President b. Hussein's speech yesterday at Notre Dame quite simply boils down to this:
b. Hussein: It is beyond your capacity as human beings to know with certainty what God has planned for us or what He asks of us because...well...none of you are me.
Notre Dame: Hussah! Hussah! Viva la aborto! Viva la aborto!
I was astounded when more than 50 percent of my fellow Catholic voters cast their ballots for b. Hussein in November, astounded because the central issue of Catholic faith is the sanctity of life. You do NOT vote for a politician who favors abortion. It is considered a sin.
But then yesterday the president actually brought up the issue of abortion...during his commencement speech at Notre Dame...because...well...ya know, abortion is the most important thing on the minds of everyone graduating from college...so much more so than "Where am I going to live?" and "I hope I get that job" and "I can't wait for graduate school" and "I hope this guy stops talking soon 'cause I don't think I packed enough ice around the keg at the frat house" ....imploring his captive audience to consider an "open-minded" debate on the issue, as if to say: "Life is debatable; consider whether we all need to be given the chance to live or not."
Naturally, the crowd went nuts for b. Hussein, the Deity himself striking his best Hitleresque pose to date. The response pretty much mimics what goes on in the minds of people who leave Catholicism: They no longer believe that life is so important.
Welcome to the Nancy Pelosi Lie-athon, where you never get a straight answer and the story always changes and each time she tells it the details become even more outlandish.
To make the show just a bit more interesting, I'm entering my 5-year-old into a truth dual with the Wicked Witch of Congress because, even though I can't ever get the truth from my daughter, I believe her more than I ever will Pelosi.
Hey! That brings up her new contribution to the political lexicon: She's pelosiing herself.
I know...let's waterboard her to find out just when she really knew!
Whoever came up with this 24 hour crap for the length of a day is a friggin' idiot because, unfortunately, my blogging will be sporadic this week.
It's not that my well of material is empty, although my wife will tell you my brain certainly is. There's plenty more idiocy to come from this here nutjob.
However...it's little league baseball championship week, and my boy's Red Sox (yeah, I know, I'm a Yankees fan, but this spring I'm switching sides...though I will be holding a burning ceremony for my coach's uniform when the week is through) team is one game from the championship.
The presses or XML or data feed from my inner idiot is caged a bit. I'll be sure to put some nonsense up at least every other day, or more if my employer is looking the other way. If I've learned anything from b. Hussein it's that one must take advantage of opportunity in crisis...oh...and cast nasty little spells on 62 million Zombies.
So, I gotta go...they need me to coach first base, so I can get kids out at second.
Plus, the lawn's about two feet high now. I think there's a family of copperheads moving in. And Hobbits. So I gotta get that done before Mrs. ADHD sends me back to the league of eligible fat and graying and barely sane bachelors.
Michelle Obama's guns may be the rage of Washington, but my sources indicate she's tested positive for having the same DNA as The Thing.
Notice the blocky face and big mouth.
Fortunately, experts say she's likely a clone, her sense of humor bearing no resemblance to that of the founding member of Marvel Comics' The Fantastic Four, as she laughs only at bad jokes made by her husband and Wanda Sykes.
UPDATE: Here's even more juvenile humor, just for you stodgy folks out there.
Notice the lurid stare. Manifestation of nothing short of maniacal exuberance, a clairvoyant knowledge that every time you open your wallet little government pixies threatening to tase you will jump down off your shoulder and swipe 30 to 50 percent of its contents and promptly flush it down the toilet.
On this one, the swastika is quite obvious. Normally they hide them. Under a breast. Beneath the hairline. Between the butt cheeks. It symbolizes idolatry, belief in The Supreme Being, The One. They've been told by ACORN to look for the symbol each month, in a newspaper ad, on their favorite cereal box, and always, always, as the stamp on the envelope containing their government check. The symbol will guide them! And since they don't know how to read anyway, they haven't ever thought of googling it on the Internet to learn otherwise.
The uniform pays tribute to past carriers of the flame, who they've been taught to uphold: Lenin, dear Adolf, Mussolini, Stalin, Idi, Fidel. The uniform bearer is simpatico with all present and future socialists. He is Darth Vader, his weapon a crackpipe, Jonesing to lock into mortal combat and imbibe on the Marxist force, which he's been told to buy from a shady character who looks like Sean Penn standing outside the nearest 7-11.
Finally, the lolling tongue is evidence he has a taste for it now, a real taste for it. It's coursing through his veins, his every cell, rippling through even his mitochondria. He is pure Zombiecrat now, right down to the hole in his chest where a soul used to be.
He will never stop. Ever.
Unless you put a caterpillar on his pillow. It will drive him so mad, he'll eat his own brains and complain you tortured him, his obsession with minutia affording you the opportunity to cleave in his skull with a mallet, leaving one less Zombiecrat eligible to vote in the next election.
Yeah…I beat up some hooker so now I have to sell newspapers: They’re made in Germany; you know the Germans always make good stuff!
WASHINGTON, D.C. -- Citing a patriotic duty to save community newspapers from themselves, the Senate, authorized by the president, exercised special emergency powers today, taking the extraordinary move of adding all newspapers to the endangered species list.
"We need to save our community newspapers and the biased journalism they provide," said Sen. Ben Cardin, D-Md. “After all, how many Democrats in Congress -- for that matter in the White House -- owe their elections to fine journalists, their smearing political coverage of Republicans, and their cheerleading for even the most brain-dead and criminal candidates from the Party of the Ass?”
Newspapers will take the place of the gray wolf, which the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service removed from the endangered list yesterday. Effective immediately, it is a federal hate crime to hunt and kill newspaper reporters, notorious predators themselves known for preying on unsuspecting hard-working Americans, calling tax cuts “earnings increases” for the 50 percent of us who actually pay federal income taxes, and exalting to deity status lazy politicians with slick bumper sticker slogans like: “Yeah. We Can. But We’re Only Using You to Get Elected, So We Won’t.”
The good news, however, is that permits for new wolf hunting are expected to generate an extra $5 million annually for the federal government. The Congressional Budget Office predicts the added revenue will help the U.S. pay off President b. Hussein’s projected federal $400 googillion deficit by the time Earth’s molten core cools or the sun explodes, whichever comes first.
Layoffs, closings, and cutbacks had turned the nation's newspapers into an "endangered species" as readers and advertisers rushed to Web sites, said Sen. John Kerry, Dumbass, a strong advocate for moving every private business possible under federal control. “Now people won’t have to be subjected to reading real news, for free, from unbiased sources, such as community journalists and those awful, just awful, people they call bloggers.”
Endangered status gives all newspapers in the country, even the Penny Saver, non-profit status, the equivalent of the current business model of public radio stations. It also means that, for the first 11 weeks of every quarter, newspapers will now fill 95 percent of their pages with pleas for funding “from you, our loyal readers, so that we can bring you such wonderful running feature articles as Teddy Kennedy and his dog Splash and ‘My Nickname’s only KKK on the Plantation’ Robert Byrd and Rotting Air with Someone Really, Really Gross" -- in place of the advertisements that previously filled 95 percent of their pages.
“This non-profit business effectively gives all newspapers the equivalent of church status,” evil conservative pundit Dick Morris said today during Sean Hannity’s afternoon radio broadcast. “We’ll now be reading stories in the St. New York Times about the president’s date night and his holding hands with the first lady, how First Dog Bo and the president’s children spend their time playing Frisbee on the South Lawn, and the president’s fast-food trips with Vice President Biden to Ray's Hell Burger in Arlington. Oh. Wait. We already have been reading those stories in the Times.”
Annual government appropriations for all newspapers could run higher than the current $700 billion TARP bailout of the financial and insurance industry.
The president, interviewed while standing in line at Ray’s Hell Burger, downplayed the cost. “Psshaw!” he said, before looking for his teleprompter. When TOTUS was unavailable, the president referred comment to Treasury Secretary Tax-Cheat Tim Geithner. “Aw, shucks. We’ll just ask Ben (Bernanke) over at the Fed to print some more money. Tain’t nuthin’ but a thing,” Geithner said, before placing back on his ears headphones through which this reporter could clearly hear the lyrics “Ice, Ice, baby!”
When asked if he even really had the authority to grant the Senate emergency powers to make such stunning changes in the newspaper industry, the president shoved a burger in his mouth, held up his hands as if to say, “I got nothin’ for ya,” and offered this reporter White House Press Secretary Robert Ahhhh! Gibbs’ job. Gibbs could not be reached for comment.
Interviewed earlier, Kerry said these steps by the Senate will ensure the media remains biased, becomes state-run like media within every other self-respecting socialist dictatorship, and preserves the right of all 300 million Americans to receive “only the news the government sees fit to print.”
"As a means of conveying news in a timely way, paper and ink are less in vogue, eclipsed by the power, efficiency, and technological elegance of the Internet," Kerry said, talking through the side of his mouth, as usual, while about to toss his war medals at the Washington Monument. "But just looking at the erosion of newspapers is not the full picture; it's just one casualty of a completely shifting and churning information landscape."
[This reporter asked Kerry to translate his doublespeak into English, but he simply repeated himself over and over and over. Unfortunately, our expert government bullshit translator was unavailable for comment, so we just decided to print Kerry’s ramblings…along with this disclaimer.]
Kerry said he was concerned that traditional journalistic standards of bias and inaccuracy would have suffered if newspapers faltered, were forced to become leaner businesses, and, as a result, embraced free-market principles of competition, such as truth, fairness, and completely eradicating b. Hussein press idolization.
"But now, by adding newspapers to the endangered list, how cool is it that b. Hussein worship will continue?" he said. "And now we don’t have to worry about the important question of whether online journalists will teach traditional journalists the values of professional journalism, values the newspaper industry never has known…and now, thankfully…never will."
The Boston Globe in Kerry's home state was the latest major paper facing the threat of closure, but endangered species status effectively erases the Globe’s financial worries, transferring all of its debt to the American taxpayer, the nuevo poor in the time of B. Hussein.
I swear, Janet Napolitano's either retarded or brain-dead. Does she think we wouldn't get hold of these silly little federal reports?
Get your copy here. The report previously defined several classifications of domestic terrorists, including tax haters, before being pulled by the Homeland Security Department, just in time for Napolitano to release the now-famous right-wing extremist document that paints veterans as potential terrorists.
Great job once again, Napolitano...you friggin' idiot.
A serious dramatization, for a little something different today. Since the MSM took days to cover this story, we might as well imagine how it went down, no?
Chapter 1: “D.C. Shakedown”
Three well-dressed men crowd into a darkened room. At first they are somewhat disoriented, the drapes blocking all incoming light from the windows. Slowly their eyes adjust to the glow of a small halogen lamp at the back of the room, casting shadows backwards against the drapes. The men make out the silhouettes of what appear to be flags mounted on floor-standing poles to the either side of a great wooden desk. Between the poles, behind the desk, a man sits, smoking a cigar. They cannot see his eyes, but they can feel his stare… and the accompanying waves of malevolence rolling their way.
They know where they are. They are in the Oval Office.
“Sit,” the man behind the desk says, his voice gravely and stern, the accent vintage Chicago, the tone resonant of someone widely used to having his way.
They comply without complaint, each man taking a seat on the sofa closest to the light, resigned to play along. They know the man is the president of the United States. This is his turf. They are here to settle a matter of money. They too are serious men.
From the right, out of the darkness, another man walks into view, slivers of light ricocheting off his suit as he moves. He is tall…and dangerous. The light catches his eyes and appears to dance in them, like a coven fire. His hair is slick, combed straight back. He has wide shoulders and enormous hands, the kind of hands that could crush another man’s palm at will.
“Gentlemen. My name is Steven Rattner. I’m da White House’s auto task force chief.”
He takes a seat on the sofa across from the other men, not offering his hand to any of them.
“Let’s get down ta business,” Rattner says. “I’m gonna speak for the president. We acknowledge his presence, but the directives come from me.”
“But you represent him, the president, the White House, the United States of America,” says one of the three men. He looks Rattner straight in the eye, unblinking. Rattner does not answer. “I’m Tom Lauria. I represent Perella Weinberg Partners, financial stakeholders in Chrysler. These two gentlemen are…”
Rattner holds up his hand in protest. “I don’t give a crap who dey are. We don’t have a lotta time, so let’s just get down to it, shall we?”
“Alright.”
“Tirty cents on the dolla. Twenty-nine, actually,” Rattner says, without looking at Lauria, as if the offer were so dishonest it wasn't even worth looking across at his counterpart.
“WHAT?” shouts Lauria.
“You heard me.” Rattner now looks directly at Lauria, the light dancing in his eyes again. Lauria has the distinct impression he’s dreamed of this man before. The dream didn’t end well, he remembers. “You take tirty cents on da dolla fa what ya client invested in Chrysla. In exchange, you go along wid Chrysla’s bankruptcy and sale of assets ta Fiat.”
“You’re telling me that my client, the first lien holder in Chrysler, who just walked into this room prepared to accept only 50 percent of our investment, as indicated by the settlement letter you should now have, in order to approve your takeover of Chrysler and subsequent moves… you’re telling me, piss on it, that you’re going to force us to take 29 percent of our investment back?”
Rattner smiles the cunning, calculating smile of a veteran of the boardroom, where the only difference between a shank and a pen is the room in which the weapon holder stands.
“Yeah. Dat’s what he’s sayin,” the president answers, leaning forward so Lauria could see his face clearly. “The American people come before your client, Mr. Lauria. Chrysler workers come before your client, Mr. Lauria. Pensioners of Chrysler come before your client, Mr. Lauria. Your greed is contemptible. This offer is non-negotiable. You can take it or leave it.”
Lauria, astonished leans back into the sofa for a second, then bolts forward and stands, looking directly at the president: “You’re telling me, sir, that the Constitution no longer governs this land? The right to property, contractual property no longer exists when the government becomes the business partner? You’re telling me that the people who bought this debt -- pensioners, teachers' credit unions, personal retirees, retirement plans, college endowments -- the people whose money my client used to fund Chrysler…they have no say in this?
“Oh, I can take it one step further,” Rattner says, smirking. “You’ll take da offer, and your client will like da offer, and da people your client represents will like da offer, or your client will experience…shall we say… certain difficulties.”
Lauria laughs, his head leaning back, and claps his hands. Looking back at Rattner, tilting his head to the left, and smiling, he says: “What are you going to do, Mr. Rattner, have us “whacked”?
Rattner stops smiling. His stare at Lauria couldn’t be interpreted in any other way but as pure, unabashed hatred. “No, Mr. Lauria. We’ll make life miserable fa ya client. We will use da full power of da White House press corps to destroy your reputation. We’ll feed dem so much disinfamation aboutcha, it'll be so’s you wished you’d never even stepped foot in dis office.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lauria says, disgusted, sitting back down in astonishment. “So you’re telling me that as of this moment, if my client takes their chances in bankruptcy court…to earn the FULL value of their investment…not the 50 percent we’re offering…you will smear my client and, presumably me, for not accepting to take ‘tirty cents on da dolla?’” Turning to the president, Lauria says: “Since when, Mr. President, did the executive and judicial branches of government become one?”
“Since today, Mr. Lauria. Since, today,” the president says, plucking the cigar from his mouth and laughing and laughing and laughing.
Note: The White House denies these threats occurred. Perella Weinberg Partners, hedge fund owners who supposedly invested $2.5 billion in Chrysler, have since denied Mr. Lauria’s allegations and are backing the government-proposed settlement. Socialists everywhere, meanwhile, are calling Perealla Weinberg Partners, and by extension, Lauria, greedy to the highest degree…because…they weren’t sacrificing enough.
My question: If this is how the United States Corporation of America (that is, the government) does business now with private companies, why should anyone ever invest in American business again?
Probably not as long as Obugger has the Fourth Estate in his pocket, too:
Rep. Alcee Hastings (D-FL) discusses "sexual orientation" and a long list of what's NOT covered by this pending bill, a slew of loony terms I'm pretty sure most friggin' people have never even heard, in yet another arrogant display of nothing more than truly wasting your money in the felonious enterprise of "remaking" America.
I can't wait for the hate "thoughts" legislation to come down the pike. Will "individualism" be covered or not?
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