John Boehner wants to sue President Obama. Some would call it frivolous. I’d call it fun. Some would call it disingenuous. I’d call it deft. Some would call it political theatre. I’d agree.
This is what to expect from your hard-earned tax dollars: front row seating at “The Greatest Sham On Earth.”
How much is the purported lawsuit against President Obama going to cost taxpayers? How much did it cost taxpayers to vote 54-times for repealing the Affordable Care Act? How much did it cost taxpayers for legal assistants, dry cleaning bills for robes and hemorrhoid cream for ramming through the Hobby Lobby Decision?
Some would call these empty gestures. I’d call them anal bleaching.
Speaking of dark stains, 82-people were shot and 14-killed in Chicago over the 4th of July Weekend. Some would call it a holiday weekend. I’d call it Hell.
More people were shot in Chicago than slaughtered in Gaza, just yesterday, as Israel finally removed the mask of mass genocide. Some would call for cooler heads to prevail. I’d call for Smallpox on blankets. Why not?
In Maryland, at the so-called National Institute of Health, they uncovered “Forgotten Vials of Smallpox.”
Might as well use them on the Palestinians. Some would call it cruel. I’d call it precedent. Wiping out indigenous populations, while labeling them “subhuman,” is the fetish du jour of occupiers since time immemorial.
Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu is simply filling the coffers for Israel Bonds, seeing as War Porn guarantees a cash windfall from Holy Land Loons – the tip of a bomb bears a striking resemblance to a circumcised penis.
Some would call it a rite of passage. I’d call it insecurity.
Me, I don’t care. I’ve checked-out. Me, I don’t expect better. I don’t expect anything. Me, I don’t feel anything, besides hungover. What scares me the most is the commitment to the details in the lie.
It could be the Torah. It could be the Bible. It could be the Constitution. It’s the details, the memorization, the commitment to reciting what’s written down instead of stepping back, and thinking for yourself. It’s the abdication of adulthood, Jewish Women in wigs, Muslim Women in burqas, White Men in flag pins. It’s the signal, the smallness of doing what you’re told, the self-imposed brainwashing of repeating and repeating and repeating, to yourself, over and over and over, to yourself, what’s written down, by dullards with quills, in a time no longer relevant, in a place which ceased to exist, yesterday.