess of this country, I’ll say that.
“I especially wanted to commend you on the masterful dishonesty displayed in getting that awful health care bill passed. ‘You can keep your doctor,’ ha, ha, ‘reduce premium payments by $2500 a year’, that’s great stuff. ‘Ebola will never get into America.’ Man, you can tell some good ones.”
“Well, thanks, Lord Saul, er, your Majesty,” said the president, bowing deeply and expertly from the waist.
“E-e-e-e-easy, on the adulation, boy. No need to keep kissing asses. Say, I’m planning a new book. It’s to be named, “How to Slide Off the Planet Once I’ve Screwed Everything Up So Bad, the Whole World is Out to String Me Up.” Seeing as it’s about you, I thought you’d like to help me write it.”
“But … but y-you’re dead!”
“Yeah, I know. Ever hear of a ghost writer? Eh, eh.”