I am more and more verklempt that the American public … and its increasing dissatisfaction with the Obama administration … are becoming irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. We protest and Obama plays pool … lifting a middle finger to our angst as irrelevant.
Our fearless leader cares not a wit about the mare’s nest that he (and Hildebeest and the Botox boy) have created with our foreign policy … nor his administration’s cacophony of corruption interrupting our domestic tranquility. He reads his Teleprompter li[n]es completely assured that this absolves him from any responsibility for these problems. He is not the trouble … it is the do-nothing Congress … or the tea party … or Darrell Issa … or Rush Limbaugh … or the Supreme Court … or those mean Israelis.
“There is not one smidgen of corruption at the IRS. Al Qaida
is on the run. Bin Laden is dead and G.M
is alive. The Affordable Care Act will bend our healthcare costs down. Just
wait [until after 2016]!” We are a nation of pajama-boys whose concerns are not
to be concerning to Barry.
After all David Letterman will joke with him at the drop of a bad pun … and Slick Willy will defend Obama’s many screw-ups with his folksy delivery … and the New York Times is still in his corner fanning him with its ticky-tacky towel … and Jon Stewart will give America’s youth the straight liberal skinny … and most of Hollywood will write him big checks. Obama’s only rationale and salvation is, “I won.”
After all David Letterman will joke with him at the drop of a bad pun … and Slick Willy will defend Obama’s many screw-ups with his folksy delivery … and the New York Times is still in his corner fanning him with its ticky-tacky towel … and Jon Stewart will give America’s youth the straight liberal skinny … and most of Hollywood will write him big checks. Obama’s only rationale and salvation is, “I won.”
And the searing flames and the stink of hell’s sulfur are the
only things that possibly might interrupt the damning somnambulance of America’s media
mindset. But somehow I doubt it ... admitting that one was wrong is a feast not savored.
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