The Cautious Optimism Roving Correspondent for Affairs (and Stuff) – CORCA – surveys our political landscape:
In my pre-emptive defense, I wrote this column after watching a weekend’s worth of Ukrainian bravery and suffering, and an impromptu but thorough taste-testing of several varieties of Bourbon and Scotch that were in my house. (For those of you scoring at home, Four Roses is in the lead so far.)
So read on at your own risk, I guess.
To the untrained eye, the Democrats may seem to be in a spot of trouble lately.
After a decade-long year of runaway deficits and inflation, an unprecedented border implosion, exploding crime rates and the Afghanistan debacle, they were already ill-prepared for Putin to invade Ukraine, even after Brandon invited him to invade Ukraine – as long as it’s only a minor incursion.
Before you know it — bingo, bango, bongo (hat tip to Jamie) — Putin invades.
Biden immediately signs a top-secret order activating Operation Decapitated Chickens, which apparently involves getting all of the cabinet members together so they can run around the Oval Office shrieking in panic, knocking over the furniture and bashing into each other, until they finally drop, exhausted, onto a carpet befouled with a noxious mix of arterial spray, death spasms and terrible ideology.
So, done and done.
When a secret service detail broke into the room, knocked the sawdust out of Biden’s third-rate cranium and reattached it to his decomposing corpse, he then shuffled out into the sunlight, squinting the squint of the damned, and began conducting foreign policy.
First, he warned Putin that he’s going to be receiving a strongly worded letter of disapproval, as soon as Biden can find his trusty old Underwood typewriter, a tin of typewriter key oil, and a ream of foolscap. And believe you him, he may be typing so angrily that all of the keys will repeatedly get stuck together in a big clump right above the paper, but he’ll still be sending that outraged missive before Putin can say “Jack Robinson.”
[I interrupt this column to announce that I’ll be submitting the previous paragraph for consideration in the “Most Old-Timey Terms Crammed into a Single Paragraph in 2022” competition. Vote early and often.]
Second, Brandon pulled General “Thoroughly Modern” Millie out of an “Understanding Toxic Masculinity and White Rage” seminar being led by Bradley/Chelsea Manning to ask for his advice. Millie shrugged and said we could send the Ukrainians some Javelins.
When the prez asked what good a bunch of pointy sticks that they throw in the Olympics will do against Russian tanks, General Vanilli explained what an anti-tank missile is.
After a short nap and some jello, Biden said, “That sounds pretty good, Colonel Mustard. When should we send those?”
And Donald Trump, who had been watching with his hands on his hips from right outside the Oval Office window, shouted, “A month ago, when I said to, Joe! Worst so-called President ever!!”
Third, Biden announced that we were immediately placing heavy sanctions on all of Russia’s exports… but we would not stop buying Russian oil, which is their only significant export.
After four days of outrage, and after all other countries had stopped buying Russian oil, Biden announced that he had gotten all of our allies to stop buying Russian oil four days ago, and that he would now lead the way by declaring that we will no longer buy Russian oil. Starttinnnggg…. NOW!
Fourth, Biden’s SecDef – or maybe it was Mayor Pete, freshly returned to the office after delivering a baby by C-section and solving the supply chain crisis – held a press conference. When he was asked whether the US would greenlight the Poles sending fighter planes to the Ukrainians, he said, “Yes. That’s a greenlight.”
Then, four days later (I am not making this up), after the Poles offered to send their planes to our air base in Germany for transfer to Ukraine, our SecDef – or, to be fair, possibly Mayor Pete – said, “Homina homina homina… No. We hate that idea.”
When some confused reporter said, “But you just said four days ago that you were all for sending planes to Ukraine.”
The Secretary of Pointless Paternity Leave then stammered, “Oh, did you say ‘planes to Ukraine’? The president thought you said, ‘Insane in the Membrane.’ Which is his all-time favorite Cypress Hill song.”
The reporters all looked at each other, confused. “First, that is a terrible song. Second, there is no way in hell that Biden knows that song.” Another reporter piped up, “You thought we were asking the President to greenlight his favorite rap song?”
Before the flop-sweating bureaucrat could answer, the late president stumbled into the room. Once an aide helped him get untangled from the blue curtain, he shuffled to the podium and winked at the SecDef, whose name he could almost remember. “What’s up, Champ?”
A reporter said, “We were just asking why you reversed yourself on sending planes to Ukraine.”
Biden said, “No, no, c’mon man. I said we were sending Claire Danes to the Great Plains. Her flight lands in Minot in half an hour.”
More confusion in the press corps. One reporter began, “Why would you send Claire Da—” before another spoke over her. “We thought that you thought we were asking about your favorite rap song.”
“What? No! Why would I think ‘99 Problems’ had anything to do with Putin’s invasion?”
And total, confused silence descended on the room.
Biden looked at his sweating SecDef, then back at the discombobulated MSM stooges, plus Peter Doocy. He coughed, and said, “You know the thing… ‘If you’re having girl problems, I feel bad for you son?’”
Doocy looked away in embarrassment. Biden turned to his mouthpiece, who looked like he might resign on the spot. “C’mon, fat, sing with me. ‘I got 99 problems and Jill ain’t one!” He raised his hand in the air. “’Hit me!’”
The SecDef looked like he was about to pull an Abby Broyles. (See my last column.) But he tentatively stepped forward and lightly gave Biden five, which sent the centenarian doofus pinwheeling backwards and off the podium.
The nearest Secret Service guy leapt toward Joey Gaffes while speaking urgently into his wrist mic: “Flatline is down! I repeat, Flatline is down!”
Brian Stelter then shrieked, “Does this mean Comma-la is president?!” and fainted dead away.
And, scene.
Wait a minute. Did I say that the Dems seem to be in a little trouble “to the untrained” eye?
Scratch that. To EVERY eye that isn’t clouded over with severe glaucoma, or that hasn’t been instinctively gouged out when its owner inadvertently came face-to-face with Hillary without her makeup on, or Rashida Tlaib or Maxine Waters with their makeup on.
But don’t fret. Because a brain trust of congressional Dems and other lefty big brains met in Philly this past weekend to strategize a way out of their current dilemma.
I know this because I read a story in Hot Air about it, and learned several things. For example, did you know that the chairman of the DCCC is Representative Sean Patrick Maloney? Judging from the DCCC’s performance over the last year, I assumed the chairman was Bozo, or AOC, or Mao.
But nope. It’s Sean Patrick Maloney. Who apparently doesn’t realize that a name that sounds that Irish is a liability in the far-left identity-politics swamp of today’s Democrat party.
That’s why Robert Francis Brendan “Faith-and-Begorrah” Murphy-O’Rourke picked the fake-Hispanic nickname “Beto.”
So as a public service to the poor guy, let me publicly suggest that he quickly — “andale andale! arriba arriba!” — snag himself a Hispanic moniker.
Anyway, “Mijo” Maloney – you’re welcome, Sean Patrick! – said that the Dems’ main focus should be to talk like real people and not – and I am quoting here – “sound like a jerk.”
You know you’re in trouble when a professional politician from your own side tells you that you need to tone down your innately stratospheric jerk quotient.
Observers took Mijo’s warning to be a shot at the loony left-wing fringe who are ruining everything for the extreme far-left wingers who are trying to control the party by posing as everyday far-left wingers.
But Rep. Pramila “Apu” Jayapal (D-Kremlin) was having none of that. She thinks that the voters are just dying for more of the bloated fiscal train-wreck/ruinously utopian socialist spending of the ironically and cruelly named “Build Back Better” agenda.
But she knows that even the initials “BBB” are now so tainted that the Better Business Bureau has to change its name ASAP, lest it become SOL and then DOA.
Her response? Let’s just not say its name.
I’m not kidding. Here is her actual quote: “It’s like Voldemort. We just don’t say those words. But we continue to work on the pieces of the legislation.”
For those of you who missed the Harry Potter craze, Voldemort is a cosmic antagonist so hideously evil that people hesitate to even say his name.
So let’s recap. The Biden mal-administration has stumbled from one disaster to another, and now has approval ratings hovering just above Vladimir Putin and just below untreatable genital warts.
And the best campaign slogan that nationally elected Democrats have come up with is, “We sound like jerks, and we can’t even say the name of our flagship policy because it is so similar to a pop-culture Satan-figure. Vote for us!”
It’s been a long four years, and it’s only been 59 weeks.
Avenatti/ “Mijo” McBlarney Stone, 2024!
Martin Simpson 