Ode to Democrat…

Ode to Democrat Dirt

 

We are met with the Godless, a new version of the Tories but without the decorum, re-branded slavers (socialists), and rotten new deal acolytes doing and saying anything for votes.  The smarmy personages punched out in the forms of DebbieWasserman-Shultz wannabees, spread their message from and to the bottom—where they fully expect their constituencies to remain, and forever locked into the cycle where they are ensconced in government payouts for their needs and wants.  The base desires are being met by the sweat of someone else’s furrowed, beat upon, pocket picked, and forever paying brows.  Without even a thank-you, they march and slogan for more, human nature at its core, the gimmee society without knowledge or skills—or an inclination to rise for work on time if they were to work—those who are insulted by the notion they would have a “boss” who would have the temerity to tell them what to do.

 

My pockets have been picked all my life—for more than thirty-five years now the payments have been regular and I have little to show except an ability to bring in one paycheck after another made smaller by government confiscation.  What’s left will buy less food because of the debt our Godless party has piled onto us.  My contributions have assisted the Tories to grow minions who look to the government first for their sustenance whose minds (if they thought about it), consider taxpayers in a kind of fuzzy cloud of convenience.  It is the fuzzy cloud of taxpayers for which they care nothing and with whom they generally have little in common.  They sense or see no unfairness in the taking, but instead demand more; “you should, you ought to, you must provide rubbers and the pill, dumb-ass.”

 

Yes, there are minions of the re-brand who work or who have friends that work.  Still they vote for every rotten new deal acolyte that comes along and makes the argument why others must pay more.  Loyal to the core, happy to elect people who steal from the productive, the enslaved march into the voting booth and pull the lever for the plantation.  Happily shouting slogans, they seek salvation in man blind to the futility, before they scurry off to the nearest Starbucks for group hugs on their latest victory over evil capitalist pigs, Christians, and military types.  “We should sue the cemetery for that f*ing cross.”

 

Is there evidence the bastardized party has any interest in solving problems or demonstrated any restraint in creating federal law that further enslaves?  Where is there evidence that democratic politicians actually desire to solve problems?  How is SandraFluke paid so she can pay her rent?

 

The raw deal party has already started screeching about PaulRyan and pretends it is they who have the answers on our economy despite not passing a bloated budget in three years—one of the laws the socialists have determined does not apply to the happy, top-tiered socialists.  Imagine, committing the political sin of having a reasonable plan to solve a problem!  Robert Leckie, author of “Helmet for my Pillow,” an account of the Marine Corps Pacific campaign in World War II, describes in one scene on Guadalcanal a dead Japanese soldier who fell partly submerged in the Tenaru River.  The poor man, probably pressed into service for his Emperor, was obese and had a number of pouches filled with rice balls strung on his torso between his skin and his bloody battle blouse.  To Marine Leckie who was surveying the scene with field glasses from the other side of the river, the man was a “chow-hound”—meaning he loved his food.  PFCLeckie put the glasses away when a river crocodile began tearing out his intestines.  The constituencies of our democratic party have been feeding on the nation’s entrails for a generation now and demand more.  And so without a budget, the Reid’s and Pelosi’s go about securing more debt, promising more of everything—and in their short-sighted modus, they secure power for their time—before they retire and leave the ever-growing mess for someone else to deal with.  For now, the dynamic duo of mediocrity sings their verse to make certain sloganeering delivers votes.

“It is true,

Everything I do,

I do it for you.”

                       

I laugh.

 

 

Hunter Ayers

August 13, 2012