All hat, no cowboy.--Sue Henry on Barrak Obama
It‘s election day. We’re finally getting this total circus behind us. Yeah, I know. The card-carrying Democrats in Pennsylvania honestly believe they are electing a savior, but even a precursory glance at the latest troubling news from around the globe suggests that the next U.S. president will be facing gargantuan problems for which there are no short-term or easy solutions. In a nutshell, the next president we elect isn’t going to be having a lot of fun anytime soon.
Food shortages in the Northeast United States? Ah, don’t sweat it. At least you’ll finally be rid of Karl Rove and his pet, George W. Bush.
Eradiated foods? Okay. But it’s better than that buck-toothed neocon puppet---Condi Rice.
A war for butter with Japan is a distinct possibility? Who cares, when you’ve got the commie-inspired income redistribution know-it-alls waiting in the wings?
The entire world’s finances are imploding as we speak, and major exporters of wheat, corn and mainly rice have suddenly suspended their exports? Oil at $150 a drum? Gasoline at who only knows what price? Local utility costs virtually exploding? China out-performing us whereas the acquisition of new oil supplies is concerned? Both Russia and China, among other fledgling autocracies, talking autocratic smack on democracies worldwide?
Have no fear, one of the big two saviors will wave their magic redistribution wand and fix it, and seemingly overnight. At least, that’s what the callers to WILK, the people who sound like pre-pubescent girls at an American Idol reunion are telling us. Isn’t optimism invigorating. And intoxicating. And totally misplaced, given the latest news most people never even see.
All I know is, I voted. I saw my civic duty and I did it. And excitedly so.
I was at the local polling place at 1 PM, waded through the…well, there was no line to speak of. There was one lady using one of the three machines. And little old me up next. Yet, I keep hearing about all of this supposedly heavy turnout. Heavy turnout? Allow me to guess. In the predominantly black voting districts, right?
Most years, you have to run the gauntlet of people passing out the election cards like a freshman tailback hopeful playing breakout with the starting varsity defense. Not this year. This year, we had two guys sitting in lawn chairs, and only one of them was passing out cards, which listed the “Luzerne County Democrat Endorsed Candidates.” Yeah, the “vaunted” Luzerne County Democrats. The way that bunch has been under-performing of late, they might just give mean old Bush a run for the lowest approval ratings yet.
Hey, Skrep? What do I have to do to get the county’s Gummy Newt business?
The phone has been ringing off the hook since Sunday. Something like this: Hillary, Barack, Hillary, Barack, Bill, Hillary, Hillary, Barack and Michele.
Yesterday afternoon, I caught some black dude hanging a billboard on our doorknob. Yep, this door hanger is two-feet long, a half a foot wide and it displaces a quarter ton. And when I approached him, he asked about my daughter by name. Um, excuse me, but she could really care less about Obama H. Barama, or whatever his goofy name is. If she actually went and voted, that would be because I had a loaded gun in my waistband, while leading the way.
Bite your lip, Mark. She’s really well-meaning. Bite your lip.
I did the civil thing. I did the courteous thing. I told her I’d be voting later today. And she then awarded me the verbal equivalent of an excitable and appreciative puppy being patted on his head. The annoying thing is, I don’t need to be coached or encouraged by children that couldn’t even spell politics a year ago. Girlie, go study for your chemistry final, fold your clothes, put your Easy Bake Oven back in the box and get out of my freaking face. I realize you’ve been all but hypnotized by the cult of personality selling us the bill of questionable goods, but you’ll likely grow out of it someday. And if not, WILK would be more than happy to give you an audition from behind a microphone.
Shockingly, I have to admit that I was ill-prepared to vote this year. As a registered Democrat, this would be easy. Vote for Hillary Clinton, and anybody but Paul Kanjorski. Easy, right? So, I get back there behind that electronic machine and…State Attorney General? Huh? State Auditor? Um, why didn’t Steve Rodham Corbett take a day off from the nonstop Hillary show and remind us about this? Hey, Kevin? What gives? You made it sound like there would be one button and one button only…the Saint Obama button. Great. Fu>k. That was the quite the preparation I got from the local DNC radio outfit.
So, I skipped a few races and simply voted for women only in some other races. Chicks, as I like to call them. Honestly, I can’t wait to put women in charge of the entire world. They keep saying that men have made a complete mess of things for too long. So, I figure we should put nothing but women in charge and then chuckle uncontrollably while they fall flat on their faces. Like most things, running things looks easy so long as you’re not the one doing it. Be careful what you wish for.
And since Paul Kanjorski is running completely unopposed in the primary, I penciled in the name…Kayak…Dude. Why the hell not? As it pertains to the laughable inflatable dam, Kayak Dude already beat Paul Kanjorski once. Maybe he can do it again. If nothing else, he now has something in common with both Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse: His name having been written in on election day.
After hanging out at Dan Flood School for a while talking to all of the senior citizen voters, I was shocked to learn that we have police officers stationed in our elementary schools, as we do in the city’s four high schools. Uh, are we really expecting chubby third-graders to be sneaking ammonium nitrate and detonators into art class any time soon? Seriously, what’s up with that other than the obvious misemployment of manpower?
I don’t know the police officer that was there, but he took quick notice of my police scanner chirping away. That happens to me a lot. I think they size you up and wonder why you’d possibly need or want a police scanner on your belt. Because I pay attention. And because I’d love to decimate a purse-snatcher long before the police arrive on the scene. Innocent stuff like that. Why does that purse-snatcher have four broken ribs? Got me. I dunno. He must have tripped and fallen real awkwardly.
Now, my left-leaning friends keep telling me they don’t hear this, but I figure they’re lying to me as a way of denying the obvious. The grizzled old veterans and the grizzled old guys wearing the union caps at the polling place were going on and on about how troubling it is to them that Obama won’t wear a flag pin on his lapel. Ah, flyover country. This stuff will not go away, no matter how hard Obama tries to wish it away.
Yeah, Flyover Country will not forget nor forgive Bittergate, the Rev. Wright, Louis Farrakhan, Michele Obama’s comments, the missing flag pin, the Pledge of Allegiance, the Weather Underground, “typical white people”, Tony Rezko, the last debate in Philly, or the “What’s The Matter With Kansas?” Marxist mindset on display. They won’t.
And the other thing my lib friends insist that they don’t hear is the racial component. Better put, the racist component. Rarely a day goes by these days without someone saying within earshot of me, “I won’t vote for no ni**er,” or something almost word-for-word with that.
He needs he white vote? I am telling you, it’s not going to be there for him in November. You can point to all the polling data you want. I’m telling you, the white vote will not be there for him. Most of you left-leaning types need to escape your white guilt. But the folks from wide, wide, wide swaths of Flyover Country do not suffer from that disease you find so debilitating. Obama may sound smart. And he may speak well. But his message, whatever it really is, will not resonate in any meaningful way outside of the traditional liberal strongholds.
I’ll bet cash money on that. But be warned, one of my paychecks probably equals four of yours.
And another notable thing. This clean-as-the-wind-driven-snow campaign bullpsit is not going to cut it against John McCain. Barack Obama’s “clean” campaigning is enabled only because he’s running a proxy war against Hillary Clinton. And his proxies, his paid associates are every bit as mean as anyone else out there, or the mean-spirited proxies that came before them. Obama is every bit as mean as he needs to be. By proxy.
As far as Pennsylvania goes, Obama wins Pittsburgh and Philadelphia. And Hillary wins the “Alabama” that lies between them.
It’s Flyover Country, baby. You know. Guns. Religion. The Pledge of Allegiance. NASCAR. Flag pins on the lapels. U.S.S. Tarawa caps. No radicalized reverends. No radicalized bombers. No lack of patriotism on their sleeves. And no potential angry first ladies. Just “typical white people” who aren’t going to be taking kindly to no uppity and disrespectful black guy anytime soon.
Hillary wins Pennsylvania going away.
Hillary spanks Obama.
It’s 7:56 PM. I have to post this gibberish and then turn WILK on and listen to Sue Henry and Pedro the Mexican black-belt deliver the post-election news.
Isn’t this fun?