Open Sesame 07/23/16
Submitted by hecate on Sat, 07/23/2016 - 4:38am
It's almost like she wants to lose. The Mad Bomber. I mean—Tim Kaine? Seriously? Some 300 million Americans to choose from, and this is what she comes up with?
A pale, stale slice of white bread, flaked right off a Pat Boone loaf. So somnambulant, he makes '90s-era wood-block Al Gore, look like Little Richard.
Way back in the day, when it was presumed the Republicans would nominate someone at least remotely resembling something sane, the Plan was to yoke the Bomber to a brown person. But now, the last throes of the white people having gone stone mad, selecting as their standard-bearer a genuine reptile, combining the very worst characteristics of Roy Cohn, Charles Lindbergh, Strom Thurmond, and Yosemite Sam, a lizard who cannot even shift slumbering position at night in his rockpile, without shouting out for some brown person to be bombed or burnt . . . well, the Bomber, apparently, now believes she can go 
with Rainbo boy, because she no longer needs to pander to any brown people.
In this, she is very wrong. In truth, the Bomber, she needs to pander, like she has never pandered before. Because 56% of the Americans, they believe she should have been criminally charged, for the server sleaze. This basically means they think she should be in the prison. This is not a real safe and secure place for a politician to be, some three months before an election: a majority of the voters thinking you should be lying atop some cold iron bed, rather than flying high up there on Air Force One.
If the Republicans had managed to nominate even a mammal, the Bomber today would be polling behind not only that semi-humanoid, but also Jill Stein and Gary Johnson, as well as Deez Nuts, Don Ho, and Dirk Diggler. Because no one really wants The Mad Bomber to be the president. She is like some politics version of Sheldon Whiteside in The Man Who Came To Dinner, who showed up one night, and now, years later, still never leaves, forcing everyone in the house to consume many Medicines. She is like a television show, from out of a time warp, that no one can understand why it hasn't been cancelled. She has been around so long that young people confuse her with historical figures like Betsy Ross, Carrie Nation, and Lizzie Borden, thinking she was the woman who sewed up the wounds in her husband with threads from an American flag, after she took an axe to him, when she caught him in a saloon spraying semen on the barmaids.
The only people who really want her to be the president, these are the fanatical PUMAs, who disappeared into the jungle back in 2008, after the Bomber was defeated by The Kenyan—refusing, like those WWII Japanese soldiers who wouldn't believe the emperor had surrendered, to face Reality. As was true with those Japanese soldiers, there are not, today, many survivors, among the PUMAS: most, in the succeeding eight years, have died, or gone into Homes. Not even the Bomber herself, these days, can she articulate why she should be the president. Other than that, many years ago, she and The Clenis, they Decided on it: "eight years of Bill, eight years of Hill."
