In an earlier post I allowed that sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander. The women of America overwhelmingly voted for this charlatan because . . . well, because someone who supported the other guy suggested you might take ownership of your genitals and what you do with them, instead of out-sourcing the costs to the rest of us. In that post I mused over the likely geo-politico-military consequences of Dear Leader’s second term. I specifically pondered the question of what avoidable disasters were going to befall us, and whether my three sons — who will be coming of age starting towards the end of Dear Leader’s successor’s term in office — were going to pay with their blood and limbs, if not their very lives, for this one man’s hatred of his country. And I announced that, after thinking it over, I would vote for any person of any party, irrespective of what he or she promises to do to your uteruses and how it’s promised to be done, if that person could offer me reasonable hope that I would not one day be handed a neatly-folded triangle of a flag and thanked, on behalf of All Americans, for my precious boy’s service to his country. You all voted single-issue based on what might possibly, maybe, if you believe MSNBC’s talking heads, could happen if the guy who suggested you ought to pay got a hearing from the other guy; I’m going to vote single issue based on what are the announced intentions of the bloodthirsty despots whose interests Dear Leader has promised to further. To paraphrase Genl Napier, we will each vote our issues.
That was back before Dear Leader unmasked his batteries, and nominated confirmed anti-Americans, dedicated pro-Islamofascists, and explicit Jew-haters to three of the most important positions in the federal government. Understand: These guys aren’t going to be running the NHTSA or the Soil Conservation Administration. If these three ass-hats bollocks-up the show (and by the way, what you and I will regard as a disaster these guys may well be viewing as a desired outcome . . . we actually are at that point that such questions are not self-evidently lunatic), the result is nuclear war in the Middle East, and we’ll be lucky to keep it confined there. Recall, O Gentle Reader, that in May, 1914, there was no reason to suppose that the next scuffle in the Balkans would be anything other than just that — a scuffle among people who’d been slitting each other’s throats, poisoning each other’s wells, and stealing each other’s sheep for centuries. Remind me how that worked out, again?
As hard as it is to put toothpaste back in the tube in domestic policy, it can be done. Chile did it, and whatever Chile can do I refuse to accept that America cannot. But in foreign policy events truly are immutable. You simply cannot undo the results of Munich in September, 1938. When the U.S. humiliated Britain over the Suez in 1956, that rang a bell that could never be stilled. Eisenhower’s blowing off Ho Chi Minh when he tried to contact him (this was way back when Ho was just some local politician) and communicate about the constitutional structure of his country — Ho apparently greatly admired the U.S. Constitution, and was interested in discussing with the Americans how it might be adapted to his little homeland — set a course the results of which are still playing out. For example, does anyone really think that John Kerry would be anything other than a sun-burned trust-fund baby were it not for his treasonous activities with the Winter Soldier outfit during the Vietnam War? For that matter, where would anti-Americans like Dear Leader himself be without the intellectual and social heritage of the pro-Communist underground that suddenly went mainstream during that war?
We have yet to see the final results of the Islamic Brotherhood’s taking over the North African and Levantine littoral, a power-grab warmly greeted and actively encouraged by Dear Leader and the three men on whom he’s counting to knock America off its high horse once and for all.
So thank you, American women, for having voted this traitor into office. I hope your guilt-free and publicly-subsidized whoopie is worth it to you. Because it will be your sons too who die so that you didn’t have to pop for your birth control. And by that time you’ll be too old to breed any more. Maybe you and I will see each other at the cemetery on a Sunday afternoon, cleaning the bird shit off our boys’ headstones. I’ll be the one looking at you like it’s your fault.
Thank you very little.