The two Dem debate nights have momentarily left me speechless in horror. So I thought I’d mention a few other things that caught my attention this week.
First, Elizabeth Warren is really obnoxious.
I know: not exactly breaking news. But every time I see her, or hear her speak, my dislike for her grows. I think she may be on the verge of elbowing aside Hillary as the most grating, entitled, hate-filled, phony old super-white (not that there’s anything wrong with that) lady on the planet.
What got me this time was a short video from last Saturday, in which several people sang a rousing version of Happy Birthday to her. Afterwards, she said, “What better way to celebrate my birthday than right here at Planned Parenthood?”
You can’t make that up. Grandma Squanto is thrilled to celebrate her birthday at a place dedicated to profiting from preventing millions of birthdays. How does somebody say something that creepy without hearing herself?
That’s all I have to say to you, Lizzie: How?
(Get it? #wemustneverstopmockingher)
In other news, Mayor Pete had a little richly deserved trouble at a town hall meeting in South Bend. An African-American man had been shot and killed by a cop earlier in June in the Indiana metropolis (just smaller than Evansville, and larger than Hammond – so obviously being mayor there totally qualifies one to be the Leader of the Free World). The cop’s body camera was not on at the time, which protestors took to mean the obvious: a murderous white racist cop purposely switched off the camera before gunning down a totally innocent minority guy.
The national MSM is using the case as an opportunity to lecture on the terrible racial history of America, and is simultaneously doing its best to NOT report the details of this specific case. Which, as best I can tell from scanning the local paper’s coverage, are these:
The cop got a call in the middle of the night about a man breaking into cars. The cop responded, and said that he found the suspect in one of the cars. When the cop asked him if that was his car, the suspect said it was. (Spoiler alert: It was not.) The cop said that the suspect had a purse and a knife, and when he told the man to drop the knife, he charged the cop, superficially cutting him before the cop shot him. It turned out the knife and purse came from two of six cars that had been burglarized earlier than night, and the suspect had done time for drug dealing and illegal gun possession in the past.
Obviously, racism is a terrible thing, and a wicked part of human nature that has caused disproportionate suffering in the black community. But the Democrats have been fanning the flames of racial hatred for so long, encouraging the black community’s most extremist positions and anti-white members. They’ve pretended to believe in racial hoaxes like those perpetrated by Tawana Brawley and Jussie Smollett, and that Michael Brown was a “gentle giant.” They’ve treated despicable Al Sharpton as a revered party elder.
They’ve sowed the wind, and now Mayor Pete got a little taste of reaping the whirlwind. A crowd of angry black people screamed and taunted him, and then shouted him down when he tried to reply to their accusations.
It’s sad to contemplate the effects of the increasing racial polarization in the country, but there is at least a little grim satisfaction in seeing some of the animosity turned back on the representatives of the party that has spread the racial poison. Maybe Mayor Pete’s problem will give the Dems pause, though that’s not where the smart money is.
Regardless, they’d do well to consider that the mob might not always target some phantom Trump supporters in MAGA hats, or Kentucky high school kids. It may someday turn on small, smug men like Mayor Pete.
And just when you think that the HJT (hateful jihadi twins) can’t get any weirder, Ilhan Omar asks an aide to hold her hummus and watch this.
It turns out that she’s had a colorful marital history. (And there’s my entry for “euphemism of the year.” It’s got tough competition from “women’s reproductive health” (i.e. abortion), but I like my chances.) The story is too tangled to be sure of the details, but the gist of it is this:
Within the last 20 years or so, Mullah Omar – sorry, Ilhan Omar — has spent some of the time that she saved (by NOT writing “thank you” letters to the United States for rescuing her from the oppressive hellhole where she was born) on marrying a couple of guys in the most confusing way possible. In 2002 she sort of married a guy I’ll call “Ahmed.” Because that’s his name.
How does one “sort of” marry someone? Good question.
She applied for a marriage license with him, but never completed it. But she married him in her “religious tradition,” and had two kids with him, before divorcing in 2008. Except that she couldn’t really divorce him, because they weren’t really married. Maybe she divorced him in her faith tradition, in a ceremony that I imagine involved curses and spitting and each party asking for their records back.
A year later, in 2009, she married again, this time legally, to a British citizen named… Ahmed.
Um, okay. So the first Ahmed was Ahmed Hirsi, and this second Ahmed was Ahmed Elmi.
So let’s call Ahmed Hirsi “Ahmed the First.” (Sing it with me, and a cockney accent does help: “He’s Ahmed the First he is. Ahmed the First he is, he is.”) And we’ll call Elmi “Ahmed 2: Electric Boogaloo.” (For my money, the finest terrible breakdancing film of 1984.) You can’t tell the Ahmeds apart without a score card, people.
So Omar and Boogaloo live happily ever after, if by “ever after” you mean “for two years.” Then, in 2011 she reports that they divorced “in their faith tradition” – which is awkward, because they had married legally – and she reconciles with Ahmed the First. The next year they have a third child which – with unconscionable cruelty – they name “Ilwad.”
Which I’m guessing is the Islamic version of a Boy Named Sue, meant to toughen the little Wad-ster up, because his mom is apparently going to keep bringing a revolving door of Ahmeds through his life.
At the end of 2017 Ilhan finally gets around to officially divorcing Boogaloo, and the next month she legally marries Ahmed the First, even though by then she’s been shacked up with him for five years, and young Ilwad is starting to punch his way through his taunting first grade classmates, because he’s already sick of all of the, “You make me ill, Wad!” jokes.
To make things more complicated, in 2014 and 2015 she filed joint tax returns with Ahmed the First, even though she’d never been legally married to him at that point, and was in fact legally married to Boogaloo. Which would, technically speaking, be tax fraud.
To make things yet more complicated, there’s apparently a bunch of evidence that Boogaloo might be Ilhan’s brother. (Don’t ask. At this point my head hurts too much to try to figure out how an elected official in the public eye for a decade can be married to someone who might be her brother, without the media figuring that out.) (Then I remember that the media includes Chris “block of petrified wood” Cuomo, Brian “giant, dishonest human thumb without glasses” Stelter and Don Lemon. And I wonder no more.)
All of which leaves two possibilities, and puts Omar in what I like to call “a Northam conundrum.” Named after the idiotic Democrat governor of Virginia whose college yearbook featured a big picture of two people, one in blackface, and the other in a Klan hood, this is a classic lose-lose dilemma. (“Governor, are you the one in the blackface, or the Klan hood.” Ummmmm. Can I pass?)
To wit: either Ilhan was married to her brother because she was romantically involved with her brother. In which case, EWWWW! (This is the Klan hood option.) (Or is it the black face option?)
Or she was in a sham marriage to her brother for some illicit purpose – a citizenship scam, or a college loans or tax scam? – while she was actually married – religiously, but not legally – to the true Ahmed-o’-her-heart, Ahmed the First.
Yikes. Also, I just looked it up, and found that Ilwad is a girl. Which makes this whole story even sadder.
This is why I could never be a Democrat politician.
Because consider my story: as a young man, I dated many women, bringing joy to them all, and then ultimate heartbreak, when I met the CORCAW (CORCA Wife), and all other women became invisible to me. We married – religiously AND legally — and have stayed so for 30 years. We’ve had two daughters – neither of them named Ilwad – and the only Ahmed my wife knows is the hilarious “Ahmed the Dead Terrorist” skeleton puppet created by Jeff Dunham. The end.
I’ve got none of the Dem pre-requisites: I’m not gay or black, and I can’t even pretend to be American Indian. (Although c’mon. Compared to Grandma Squanto, I look like Crazy Horse Junior.) I haven’t run NYC into the ground, and I was hating socialism before hating socialism was cool. I only call myself “Martacus” in jest, and I don’t sniff the hair of strange women in public. (Or, for the record, in private, either.)
So the path to the Dem nomination is not open to me, and I’ll have to settle for remaining out of the spotlight, living the life of a humble, hilarious genius.
By the way, I hope to be able to overcome my gag reflex enough to comment on the Dem debates by Monday. But here’s a preview: AVENATTI 2020!
Martin Simpson 