Today, I’m starting off with a hypothetical question: What would be your top governmental priority if you woke up and found that through some horrific series of unfathomable events, you had become a member of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors?
I know. It sounds like the premise of one of the darker episodes of the Twilight Zone. Or that Franz Kafka story, “The Metamorphosis,” in which the protagonist finds that he has been inexplicably transformed into a giant bug.
I remember the first time I read that weird opening scene, when Gregor Samsa wakes up to discover his shell-like back and his segmented belly and his numerous, creepy, insectile legs. And he fought off despair only by telling himself, “It could be worse: I could be a member of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors.”
That’s how I remember it, anyway.
Where was I?
Oh yeah. You wake up to find that you’re responsible for the management of San Francisco. And after you struggle manfully with your gag reflex and the instinctive impulse to leap from the nearest window, you stagger over to a huge table and sit down amidst the collection of oddballs, weirdos and nutjobs who are responsible for managing what was once one of the finest cities in America.
What would be your first order of business?
Maybe tackling the piles of human excrement encroaching on every doorway and park bench in the city, like snow drifts in North Dakota in January?
Or maybe dealing with the zombified army of meth heads slumping in those doorways and on those park benches?
Or possibly starting an innovative pilot program in which cops are actually empowered to arrest criminals, instead of helping them steer their shopping carts full of stolen loot around the poop drifts between the soon-to-be-closed stores and “Syringe City.” Which is what they call the motley arrangement of tents and broken-down RVs in which they “live.”
Would it surprise you to know that the actual board of supervisors recently marched right past those options and chose Door #4: “Let’s pass a resolution to tell a successful foreign country how it should conduct a war of survival against a feral mob of genocidal, jihadi freaks.”?
I’m not making that up. In early December, a board member proposed a resolution urging Israel to agree to a ceasefire so that Hamas could try to recover from their well-deserved butt kicking, and live to rape and terrorize another day. (I’m paraphrasing here. But accurately so.)
And since then, countless imbeciles have spent countless hours debating countless amendments and revisions to this meaningless exercise in governmental Toobin-ing. Tears were shed in public comment sessions. Badly rhyming slogans were chanted. Idiotic pronouns for non-existent genders were thrown about with great abandon.
A giant photo of a bombed out hellscape that had once been a business district in Gaza was projected onto a wall of the meeting room. The audience booed, and lambasted the Israeli government that caused such destruction.
Until someone noticed that the giant photo of a devastated Gaza was actually a giant window, through which the audience was looking at the bombed out hellscape that had once been a business district in San Francisco.
So somebody closed the curtains, and the Jew-bashing went on.
And finally, this week, the epic debate moved into its final phase, before culminating in a vote on the resolution. One Supervisor who had been born in Iran talked about the Islamic fanatics who had tormented her family. She testified movingly that, “I was born in a place where I heard gunfire outside my window.”
Or at least I think that’s what she said. In the video of the event, I couldn’t hear her clearly over the sound of gunfire outside the window of the building she was in. In San Francisco.
Another loon, Hillary Ronen (and what is it with women named “Hillary” in this once-great nation?), spoke through tears of how the backing of the evil USA is enabling “the far-right” (sic) Israeli government to “continue its ethnic cleansing campaign” (sic) against the “Palestinian” (sic) “people.”
When the gaggle of morons in the room cheered her ridiculous statement, Ronen said, “This is one of those days where it feels like we are still San Francisco.”
She got that right, at least.
Finally, on Tuesday, the board voted 8-3 in favor of the resolution.
And throughout Israel, when the Jews heard about the vote, they immediately saw the error of their ways, and they beat their swords into ploughshares, and offered the peace-loving “Palestinians” a two-state solution.
And the “Palestinians” crawled out of the rubble, and shook the concrete dust off of themselves… and immediately started raping and torturing Jews, and beating them to death with their own ploughshares.
Or they would have, if the Jews had been foolish enough to pay any attention at all to the delusional denizens of San Fran-feces. Thankfully, since the IDF was busy hunting and killing terrorists, they just mumbled about the fakakta California Democrats and went about their business.
But the resolution was still a success, because it achieved its primary goal: making a bunch of impotent losers and pseudo-revolutionaries feel good about themselves. They cheered, preened, and congratulated themselves for their great victory.
One spokesman, Wassim Hage, summed it up this way: “The hope is that this resolution will put the Biden administration on notice. San Francisco leads Democratic politics in a lot of ways in the United States.”
He’s not wrong about that. I hope that people will recognize that when they go to the polls in November.
The Babylon Bee summed up the entire farce well: “War Ended For All Time After San Francisco Board of Supervisors Votes for World Peace.”
But as is often the case, the eloquent former Harvard president Claudine Gay said it best: “War (huh) What is it good for? Absolutely nothin’! (Say it again.) Blessed are the peacemakers. All you need is love. I am the walrus, goo-goo, g’joob.”
Hamas delenda est!
Martin Simpson 