Author: Wlady Pleszczynski
As always, Ronald Reagan comes in very handy. One of his favorite anecdotes involved a pony. There was this young boy, an eternal optimist, who sure wanted to a have one for himself. A concerned psychiatrist took him to a room filled with manure, as if a pony’s leftovers might dampen his enthusiasm. Instead the boy began digging away at the manure. He knew there had to be a pony in there somewhere.
Our good infantile friends, the Demolibs, are like that too. Except there’s nothing eternally optimistic about them. Eternal damnation is more their style. They operate in nothing but manure, wallowing in its stench and heaving it at their mounting numbers of hate objects. What are they certain they’ll find? Why of course, a Trump-Muscovy samovar collection. Meanwhile, the sheer pleasure of reveling in unadulterated manure keeps them primed. It’s hard to teach those dogs new tricks or how to behave in modern civilized society.
Assuming there’s any of it left.
Their latest related obsession has to do with Republican Rep. Devin Nunes and his contacts with the Republican White House. You see, it’s never happened in our history that a Republican congressman had conversations with a Republican administration without first receiving signed and notarized permission from the Democratic Party, which was never easy to obtain. But at least everyone respected the rules, and above all the Republicans knew there are limits to what they can aspire to be.
At this point, they might never again know what their place is. They need to get one thing straight. On paper they may be the majority party in Washington and in most states and counties in the USA. But in fact, as we’ve been reminded these last few months, there is only one majority party from coast to coast, and its first name begins with D and end with C and an unchallenged majority it shall remain until hell freezes over, no matter how tall and thick the manure pile growth down there becomes.
For a time this week it seemed all fingers need to be pointed at the Republican Congress, the gang that not only cannot shoot straight, but always forgets to load bullets into its guns when it comes time to draw. Then compassion kicked in, and we saw sincere efforts at conflict resolution and new beginnings and a recommitment to a seven-year plan to repeal Obamacare. There’s lots of unity and a dead certitude that this time they’re bound to get it right — okay, not right, but righter, unless of course it might involve some political risk and imagination and a willingness to beat the other guys and build on the momentum an initial victory would set in motion. We’ll check back in seven, nah, make it 14 years to see if there’s been any progress.
And if there hasn’t been any progress? Maybe we’ll offer to provide lessons on bullet-loading.
Time for a little fun. In the big state of Hawaii, Judge Derrick Watson, scoffing at the award we risked all to confer on him, has redoubled his assaults on the President of the United States. At this rate, the war on Isis might soon give way to boots on the ground in the disposable state of Hawaii instead.
The Jezebels of modern feminism are directing their mean looks at the honorable Vice President Pence for giving real meaning to his marriage vows. All the same, there are enough problems in the nation’s capital for us to have to worry that Mika Brzezinski might one day invite Mike Pence to lunch.
Fortunately, there is someone we can always rely on, someone always true to herself, and someone who doesn’t have to run away to Tahiti to plot her next moves and compose her next bestseller. Instead, in a clear admission of the mistake she made in avoiding the northern Midwest last election, she rushed to a critical abandoned working class redoubt for perhaps her most significant political appearance since the unhappy night of last November 8. “Resist. Insist. Persist. Enlist,” Madame Drill Sergeant hissed at the toughs in her San Francisco audience. They felt kissed, in her midst, and the unhappiness of last fall won’t be missed as it fades into the mist.
Even better, she’s back on our list, a runaway EOW who never fails to be dissed, which always leaves her pi–, um, primed for another run under the big glass ceiling. We’re with her. Hiss!