Regarding Election Thief/Failed Comedian Al Franken

Still avoiding political “news”, nonetheless, in the immortal words of J. Seinfeld: “I hear things.”

In the past 24 I’ve seen no less than three fakenews promotions seeking the opinions of Election Thief/Failed Comedian Al Franken, one about trans-comic Kathy Griffin being edgy, another about SNL being funnier last season (somewhat true) and the last yet another falsehood for the Trump/Russia meme.  It’s truly astonishing leftards are still beating that dead horse which is now a powdered skeleton. No serious voter believes Trump/Russia, nor should they since there’s (still) zero evidence. (Evidence, facts, logic: the Holy Trinity which no liberal argument survives.)

So why the sudden interest in what Election Thief/Failed Comedian Al Franken thinks about anything?

Fakenews is bolstering this doofus for a 2020 presidential run. No, really.

Currently, Election Thief/Failed Comedian Al Franken denies wanting the presidency but that means nothing.  If I had the momentum I’d sure as hell do it.  Unlike Rabbi Trump, I actually give zero fucks about anything except Making America Great Again, but that’s a rant for another time. 

Cosmetically speaking, Election Thief/Failed Comedian Al Franken has no shot at the presidency. Curly Fries hair, stupid fugly smirk, glasses and everyone’s favorite.  The bow on the package? Not remotely funny, not even by SNL standards.  When Election Thief/Failed Comedian Al Franken traded comedy for politics, he literally had NOTHING to lose.

If Election Thief/Failed Comedian Al Franken had won his 2008 election against Norm Coleman fairly I could leave off here, but the facts are Election Thief/Failed Comedian Al Franken stole that election.  If Ann isn’t your cup of tea, google or youtube “Al Franken stole election.”

Whether you lose an election by a single vote, or 725 like Election Thief/Failed Comedian Al Franken YOU STILL LOSE.

Because RINOs didn’t fight Election Thief/Failed Comedian Al Franken’s fraudulent victory, communistcrats were able to pass obozocare.

Hard to decide who’s worse, Republicans for being spineless thots or democrats for existing.

 

Gun-grabbing obozo

One thing I love about obozo, he’s only surrounded by ass-lickers and therefore thinks he has the rest of the country fooled.  The Supreme Narcissist dares to accuse others of being paranoid.

“The United States was born suspicious of some distant authority…”

No, obozo, the Founders divided government’s power in thirds because it feared our OWN government’s authority. Though the federal leviathan is not working very well these days with the activist Supreme Joke and coward GOP congress, in a year you’ll be gone, a talkshow irritant whose reign shall only be remembered as the most visible failure of affirmative action.  President Trump has his work cut out for him.

So, there’s no reason to be concerned about an out-of-control federal mafia?

EPA, FDA stocking up on body armor during President Obama’s watch

 

Watchdog: Feds paid Amtrak worker to spy on passengers

“The OIG determined that over a period of 20 years, the DEA paid the Amtrak employee $854,460 as of January 2014 for information that was available at no cost to the government in violation of federal regulations relating to the use of government property, thereby wasting substantial government funds,” the OIG wrote.

Needlessly spying on citizens AND wasting money at the same time?! THAT is government efficiency!

Mark Kelly, the obozo shill married to Gabby Giffords (another victim of armed left-wing nutjobs) innocently asked: “So, I would like you to explain with 350 million guns in 65 million places, households, from Key West, to Alaska, 350 million objects in 65 million places, if the Federal government wanted to confiscate those objects, how would they do that?”

For an astronaut, Kelly sure lacks imagination.

It’s not impossible for the federal mafia to reduce the number of guns to insignificance. Remember, half the American people are already sheep and would turn in their guns if commanded. Another crossover segment would turn in guns voluntarily for a federal gun buyback program. obozo burned a trillion dollars on a scamulus with nothing to show for it, do you think the federal mafia can’t print another worthless trillion and offer $5000 for every gun? It’s funny money, folks, 1s and 0s.

Another portion of the “free” will turn in their armed neighbors for monetary awards and even now the obzoo crime syndicate is using “Executive Orders” to allow it to seize guns from whomever they deem “crazy” (a favorite tactic of communists).

Finally, looking ahead 30 years or so, drones will have made the entire world a surveillance state. There will be almost nowhere to even hide a firearm. Once the micro-drones report an illegal gun (that is, any gun not controlled by the government) humanoid robots controlled by distant soldiers will go house-to-house to collect it by force. Surrogates wasn’t a great movie, but this 30-second scene (click to play) shows how it could work. Instead of “pilots” flying drones over Iraq from Texas, it would be guys anywhere commanding disposable humanoid soldiers.

Long before the robot uprising, man will enslave man with electric eyes and golems.

Have a nice future! And remember: only the paranoid survive.

 

 

(Ongoing Honorable Mention to the Cankles Crime Syndicate. Still can’t shake those emails!)

Jimmy Smits is a OUTLAW. Why?

I hit a new low watching the pilot of some POS NBC show called “Outlaw”.

The “writers” of this turd start off by having badboy Supreme Court Justice ??????????????????????????  Jimmy Smits get publicly lambasted by a hot putana from the ACLU.  The next scene the bitch is curled up on his couch after a no-doubt hard Smits hump.  Some hack  must’ve just rewatched the original Iron Man and thought, Shit, I’ve got no talent, I’ll just rip-off that Tony Stark fucks sassy reporter scene.

Jiminy Smits, as the most Conservative Supreme Court judge is “evil” while his late liberal activist father (photoshopped with RFK and Cesar Chavez) is, of course, “good”.  According to the Dad via flashbacks, here’s the reason why his son is a principled Conservative:  “He’s wrong.”  That’s it.  That’s the whole argument.  So Smits, shooting hoops alone and weeping during flashbacks, decides to resign from the Supreme Court—a lifetime job with large pay and fame—to become a shitheels moral-crusadey lawyer.  In terms of ambition that’s equivalent to Hugh Hefner leaving his Playbore empire to become a telemarketer.

I must be a masochist, breaking my long blog silence during which I’ve done other things to write this much about this awful excuse for a show.

Bail Organa Smits isn’t alone in (t)his stupidity.  His law team includes a dumb blonde liberal (talk about redundancy) in love with him, a tight-collared Conservative stereotyped kid, a Negro lawyer of indeterminate origin and a bisexual smartass cunt private eye.  Oh and a sexy GILF who runs the law firm Smits joins.  Of course the GILF claims she won’t fuck him, just so it’ll be SHOCKING three episodes from now when she does.

The first episode centers around a Hollywood Propagandized Negro in prison.  Unlike real prison Negroes, the HPN is an UNfairly sentenced-to-death gentleman who speaks the King’s English and wants only to marry his equally eloquent baby-mama.  He is an INNOCENT VICTIM of RACISM (though they don’t call it that) and at the end an old, decorated White cop is found Guilty instead.  Yaaay!

This ridiculous show is DOA and I’m glad. In the real world, a kenyan muslim occupies the White House and not one, but TWO unqualifed racist communist dumbfuck bitches are on the Supreme Court.  FUCK.  YOU.

First Time in a Hookah Bar

It wasn’t smoky. A young girl behind the counter with fine tits, thick lips and a shiny forehead greeted me. I told her I’d never been, but my money was green, and how does it work?

While she explained the process the pot-bellied hippie who owned the place (I’d seen him on the bar’s website) stared unhappily. I took it personally. There’s a communist nigger in the White House and his business was hopping, so why the long face to go with the long, gray beard?

I motioned to an empty table behind me, dropped the $$$ and the little girl brought out the hookah. It looked like Aladdin’s bong. I was nervous because I thought I’d have to set it up myself, water and charcoal and shit. But they did it all. The rules
were that the hook could only be moved around by the staff. Break it and you’re out 50 bucks.

The girl hooked up the hookah pipe. She’d recommended the “Purple Haze” flavor for me. I took a hard drag on the hose. Purple Haze tasted like moth balls floating in Grape Kool-Aid at Grandmother’s house.

Thursday was Trivia Night. A loud, young, obnoxious prick on a stage nook was reading off questions and the crowd was shouting out. They were having a good time.

With dawning horror I realized that except for the pot-bellied hippie owner, I was the oldest one in the place. I was sitting by myself at a large blocky table that could seat four. Comfortable looking couches flanked the table but there were people nearby, young people, and I wasn’t about to move. Youth surrounded me: baby faces and cell phones and a few girls with short-shorts that looked painted on their cute little bobble-asses.

I decided it was all a Lie, I was really 25 and these were middle school kids. In another 5 years they would all be elementary school kids. When you’re very old every person under 40 must look like a child.

I took serious drags on the hookah, savoring the taste of Grandmother’s mothball cunt. I had nothing else to do. When I was young I was a young loner, I would always be one. My youth had been wasted. I would always be afraid of people.

I made that hookah water DANCE with my long serious drags. The flavor grew on me, a little. Flavorful smoke alternately blasted in a narrow cone and squirted out of my tired lips.The hookah menu had almost 40 flavors to try and golly gee, I’d keep coming back almost 40 times this year and try them all!—I lied to myself. I wondered if I would ever go back. No one I knew smoked.

The trivia portion ended. Loud rock music now blared on the PA. One of the songs was Europe’s ‘The Final Countdown’. The young people seemed to like it, singing along in places, but they didn’t understand it; they mocked it as cheesy and it was, but it was beautiful to me and marked a certain time in my life and I didn’t like hearing it mocked.

I was sad and felt sorry for myself. I’m always alone in crowds; that other people might also feel alone didn’t matter because you can’t be alone together.

The Purple Haze was making me slightly giddy, almost high, except it was an illusion. It was likely my high blood pressure kicking on, making the body’s race towards death an easier downhill coast instead of the slogging speed of inevitability.

I wanted to kill the hippie for not welcoming me to his hookah bar. Times are tight and he probably needed all the business he could get…I didn’t want him to kiss my ass but just say hello, say, “Welcome” to a potential new customer.

The bar was getting ready to close. Laser lights danced on the walls. The young pussy hugged and kissed the young cocks goodbye. They were all happy, if only for this moment. I knew they were afraid and got picked on by the world and needed to band together.

I left alone, the same way I entered.

No one I know smokes.

Not even me.