Before I get started, I have to mention the head-dress-wearing elephant in the room: Grandma Squanto has proposed a health care plan that will cost $52 trillion (with a “T”!) over 10 years, without costing middle-class families one extra penny in taxes!
Read that again. Now consider that the ENTIRE US GDP last year was the highest it has ever been. And it was 18.6 trillion. So the Indigenous Magician (#wemustneverstopmockingher) is going to spend 2.8 years’ worth of our total GDP in 10 years, without it costing a single penny from about 2/3 of the population. She says that that’s a promise!
Also, eat all the ice cream and cake you want, and never gain a pound. And if you like your doctor, you can keep your doctor. And the check is in the mail, and I will respect you in the morning, and this horse is a sure thing in the 5th race at Pimlico.
I can only conclude that Lizzie no longer identifies as an Indian princess. She now identifies as a Nigerian prince, and she has a multi-million dollar account that she will happily transfer to you, if you can just send her $3200 first, to pay the taxes on your windfall.
Sad news about Beto O’Rourke giving up on his presidential bid, isn’t it? Remember when he appeared on the cover of Vanity Fair with an accompanying gushy profile story, and was a Kennedyesque young firebrand who was going to parlay just barely losing to Ted Cruz into skateboarding his way into the White House?
And then… we saw him. And listened to him. And it turned out that he was pushing a typical 50-gallon barrel full of far-left snake oil – government control of everything, skyrocketing taxes, no borders, and we’ll confiscate your guns, thank you – and that he was a phony Irish rich kid with a fake-Hispanic name.
Plus, we noticed that he’s a twitchy weirdo, and basically just a conglomerated jumble of odd physical and verbal tics. He jumps up on tables for no reason, and he has trouble modulating the volume and speed of his speech. He randomly over-gestures like one of those wacky inflatable arm-waving tube-man things that desperate retailers put up outside of their tire store or mattress outlet or vaping emporium when they want to goose foot traffic.
After the most enthusiastic young progressives’ first-date-with-Beto afterglow wore off – and (I’m just speculating here) their blood alcohol and THC content dissipated — they looked into the mirror and said, “Yikes! Let’s take another look at the Indian white scold lady, and the 1000-year-old socialist crank, and the judge-y little gay teenager, and the old man who told Corn Pop to get off his lawn.”
So on Friday, Beto called it quits. In keeping with my pledge to you, I’ve written a haiku to commemorate his exit from the race:
Empty-headed arm waver,
You will not be missed.
But cheer up, progressives. Because Hillary is considering throwing her feedbag back into the ring!
Sorry, “hat.” She’s thinking of throwing her hat back in the ring.
And why not? When polls show that almost half of Americans don’t mind seeing Trump investigated for a possible impeachment, and the Dems are convinced that he’s a Hitlerian threat to our democracy and is in the midst of the worst first term since Bush caused 9/11, or something… and yet those same polls show that he’s either neck-and-neck with or leading the “strongest” of the current Dem candidates? Maybe it’s time for a little of the old Clinton shock-and-CAW again!
I mean, she’s tanned, she’s rested, she’s freshly shod. She’s got a clear handle on the Macedonians, Russian bots, sexists and white nationalists and deplorables who were behind her defeat last time. And as she said in a recent interview/fever dream, “I’m sure that I could beat him again!”
And I think she’s got an advantage when it comes to the theatrics of a modern political campaign. For example, do you remember how Bill used to pull up his pants and then enter one frenzied arena after another to a high-decibel rendition of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing?”
Well Hillary has a ready-made, awesome entrance/theme song that is sure to get her crowds on their feet. It’s a raucous little high-energy ditty by Mr. Elton John.
No, it’s certainly not “Tiny Dancer.” “Don’t go Breaking My Heart” and “I Guess That’s Why They Call it the Blues” are closer, but not right. And Elizabeth Warren already has dibs on “Honky Cat.” (HA!) (#wemustneverstopmockingher) (And yes, that’s three hashtags for Grandma Squanto, to make up for a few of my recent columns being hashtag-less.)
You’ll think of it. And when you do, you’ll recognize that it is perfect.
Finally, I’ve been enjoying even more of the fall-out from the story of our American hero dog who hounded (HA!) the smelly terrorist Al-Baghdadi during his last, miserable moments.
First, I was surprised to hear that despite the fact that the courageous canine’s name is Conan, she is actually a female. Which only makes the story sweeter. Given the Islamic disdain for both dogs and for females, it is doubly funny to think that it was literally a bi*ch that cornered the fleeing thug.
However, this news does change a few details from my Friday column. Please re-read it, and replace all of the “GOOD BOY!” references with “GOOD GIRL!” Also, when I wished that Conan would have raised his leg on Al-Baghdadi at the end, that is obviously an inoperative wish. She clearly should have squatted over him… which I hope that she did.
Additionally, when she thought Conan was male, Cassie the Wonder Dog seriously considered giving him a carnal reward for a job well done. But since Cassie does not play for Katie Hill’s team (so to speak), that offer is now off the table. (Although Cassie tells me that if she ever were to… experiment… a gallant girl like Conan would be top of the list.)
By the way, how cool is it that even our female war dogs have badass macho names? I look forward to hearing how the next four heads of ISIS are chased down and bitten to death by four female German shepherds named Chuck Norris, John Cena, Mike Ditka and George Patton!
Also, as a lover of language, I must point out that Al-Baghdadi’s middle name – Bakr – is an anagram of “bark.” I can only hope that in his final, disorienting panic, he believed that the infidels had somehow come up with a dog that speaks his own language, and that she was yelling his name as she chased him. “Bakr! Bakr! I’m coming for you, Bakr!”
Man, I love everything about this! Zero Bark Thirty. Jokes about how our military is obviously racist, since it deploys dogs in black face! (GOOD GIRL!) And I never thought I’d write this sentence: Arnold is now my SECOND-favorite Conan.
Love, love, love it!
But the best part of the whole story involves two of my favorite things: Trump trolling the MSM, and the MSM falling for it and beclowning themselves.
You’ve probably heard about the smart, funny conservatives at Daily Wire (if you don’t already follow them, you should) making a meme in which they used the magic of photoshop to replace a Medal of Honor winner from a past WH ceremony with Conan. The resulting image showed Trump putting a ribbon and “Medal of Pawnor” around Conan’s neck. Someone sent the pic to Trump, who tweeted it with a laugh.
So naturally the MSM lost their minds. They recognized the terrible, constitution-endangering fraud involved in sending out such a specious image, and they responded proportionally. Totally, rationally, proportionately.
An earnest young Washington Post reporter emailed Daily Wire co-founder Jeremy Boring, seeking confirmation that they had actually put out a false image of Trump giving a medal to the dog. Boring responded with an email for the ages: “You must be f-ing joking. And please quote me on that.”
Other leftist fact checkers went into overdrive, running down this earth-shaking story. The Huffington Post breathlessly described for their reader (and yes, I’m assuming that noun should be singular) the WH image, but then broke the case wide open: “However, the photo didn’t really happen. Someone Photoshopped a picture of the hero dog over an Associated Press photo of 2017 Medal of Honor recipient…”
I did not make that quote up. Maybe the best part is that they try to build suspense by reporting that a shadowy “someone” did the photoshopping. How do we know that Sherlock Holmes is not doing fact-checking work at the HuffPo, you ask? Because the picture had a watermark saying “Daily Wire” on it. My dear Watson, that could almost count as a clue! In fact, a paragraph later, the story mentions the Daily Wire. So…cue the sad trombone, I guess?
Not to be outdone by the brain-trust at HuffPo or the WA Po, the Old Gray Lady — not Hillary, or Grandma Squanto. I mean the New York Times — was also on the case, publishing a story entitled, “Trump Tweets Faked Photo of Hero Dog Getting a Medal.”
Ah, groundbreaking NYT headlines!
Move over, “Germany Surrenders!”
Step aside, “Man Walks on the Moon!”
Make way, “Some People Did Something, and Now the World Trade Center Has Disappeared!”
Save a 2020 Pulitzer-trophy-sized space on the bookshelf for “Trump Tweets Faked Dog Photo!”
The Times even tracked down the Medal of Honor winner whose picture the hero dog was superimposed over, apparently expecting that he’d be a Bradley/Chelsea Manning type, and burst into tears before running into a corner, pulling his gender-ambiguous undergarments over his head, and start sucking his thumb.
Instead, because he’s a normal human and a military hero, he laughed, and praised service dogs, and said that he wasn’t offended. So, a sad trombone duet, I guess?
The funniest thing about this story is that it took TWO NYT reporters to write it!
Now if you have been reading this column for very long, you know that I do not like to sing my own praises. Sure, in the past I’ve been forced to admit that I am a hilarious genius, I’ve shaken hands with a man who pissed in Hitler’s bathtub, and have the meniscus of a better-conditioned Usain Bolt. But I am not comfortable with that kind of praise.
However, I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that I’ve written this entire column BY MYSELF, with no help from fact checkers or a research team, or even the powerful and mysterious CO! And this column has contained three hashtag shots at Lizzie Warren, a Longfellow-esque Beta O’Rourke haiku, and a trenchant John Cena reference! You think you’d find that kind of range in an entire year of NYT stories? Don’t make me laugh.
I guess what I’m saying is, when can I expect my phone call from the Pulitzer committee?
Avenatti/Skateboarding Doofus 2020!