After going through about 2.1Gb of video & images (and dealing with some work and home issues over the weekend), I finally whittled things down a little to give anyone who wasn’t able to go to Lansing on Wednesday another perspective on how things went.
Ladies and gentlemen: the story you are about to see is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
While some of the #NeverTrump #TDS sufferers might complain about the (yawn) dignity of the Office, those of us in the hood can enjoy some of the street scrapping that OUR president is doing with the intransigent left. With the type of enema enemy we face in the squawking heads of the Democrat party, total humiliation is probably one of the most dangerous but necessary weapons.
Not only has Donald Trump saved taxpayers a ton of money during the purported shut down, he has now ‘delivered’ a message to the broadside of democrat congressional leadership. Too good to pass up on our Michigan forum:
Nope, not a chance. At least not at Hopcat. The utterance of such a racist word is enough to send even the strongest of today’s hyper-sensitized booze hounds panicking to a safe room of crayons, puppies, and Mi-Two-Daddie’s™ Frank Zappa album collection.
Just well seasoned politically correct root cuts are being served now. The fail of the millennial condition plods forward with no ketchup and less spice than one might expect from an over-hyped bar with a deep fryer in the back. The new name for what used to be called ‘Crack fries’ is literally cosmic ..man. From the Detroit News
“The inspiration for the name comes from Mark Sellers’ (our founder), love of Frank Zappa. One of Zappa’s classic songs, ‘Cosmik Debris,’ mentions ‘the oil of Aphrodite’ and ‘the dust of the great wazoo.’ We’ve yet to incorporate these ingredients into our seasoning, but you never know what the future holds.”
CS sent me a heads up on one of our favorite swamp critters.
Already famed #TDS (Trump Derangement Syndrome) sufferer Nolan Finley has begun his anti #winning campaign on behalf of all those who are sad that their #surrender days are over. Penning what is probably not the last of such chicken pecked screed, Finley suggests that maybe Donald Trump should just go home and play with his billions in 2020.
The guy has $3 billion, and what good is it doing him? He can’t jet set around the world anymore, and he’s no longer welcome at the chi-chi Manhattan soirees. No more languid summer days on yachts surrounded by half-naked super models he could squeeze without a single #metoo worry. Washington can’t be as much fun for a player like Trump as was Miami.
There are some of us who relish the frequent lefty head splodes and RINO suicide watch parties. The president appears to be even more enthralled with it all. I suspect there could be no more fun for the man who clearly loves God, loves his country, loves power, loves attention, and loves the game as much as The Donald.
But as always, Finley and company cannot grasp this. Call it a shallow pool of perspective, maybe a sheltered life, or just plain deficiency in pattern recognition, but clearly, he doesn’t yet get it. Finley continues with the nonsense: