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Wednesday, August 20, 2014

A President Needs a Philosophy

I’m a president watcher. I think the most powerful man in the free world needs to be watched, some more closely than others. It’s pretty obvious why this is so.
I wasn’t always a president watcher. It began during Watergate and all the sneaky stuff that went on there. All those people being subpoenaed to testify before Congress, Bob Woodworth’s reports on Deep Throat. Nixon claiming, with his jowls quaking vigorously, “I’m not a crook!” No, but he was a liar. Anyway, after that I became interested in watching presidents. There have been some who bore a lot of watching and there were those who didn’t, but mostly there were more of the former.
      I think a president’s philosophy of governance has a lot to with how close an eye needs to be kept on them. Ronald Reagan, except for letting Ollie North get him into trouble over that Iran-Contra business, played the job pretty straight, and the only ones that worried about him were the Democrats, who were up against it with concern over how bad he was going to make them look. Ronaldus Magmus, a laissez-faire kind of guy,  famously said, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” That’s a fair-to-middlin’ philosophy. Other presidents should have tried it, but most couldn’t keep their hands off things.
      For example, John Kennedy once said, “If there ain’t too much wrong with her, give her my phone number. If you’re not sure about her, give her Bobby’s number.” I’m told it was a philosophy apropos to the Kennedy boys.
      Eisenhower had an interesting philosophy, one that may have worked well for most of the presidents. As you know, there were few pastimes Ike enjoyed more than a round of golf (just like most presidents). He said, “If it works all right, score it par; if it’s broke, leave a note on my golf bag, I’ll get back to you.” Consequently, the years of the Eisenhower presidency were really good years. Happy times.
      LBJ had a more aggressive outlook on the political landscape. LBJ said, “If he’s breathin’, ship him to Viet Nam; if he gets killed, don’t tell anybody. (There was quite a lot of combat-figure fudging during the war. Gen. William Westmoreland, commander of U.S. military forces in Viet Nam, frequently under-reported casualties at the conclusion of a battle.)
      Which brings us to Richard “Tricky Dicky” Nixon, whose exploits first coaxed me into becoming a president watcher. Watergate was the first political event that prompted my interest in watching the news in the evening. I couldn’t get enough of the corruption. It was wonderful stuff. Anyway, back to Tricky Dick’s presidential philosophy. Tricky Dick said, his declaration accompanied by his characteristic hunched-up shoulders, head shaking, I’m-really-an-honest-man look in his eyes, “Let me say this about that! I solemnly assure you that if it’s broke, this administration had no prior knowledge of it. I’M NOT A CROOK! I’M NOT A CROOK!” He wasn’t a very good liar either.
      I can’t say whether Gerald Ford had a philosophy. If so, I don’t know what it would have been.
Jimmy Carter did though. Jimmy did a lot of foolish meddling, which nearly put the country under. Some of you will remember the Misery Index, an economic indicator arrived at by adding the unemployment rate to the inflation rate. When Carter left office in 1981, the M.I. was just under 20, the highest of any post-WWII president This is, of course, where it stood when Ronald Reagan took over. When he left in 1989, the M.I. stood at just less than ten. Under Carter, inflation was high, unemployment was high, taxes were high, gasoline was scarce – and expensive. Everything the man touched was bad for the rest of us. His philosophy? “If it ain’t broke, tax it. I need the money. If it is broke, tax it. I need the money. Hell, just send the money! I got to get back to the peanut farm where I belong.”
      George 41 may not have had a philosophy when he first went to the White House, but I’ll wager he came up with one before he left. Remember, “Read my lips, no new taxes?” Then he raised our taxes. And was voted out of office in the next election. I would bet that whatever words were used to voice George 41’s philosophy, it had something in it about not lying about raising taxes. Wouldn’t you think?
Then there was Slick Willy Clinton – and he’s still hanging around out there, hoping his gal pal can con her way into the White House. Willy’s philosophy is predictable: “Remember the mantra, y’all, ‘I did not have sex with that woman.’” And,  “It depends on what “is” is.” The philosophy? It is what it is. But what is it? He better hope the next female thing he plays “is” with doesn’t turn him in.
      W was under fire about his insistence there were weapons of mass destruction in Iraq or Syria or some other place. Liberals have always claimed there were no WMDs; W simply needed a reason to go to Iraq to nail Saddam Hussein, they claimed. I’ll go to my grave believing I heard a news report in the early days of Desert Storm that stated American troops found the WMDs in Syria. I heard the report only once, never again. I hadn’t had anything to drink that evening either, and I know what I heard. Somebody was lying about there not being any such weapons. W’s philosophy? Never believe anything you hear, especially if its reported on NBC, CBS, ABC, CNN or MSNBC. Period.
      And then there’s BO. First, allow me a digression:
      For several years I worked for Combined Life Insurance Company, a door-to-door sales company. Its founder was W. Clement Stone. You may have heard of him.The story was he borrowed $100 from his mother in 1919 and started the insurance company. They sold accident insurance; the premium was a dollar eve3ry six months. He died several years ago a multimillionaire. Stone was the creator of the approach, presentation and closing techniques that are still being taught to new agents by many direct sales companies today. What works works. One of the many axioms attributed to him was, Do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do. It sounds pretty basic, maybe a little corny, but it’s a sound principle to incorporate into your way of doing things. If more people put it into practice there would be a lot less dishonesty in the world.
      BO could borrow something from Stone to form his own philosophy. It might go something like: “The right thing? – I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

Sunday, August 10, 2014

BO, the Wagon-Circling Master

I was chugging along in the Fredmobile, you remember my green car that runs on B.S., the brown stuff that runs freely in the streets of America, but is knee deep in Shamalot, the nation’s crapitol. Freddie fairly purrs in Shamalot. It was eventide and I’d pulled to the side of the road to fill my tank with free crap. In the distance the crapitol stood in its dingy glory but what really caught my eye was the spectacle of a wagon train – nay, not a train as in a long straight line, but more like a blob - oozing over the land..
What appeared to be a sign stood circled in Commie Red lighting in the faraway. I turned my high-powered bi-noks to better see the thing, “S.S.C.S.” stood out for all in the near-distance to see. Some other words printed down low in small letters were illegible at this time. I wondered what that stood for, so I set my cap to enter the depths of B.S. in Shamalot In the distance I saw the president, surprisingly – usually after verbally issuing a ukase he disappears (golf, fund-raiser, boy toy, wherever he was the night of the Bengazi attack, who knows?) - in a wagon seat at the head of the oozing migration.
As I approached an odd thing happened. The wagons drew up in a circle. I remembered wagon trains (notblobs) in the 19th century often pulled into a circle for protection from Indians, outlaws, any outside invader. But why were these wagons circling? It was a mystery worthy of investigation; I, Newshawk, was up to the task.
As I passed through Shamalot suburbia and its many campfires, I heard the word “Bengazi” mentioned in nearly all conversations. I hailed a fellow and asked about the wagons.
“We’re pissed about Bengazi and think the president and his gang of mugs are trying to cover up what really happened.”
“Good Heavens, you actually believe El Semi Uno and his Schmos are being less than ingenuous with the American public? You could be arrested for treason,” says I, my tongue working hard against my cheek.
“Yeah,” the guy says, “and that ain’t all.”
He stood with his hands in his jeans pockets, a beer belly screaming for release over a huge rodeo buckle with the inscription, “Bare Back is More Fun” took a draught on a Miller Lite in a can, and continued. “Whenever we come close to the truth, the freakin’ Democraps circle the wagons. Hell, we cain’t git in yonder,” jerking his head toward the circle, “to ask questions about the truth. They don’t want no part of the truth.”
Later on, the blob re-formed and moved on, apparently unfazed by the ado caused by truth seekers. However, before I could fire up the Fredmobile and continue my search for Semi Uno, the blob moved into another circle.
“What the samhill …” yelped the gregarious camper, reaching for his cell phone. He asked the person at the other end what the samhill was going on. Then said, “Oh!” and hung up.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“What’s up is the government has been caught spying on American citizens. They’ve electronically tapped into our phones, iphones, computers, everything. They say its sanctioned by the Patriot Act. The bugging of the devices of all Americans is not covered in the law, nor will it be found in the Constitution, but Obama would ignore it anyway.  The regime is being exposed as a police state. Boy, if the news media weren’t such a bunch of pansy-asses , the fun they could have  continuing the exposure, instead of  trying to justify government wrong-doing. You’d think the media would grow weary of backing the regime’s every illegal activity and write the truth about the most corrupt administration and the most worthless president in history. What are they? Afraid to write Pulitzer prize winning stories about corruption at the highest levels?”
“I believe that to be the case, yes.”
Soon, the wagons unraveled and continued snailing along toward the S.S.C.S. sign in the distance, looming ever closer as Democraps continued to stonewall and wheedle their way out of dutch. The wagons were heavily laden with those escaping a pending holocaust, all in a hurry to get out of town, the way made slow by the amount of brown stuff in the streets. BO, the Wagon Master in Chief – word was he turned down the job of just Wagon Master as not being regal enough – tried in vain to move along more quickly, but the heavy conveyances merely groaned from the weight of liberals too prissy to walk in the mess of their own making.
Before long, El Semi Uno called for the wagons to again form a circle. I heard a passerby mention something about the IRS and the FBI colluding in a plot to deny  Conservatives free speech rights. What in the hell do these arrogant SOBs think they are doing, I thought out loud. “Our public servants at work,” observed one man. “Time to be rid of the IRS altogether and clean out whatever FBI paper pushers went along with this,” said another.
After things cooled down a bit, the Democraps managing to hide damaging evidence and lie about everything else, the blob moved slowly on. It had just got started when Semi Uno waved the wagons into yet another circle in order to protect the Democraps responsible for denying veterans their right to health care. This was a really shameful dereliction of duty, yet no one was fired, or fined or laid off. Indeed, there seems to be no comeuppance for any of these rats. Only bluster from BO.
     But this time the wagons stayed put. Word got around Uno and some schmos decided to lay low. Seems every time they made up a law or ruled that something illegal was legal because they said so, they were getting caught. Elections were coming up and prospects were looking grim. But why should bureaucrats care? There were unions to protect their jobs. But they would sit and wait it out to help their pinko buddies; it was ironic that they chose to sit in the middle of the stink they themselves had created. But where else could they go?
     In the distance, some lights illuminating the sign – the ultimate goal of liberals - were flickering, many of the bulbs had burned out. One could just make out the name of the place printed below the big S.S.C.S letters. The words said: Stultifying Swamp of Crap Socialism. Welcome! P.S Wear your waders – this is Obama Country!
     But don’t rush into buying waders, just yet. The odds are good we won’t end up in the swamp very soon.

Sunday, August 3, 2014

Leeches Heading for the Promised Land


 A party of leeches woke one morning after a long slimy crawl through the night. It was best to travel at night, the Leader said, lest someone catch onto what they were up to and squish ‘em.
     Many didn’t know it yet, but this was the Era of the Leech, and leeches had become a Protected Class. There were more leeches now than there had ever been. Unleeches could be hunted down and excessively taxed if they were caught harming or threatening the well-being of a leech, still one couldn’t be too careful. All that was usually left as evidence of a leech-smooshing were partial boot prints in the middle of a bloodsucker’s back, not much for the Blues to go on. And there was leech-babble going around that some Blues weren’t really all that motivated to hunt down leech smooshers. Leeches simply couldn’t understand this and screamed bloody-mouthed murder about the injustice of it all and that they had rights like everyone else. But the Blues shrug and say they’re doing the best they can with the resources they have. Like everyone else, they didn’t have enough of everything to do anything right. That was their excuse when questioned about the unsolved cases of smooshings.
     This morning, the leeches were looking to set up camp to try and suck up some resources of their own. Normally, resources were there for the asking, or rather the screaming and wailing and gnashing of gums. It was really surprising how many leeches didn’t have teeth. Oh, sure, some of them had a few, one or two in the front and lots of wide open spaces between (what you might call the wild west approach to perfect dentition). Toothless leeches would frequently howl about how they needed more resources to have their teeth fixed, but something always happened to the money and left the poor leeches gummin’ it. At the same time, the piles of empty beer cans and potato chip bags continued to grow.
     Many had new slime-wheelers to carry their fat selves around. This at a time when many Unleeches were having a tough time paying for their four-wheelers made the idea of leech-smooshing popular amongst Unleeches, who were tired of seeing their created resources disappear into the maw of ingratitude and outright laziness. Most Unleeches didn’t know that Welfare is an acronym for We Entitle Leeches For Audacious Resource Extinction. (But don’t tell them; they’ll only get madder). Welfare is a bad word in the real world of Unleeches. The word is often spat instead of said.
     “So where to from here, Fearless Leader?” asked one leech, stretching and yawning itself awake. This leech was a particularly fat one, and ugly, even as leeches go. It was obvious he or she (sometimes it was hard to tell with leeches) had been leeching for a long time and was good at it. “Doesn’t seem to be much going on around here; I don’t see any resources to scarf up and, man, I’m really crazy about resources. I think I’ll call my resource annihilator in congress and have him bring us some on a platter.”
     Fearless Leader smiled and said, “Oh, don’t worry, something will come around. It always does. The Polit Leeches will look out for us, make sure there are resources to scarf up. They’ll do anything to get our vote.”
     “Heck, I don’t vote. And I don’t know a leech that does.”
     “Leechenally speaking, I don’t think it matters as long as they can get the votes of the Sissy Fallah Class,” explained Fearless Leader.
     “Huh?” asked the Fat Cat Leech, “I don’t get it?”
     “Don’t ask. You aren’t bright enough to understand the politics. All you need to realize is it’s better than working, ain’t it?”
     “Oh, hell, yeah,” says Lazy Ass Leech, who had just slimed over, leaving a wide gooey trail behind. This left Fat Cat Leech laying there with his/her mouth hanging open. He/ she said, “Well, yeah, duh, it’s hard to suck up resources when you’re working. As least that’s what I’ve heard. I have no first hand knowledge of work, of course. My position as a resource consumer is due to a legacy from my parents. And I plan to hand it down to my kids also. The legacy must continue.”
     Fearless Leader, deciding it was time to begin the search for a good spot from which to absorb resources, reaches in his backpack and pulls out a pair of short-sighted field glasses. He/ she looks all around for a good spot, finally announcing he/ she’s found something.
     “Down there, about a half a day’s crawl, looks to be a really good place to dig in. There’s a couple of white mountains that will be perfect. But first, let’s settle in right here for breakfast. Man. I really need my life’s blood in the morning.”
     The pack of leeches dine on packaged L-Rations sent by Health and Human Services as emergency rations, then pulling on their backpacks and picking up their suitcases, they head for the Promised Land as described by Fearless Leader.
     Before long, they were met by a violent downpour which seemed to last forever, then the poor things endured nearly being mauled by a terrible spate of rubbing, which removed the water and bubbly stuff from their path, almost taking them with it.
     “Whew–e-e,” exclaimed Fat Cat Leech, “Man, what a leech don’t have to go through to get to the Promised Land.”
     “Yeah, I’m too stupid and lazy for all this traveling. We need to get with the Polit Class and arrange to have the resources delivered, you know, like pizza and wings,” says Lazy Ass Leech.
     “The resources are supposed to be really good around here,” Fearless Leader said.
     “Where are we, anyway? Somehow those mountains look familiar, like I’ve seen them before, but they seem bigger than usual. And more yummy,” says a salivating Fat Cat.
     “We’re in a place called New York, the Promised Land for resourse vanquishers. It’ll be worth the trip, believe me.”
     “Y-e-e-s, I heard of yummy New York. The blood sucking is supposed to be really good here. But what’s with the white mountains; what’s with them.”
     Fearless Leader smiles as he/ she says, “We’re going to be leeches on the ass of a New York taxpayer, and believe me, it’s one big sweet ass.” There appeared a huge saliva-dripping smile on Fearless Leader’s face. “Welcome to the Promised Land.”

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Worthwhile Presidents Hard to Come By

Some time back The Flip Side crew attempted to create the ideal president. The splendidly able Dr. Fredenstein and his ghoulish but supremely clever assistant Eegore constructed a tall, handsome, very elegant looking man who unfortunately was possessed of no character. They concluded there were few appropriate models to work from; there were no examples of honesty, virtue, loyalty and such from which to build. Hence their replica was much too common, too typical to be of any use in forwarding the image of what a President of the United States of America should look like and, more importantly, to act like.
The splendidly able Dr, Fredenstein and his ghoulish but supremely clever assistant Eegore decided to ply their trade in another attempt to create an appropriate president.
“Vell, here ve are again, Eegore, back in the lab to combobulate anodder president.”
“Combobulate? Is there such a word, Herr Doktor? I don’ tink so …”
“It doesn’t  matter, Eegore, there is no such ting as a exceptional president, edder, since this man called Reagan. I tire of hearing dese stupid people on the radio try to make bums like Lyndon Johnson and Bill Clinton sound good, but it is asinine stuff. Do not listen to dese men, Eegore. They are lookink for heroes vere there are none.”
“Vere should ve start, Herr Doktor?”
“H-m-m, how about race? That has become an topic in elections dese days.”
“Vite or block?”
“Ah, flip a coin, Eegore.”
“Heads for vite. Tails for block.” And Eegore flips a dime into the air.
“Oh, mine Got,” Herr Doktor. Come see this. Der coin is sticking straight up between der floor boards. Vot should ve do? Flip again?”
“No!” replied the splendidly able Dr, Fredenstein. “Ve vill not start our combobulation mit chicanery. Make our president both!” Standing with his head looking toward the heavens as though he just delivered the ultimate, here-to-fore unthought-of racial mixture.
“As usual, sir, ve vill have to build this president from spare parts found here in der laboratory.”
Dr. Fredenstein, unlike so many scientists who lurk about ready to lick the boots of politicians for grant money and very often lie about the importance of their research (he finds the global warming liars disgusting), refuses to except alms from congress and quietly proceeds with his experiments with what he and Eegore can forage from here and there. They refuse to divulge where “here and there” is.
“That’s fine, Eegore. Start with that torso there in the corner.”
Eegore flops the main body part onto the table. “It’s a dark male torso, doktor, which is a good start – dere are still Clintons around to be concerned about. Ve have two heads – a vite one und a block one. Which should ve put on the end of his neck?”
This is der 21st century. Give it a block head.”
Eegore sews on the head. “Liberal or conservative? Oops, ve are bereft of conservative brains in our gray matter department. All ve seem to have is a large pile of anti-anti-communist brains, like so many pepples ve already know.”
“Use it. It won’t be out of place in the 21st century. In fact it will make any morally lacking president more appealing to the pepples.”
Eegore stuffs a wad of anti-anti-communist brain into the ear hole of the dummy. It got stuck halfway in and he had to use a plunger to extract the thing and poke it back in again using a plumbers snake. He then turns to choose arms and legs for the creature he’s concocting but finds a poor selection.
“Sir, I can find only a few arms and legs from which to choose.”
“Is dere a block und vite one of each?”
“Put them on. No one will notice the difference as long as he keeps his pants on. Good ting ve’re not building  the president from Arkansas. Speaking of which, a president should be possessed of honesty,” opined the doktor.
“Ain’t no honesty around here. I ran out of the stuff long ago. Ain’t nothing decent left to work with.”
“Oh, my,” fingering his lower lip. “Any virtue in the pile of leftovers?”
“Only the mindset of a man who frequents Chicago-area gay bars and bathhouses.”
“Oh, for Heavens sakes,” said the doctor, sitting now, his forehead in his hand. “Wot can ve do to build a worthwhile president?”
“Let’s just cram this ole mindset thing right in there and see what happens.”
“Okay dokey. Any smidgeon of loyalty in the rubbish bin?”
“Loyal to vot. Herr Doktor? A small amount of loyalty to family, perhaps. Some loyalty to party but only to those who make huge contributions and vote properly. Nothing for the voters.”
“Forget it. I hope you can find two feet of the same type.”
“Two cold feet coming up. Should we splurge and buy a pair of Smart Shoes for him? They are made for women but I feel certain they would be suitable for any liberal man (if that’s not an oxymoron).
“Vot colors do they come in?”
“From vot I hear, they’re all red.”
“I think red shoes would be perfect for the tootsies of a liberal man, especially those light in the loafers to begin with. By the way, any junk laying around for this man to use?”
“Not any he’ll be able to use while in the White House. No gay bars or all-male bathhouses there.”
“Forget it. Have ve left anythink out, Eegore?”
“Well, I have a golf club here, left over from the Bush 41 administration.”
“Vere vould you put it?”
“I have a swell idea about that but it would make him walk funny.”


If you enjoy reading the type of material presented here in The Flip Side, my book of similar pieces, The Newshawk Reports: The Writings of a Politically Incorrect Newsbird, is available on Amazon and There is also a Kindle version.

Sunday, July 20, 2014

Rush Revere and the First Patriots: A Review

I have never fancied myself a reviewer of books. I read a lot and either I like a book or not (if not, I will put it aside unfinished). In most cases, I may not be able to say why I did or didn’t like a book, I just liked it or I didn’t; that’s all there was to it. However, after reading Rush Limbaugh’s latest, “Rush Revere and the First Patriots, I felt compelled to offer a reasoned explanation for crowing about it to my friends and giving this book two hearty thumbs up.
Rush Revere and the First Patriots is the second book written by Limbaugh in the genre of reading for young adults and children, although adults will find the book fascinating as well. (I have not read his first book as yet, but I have just ordered it for my Kindle.)
I read a lot of history. The books most enjoyed are those that get “up close and personal” to the subject(s). Recitations of dates and events (all necessary) are dry when they skirt around the personalities involved with the dates and events. Too often, we are left with paper thin caricatures of the people we’re interested in learning something about.
There is an axiom in the world of writers and editors that says, Show, don’t tell. Again, too often, we are left with stale, inadequate descriptions of how characters look, we read about what they do, but we read on without ever knowing what makes that character tick. Of course, unless a biographer has documentation recording the actual words of a historical figure, he or she cannot put words in that person’s mouth, and that’s a shame – it makes the figure more real.
Limbaugh, using easy to follow language appropriate for his target audience – young readers, takes the reader into the minds of such erstwhile patriots as Patrick Henry, Samuel Adams and cousin John, George Washington, Paul Revere and Benjamin Franklin. There is even an interview with His Majesty King George III, this all made possible by Rush Revere’s time traveling horse Liberty. It sounds strange but this is a very compelling aspect of the story. The reader turns the pages wondering where Liberty and Rush Revere (and whichever students go along) are headed next, and what interesting historical figures they will encounter.
The author takes pains to put a personality on his characters. Through the use of dialogue he offers his audience insight into what the Founding Fathers were up against in the initial struggle in dealing with King George. Rush, Liberty and two students time travel to Windsor Castle to have a chat with the king. After some trouble getting around the guards, they are granted an audience with His Majesty.
Rush Revere says to the king: “We are here to tell you that the people are not happy in America.”
An unconcerned George replies, “And what is that to me?”
Revere, taken aback by the king’s seeming indifference, explains that the colonists’ unhappiness is due to all of the taxes levied against them, particularly the Stamp Act. Revere says that, “They left this country looking for freedom and the chance to really succeed with their lives.” The king replies in a way that illustrates that he cares little for the dreams of the colonists, and tells Revere that if he thinks this information is important for him to hear, then “You are a foolish man.” Rush Revere persists in his unwelcome message until King George lays it on the line: “The New World is our land and the people are ours. They must share their wealth with the homeland, they must pay taxes to England, and they must obey the king.”
Anyone reading this response will know what the colonists were up against – a tyrant who had few, if any, of their interests at heart. This is a picture perfect insight into the psyche of the King of England and the American colonies. This is showing, not just telling. This is peeling away paper thin veneer and allowing the reader to see and realize the depth of personality that defined the real King George. We know who he was now, we have read his words, we have felt his scorn, and we know the kind of man with whom  the colonists were dealing. It is easier now to understand the anger and frustration of the first patriots, the source of their desire for freedom, and why they were compelled to fight the Revolutionary War and escape the yoke of the English king.
There are many examples Limbaugh provides for us to gain greater appreciation and insight into the minds and motivations of the Founding Fathers. This is a great read for children and young adults, and even for the older folks who enjoy a good story, well told, and have a hankering to gain insight into the history of their country. There should be more history books like this one.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

BO to See His Comeuppance

This b.s. on the border is exactly typical of this administration – it’s illegal, it’s secretive and it’s being lied about. El Semi Uno is, as usual, uninvolved and, instead of addressing the problem, i.e., acting presidential and helping to solve the problem, is out flying around in Air Force One giving campaign speeches. Isn’t it amazing how much damage one man can do to a country in a short time? My fear is he’s not done yet. He’s got another year and a half to make things even worse.
Particularly galling is everyone of BO’s schmos, the entire regime is lying to the rest of the country. No one there knows where the illegals are being sent, how many are being sent where, and no one knows there names or anything about them, not even of they have a communicable diseases or not. Of course if an American speaks against allowing illegal immigrants into the country, he or she is branded a racist.
I had just returned from interviewing El Semi Uno about his crap jobs initiative – that being the one in the Middle East and North Africa, certainly not in the U.S. when the border issue hit the news. I did an about-face and drove back to D.C. to have another chat with him.
I parked in a parking lot near the Not-So-White House. It was no surprise he was miffed when I strolled casually in the Ovoid Space. As usual, he insulted me by asking how I managed to sneak by security. To mess with his head, I replied I’d turned myself into a housefly and buzzed right on in. I punctuated my remark by zipping my fly, an action that caught his eye, as I suspected it would.
Resigned to my presence, he asked, “Whadya want this time, Newshawk?”
“Well, sir,” says I, “this business where you and your schmos secretly arranged an invasion of illegals from south of the border really sucks. You have some nerve. Those people aren’t welcome here and there is no way this country, in the condition in which you have rendered it, can absorb the expense of them.”
He shrugged and said nothing.
“The places they’re being sent are not able to afford them, “ I reiterated. “Most are stressed by your asinine healthcare program and your no jobs policies.”
“I have no such policies.”
“Of course you do.”
“No I don’t,” he lied.
“Do so.”
“Do not,” he lied again.
“Come on, don’t lie. Oh, I forgot, you can’t help yourself.”
I walked toward his desk and as I approached I took note of an architectural plan on his desk. It appeared to depict a very large building .”
Say, whatcha building? Looks like an indoor mall or something. It’s huge.”
“It’s the mansion I plan to build north of Chicago when I leave the presidency.”
“Boy, George Soros has been really good to you, hasn’t he? He calls, you drop your pants and bend over, call him Daddy, and he fills your hip pockets with greenbacks. Any idea where you’ll build your mansion?”
“He ignored the insult and said, I’ve signed an Executive Order that will create a new street up in Grosse Point.”
“An Executive Order? To create a street?”
“Yep. Calling it Obama’s Way.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, leaning over to have a closer look at the drawing of the mansion and environs. “Now I see – your new address will be 1600 Obama’s Way? Kind of hard to let go, isn’t it?”
My phone rang and a glance at the window told me it was a call I was expecting. “Forgive me, sir, I really have to take this. It’s from my buddy Joe the Developer.
“Hey, Joe, what’s up? Have you found a location near Chicago for the new immigrant detention center?”
“Nope, no luck yet.”
“Hey, I have just the place. There’s an empty lot at 1602 Obama’s Way in Grosse Point. An ideal site …”
“HEY,” screamed the president. “You can’t put them people next door to me! No way! Don’t bring ‘em into my neighborhood!”

“Ain’t that precious,” says I, “That’s what thousands of Americans are yelling, too. But you’ll learn to deal with it, sir, it’ll grow on you. Say, can you speak Honduran? Eh, eh.”

Sunday, July 13, 2014

Taxpayers Get Short Shrift - Again?

As we all are fully aware, the U.S.A. has been in a downward trend since El Semi Uno came to office. There were some problems before BO but nothing that wouldn’t have worked itself out.
BO’s pack of churlish libs have left no rock unflipped in screwing things up. They’ve been thorough, to say the least.
One would think that with an election looming just ahead, Democrats, who may have a rough time at the polls in November, would be doing everything possible to attract voters. It appears, however, that El Semi Uno may put the kibosh on many of their chances with this business at the border. My guess is BO isn’t really interested in which Democrats get elected this year (if any) – as long as they are elected sometime in the future (to the exclusion of all others), once a few million more illegal voters move in.
Will the fiasco at the border have repercussions at the polls for Democrats? I don’t think BO cares.
It would be nice if El Semi Uno would leave office in 2017 with an accomplishment to his credit. I did hear him say, during a speech at (of all places) a fund-raiser (imagine that), that his immediate plans involved “getting the country back on its feet. We need to create jobs.” Well, that’s what he said, anyway.
With the election ahead, I thought this could mean he really intended to make a move in the direction of  an accomplishment, if for no other reason than to help Democrats. So I made the trip to the White House to see BO.
The president and another man were deep in conversation when I sauntered into the Ovoid Space. My very cool entrance pissed him right off.
“Newshawk! Whatter you doin’ here?” he stormed. How’d you get past the guards? I told them to make sure you don’t ever get in here.”
“Ah, they’ve all read my book and think I’m a very cool guy. They don’t think the same way about you, by the way.”
“Well, maybe its time to clean house around here.”
“Careful. They’re all union members, you know. But you know all about unions, huh?”
“So whadya what?” he asked coolly.
“How about some good news? I heard you were planning a jobs initiative. That would be news.”
“Whadya mean by that?”
“You accomplishing something; that would be news. So what have you got going?”
“I’ll have you know that we’re putting together a comprehensive plan that will spark business investment, and that will reduce risk to investors as well as those actually creating jobs. This is a long-term plan – this administration is digging in for the long haul.”
“Wow! How very presidential; it really sounds great.”
“Yes, I know. There’s more. To assure investors a better chance of a profit, we intend to subsidize insurance policies for those placing their money at risk.”
“Shifting the risk to the taxpayers, of course,” I replied.
The look he sent my way was pure venom, But I asked anyway, “Will your plan provide opportunity for the small, first-time investor, or just for corporate cronies?”
He chose not to answer the question, but said, “Our system will provide counselors to provide investment know-how; provide business development services; advice on branding and marketing. There will be expert advice on product design and research and development. Legal services will be available for regulatory compliance.”
“Man, oh, man, Mr. President. That really sounds fantastic. What’s the price tag look like?”
“I’m spending a billion and a half.”
“Wow, cheap at twice the price, I’d say. But, I must say, its really a good thing you’re doing for we Americans.”
“Americans? I ain’t doing nuthin’ for Americans. The program I’ve just outlined is called MENAII – Middle East-North Africa Investment Initiative. What I’ve got for Americans is spending their money. I ain’t got nuthin’ else for them."


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