OVER THE BORDERLINE
A borderline schizophrenic chattering away at the podium about borderline safety rules. “Safety rules!” he cries out, and clicks the safety off his concealed weapon. What a let down for the faithful waving flags in the orchestra pit.
You can’t talk about a schizophrenic in the singular. He could have been his own vice president as well as a corporate CEO and Captain of the Color Guard if he’d just not pulled the trigger. Now he’s facing pre-election impeachment as the body count rises and the NRA rushes in lawyers for damage control.
In comes an army of speech writers armed with pots of black coffee to rewrite the image.
Something in the mail today from the Democratic Party. Two pages of multiple-choice options and one page for credit-card information. Then three lines to say what I think about the situation in fifty words or less, followed by a reminder not to forget the credit card information.
They’re not fighting the Republican Party, they’re fighting the Military-Industrial-Congressional Complex that Eisenhower helped set up and then warned against as he left office. Someone talked him into scratching “Congressional” from that clarion-horn warning. A good magician never shows his whole hand.
They’re not even fighting that, they’re just bickering amongst themselves and with Republicans over who gets to drive the low-rider when they cruise America’s main drag on Friday night, anticipating date rape.
And there she is, waiting at the curb in an airy spring dress, manicured and perfumed and drugged, the statue of liberty. Get in the back honey, don’t let the general’s big gun scare you. Fasten your seat belt.
What the lady needs is a stun gun and some mace to put these clowns in their place.
Open the floodgates and bring in the immigrants.