Archive for September 12, 2009

Song Dedication to the Men of the Obama Administration

I have been looking for a song to dedicate to the bunch of no goes that are posturing about in the Obama Administration. Here’s an oldie from the club scene that I think fits perfectly.

Er, uh, not kid friendly. Just sayin’. I don’t want any kid going to therapy because of me just yet except for my own.

And you just know the Obama men ARE. Their little media lapdogs, too.

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Tea Partiers in Washington, D.C.

I’d love to be there but, until SwampMan’s knees are replaced, just not possible.

We can periodically check in with traffic cameras to see how things are shaping up.

However, will our elected government with the gerrymandered districts pay attention to We, The People, when we show up? They better. We’re mad as hell.

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Of Me I Sing

The irrepressible Robert D at GCP brought this little essay from David Kahane at NRO to my attention and I would have been doin’ the dyin’ cockroach laugh–you know, the one where you fall over on the floor and wave your appendages around in a paroxysm of mirth–except that, unfortunately, he’s right:

I can never get enough of the Punahou Kid. That saturnine visage, occasionally punctuated by the faux Bobby Bonilla smile; the Islamic finger-wagging, as if he had studied oratory at a mosque in Indonesia or something, the muezzin singsong of the cadences, not quite white and not quite authentically black, either. I love the way he imperiously summons the feckless Senate eunuchs and the cannon-fodder congressmen to his mock-SOTU performances. I love seeing Michelle, scowling and glowering from her perch like Madame Defarge at the guillotine, clicking her knitting needles as she waits for the next head to fall into the basket. I love seeing Annunciata d’Alesandro Pelosi — that’s Maerose Prizzi to you — as the Lady in Red, her face frozen, the only sign of life the blinking of her adoring eyes. I love seeing John McCain and his fetching companion, Lindsey Graham, smiling like a couple of rubes at a three-card-monte game, so pleased are they to be patted on the head like the good little losers they are. And I love the way that, afterward, the press corps, conducted by Jake Lingle, immediately dances around like puppets on a string, mouthing the words to “The Press Conference Rag” as Rahm Emanuel delicately pirouettes in the background with a red Spanish rose between his teeth and a dagger behind his back.

And most of all, I love that, after nine months in office, the emperor has to pretend no longer about what his real goals are for this downright mean, rotten country of ours. And that, better yet, his patience is wearing thin with the enforced charade of “centrism” and “patriotism.” What I saw Wednesday night is what I’ve seen in our boy Barry from the beginning: fundamental change, even if we have to ram it down your throat. Which is what, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re doing.

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