We're down to double digits in the number of days before it's time to show the Greedheads the outside of the doors of the White House's Oval Office. The math is more than a little different if you're casting an absentee ballot for the Presidential election, but in my limited experience here on the ant-farm on all things ballot, you can't go wrong checking with these folks.
It's been said in previous Presidential elections (and I, myself, have been one of those who've said it) but this time you should vote as if your life depends on it because it does; for you and me, our kids, their kids, their kids' kids, and all kinds of people from across the globe who've at one time or other looked to this country as Peggy Noonan once described it, 'the shining city on the hill.'
Our national luster's been dimmed and too many of us have had our sense of right and wrong, of good and evil, dulled and damaged by the most cynical but simultaneously incompetent clown car of grifters and grafters since the Teapot Dome. It's time to keep one eye on President Criminal #1 and the other on the pages of the calendar because the days of this rat bastard are coming to an end.
Not soon enough as far as I'm concerned, but soon. And for now, that will have to do, realizing that tomorrow gets us all that much closer to taking back our country. I don't want a Blue Wave on November 3rd; I want a Blue Tsunami to sweep away the feckless and cowardly Republican members of the Senate and House who aren't immediately drowned.
-bill kenny
Ramblings of a badly aged Baby Boomer who went from Rebel Without a Cause to Bozo Without a Clue in, seemingly, the same afternoon.
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3 comments:
Ah, the true meaning of MAGA explained. Thank you!
Riding the other day on a backroad near Norwich, I passed through Lisbon (the *other* one), and there's a flagpole in a front yard flying a "Trump 2020" banner and beneath it on the same fabric is 'No More Bullshit.'
The irony of that self-own caused me to laugh so hard I almost hit the guardrail with the car.
I fear history will look back at this time in our shared past as the moments when we came apart and became at least two different nations, speaking at but never to, on another.
I've seen those banners and cannot fathom just how irony-challenged or f*cking obtuse you have to be to print them up for this fella. His whole life has been bullshit. Take it away and what does he have left but a Creamsicle-colored pompadour.
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