And so the four horsepeople-of-color arise, at once the glorious avatars of Wokesterdom in all their incendiary wrath, and the butt of ridicule among a pretty big chunk of everybody else in this land. I speak of congresswomen Omar, Tlaib, Pressley, and AOC, a.k.a. “the Squad,” riding a reconn mission to the precipice of that great cliff of electoral catastrophe - in advance of the political party that is apt to follow them over the edge in 2020, like so many suicidal lemmings.
Charges of “racism” have been twanging around the Federal District all week as if a throng of medieval re-enactors had taken over the place and were putting on a colorful pageant about ergot poisoning, with the townspeople afflicted by creeping incubi, crawling succubi, winged demons, murderous furies, and other agents of Satan. I have often noted that our president is the genuine article of a supernatural figure himself, being both a Golden Golem of Greatness and a Twitter troll of the highest degree. Last week, the four Squad gals pointed their fingers and ululated at him — “racist! racist! —expecting perhaps that a bolt from on-high might strike him dead, but it only prompted him to more keyboard villainy, challenging them to fly back to whatever infernal hellhole they came out of. For three of them it was the good ol’ USA, parts of which are, let’s face it, rather hellhole-ish these days.
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1 comment:
It's not so much what he says, it's the way he says it. Love it!
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