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Yup, it’s the silly season up here in New Hampshire. Every yahoo who thinks that they have a shot at, or deserves the keys to the white house is taking up extra booths at our favorite diners or harassing us with hands out, ready for the shaking as we try to scurry into the mall and out of the dammed cold. Every one of them wants to be your friend; well, at least for the moment. So I wasn’t surprised to get an invite to a poker night themed “Betting on Bernie.” Poker night? Yeah, I’m in. I never need a reason to voluntarily give other people my money under the guise of a night of fun and relaxation.

Well, at least there are no white chips…

I arrived a little late and the only seat at the table was smack in the middle of the other four players. To the right of me were a young woman and a middle aged bearded man. They both smiled affably as I took my seat. On my immediate left was a gentleman who seemed rather nervous and never looked up from the table to acknowledge my presence. On the side of him was a young man with baseball hat askew on his mop of hair, busily rolling a joint while he held a lit one tightly between his teeth. He smiled and looked up at me, his eyes barely visible as slits, gleaming a violent red. He grinned and nodded then went back to his task, muttering something under his breath about stick and stems. Hey, that’s okay, to each his own. Personally, I was looking for a tumbler of vodka; unfortunately, to no avail.

The dealer looked at me and introduced himself as Wayne from “Black Lives Matter.” Not quite sure what bearing that had on the game, but I told him my name and said it was nice to meet him. He asked me if I was employed. I told him yes. He told me buy-in would be twenty dollars, and I parted with the last of the cash in my wallet. He pushed stacks of chips in front of me and turned to ask everyone the same question; everyone except the gentleman to my immediate left. All said they were unemployed and he pushed their chips in front of them without asking for any money. When he was done, he pushed another half of a buy-in in front of the woman.

“Can I ask why no one had to pay the buy-in but me?” I quizzed him. “Sure,” he said. “They’re all unemployed so they get a subsidy. From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs. Understand?” He looked rather annoyed and his eyes never met mine as he shuffled the deck. “Um, yes, but you gave this young lady another half a buy-in more than the rest of us? Why is that?” I prodded. “Listen,” he told me firmly, “she’s the only woman at the table. Her gender is under-represented, so we try to assure that a woman has an even shot at winning. It equalizes the table.” I thought about this for a moment and when I looked around, everyone was sending me daggers. Best I just keep my mouth shut and go with the flow.

He dealt the cards and I picked mine up to sort them in my hand. I had two starfish, one tuna, one squid and one crab. Huh? The cards were two-toned, only gray and green, no numbers anywhere on the face. I chuckled at the joke and when I looked around the table, I quickly realized I was the only one amused. “You’re serious? I mean we’re playing poker, right?” “Yes,” he replied curtly, as he turned to instruct the lone woman to place her bet. “Wait, wait, wait, wait..” I interjected, “how are we going to bet with no numbers, no face cards either?”

“Listen,” he told me,” “you’re struggling with your “bicycle-deck” privilege so I’ll explain this to you slowly. No card is any better than any other card; all cards are of equal value. We value all cards the same. Face cards are patriarchal and oppressive. What gives one card the right to be a king or a queen? Who gets to decide that? Certainly not the masses. We are striving for a truly color blind game; no one color should oppress any other, except that we don’t want any cards that are white. Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of the game quickly. Stop with the micro-aggression. This is a safe table.”

Okay, I can figure out “shut the hell up” when I hear it. I watched as the woman bet a hundred and tossed her chips into the middle of the table. The gentleman next to me called her bet and likewise, pushed his chips forward. I looked at my cards then at the face of the dealer, not quite sure what the heck to do, but hey, I was sitting on a pair of starfish. I raised her another hundred and pushed my chips into the pot. The quiet gentleman next to me just nodded at the dealer but never touched his chips, never folded his cards. The stoner at the end wasn’t paying attention, never looked at his cards, and when he tried to put his chips in the pot, he spilled half of them on the floor. The dealer had to count them for him, determining that he had miscounted anyway.

“Hey, wait a minute, this guy never called or folded,” I asked the dealer, pointing to the gent on my left. “That’s okay,” he told me. “He’s an undocumented player. Where he’s from, it’s against their beliefs to gamble.” “You gotta be kidding me,” I proclaimed, maybe a little too annoyed. “How the heck is he going to play poker and not gamble? I mean, if he wants to sit at the poker table, shouldn’t he be willing to play by the rules of the table?” “He is playing by the rules,” the dealer informed me. “Just not the rules of some dead white guy. What makes your values any more important than his? We respect his beliefs. All cultures and their values are equal. Anyone can sit at the table, regardless of the rules. It makes for a more diverse game.”

By now, it was clear that I was the skunk at the party. Even though I was the only paying skunk. However, It was determined that I had in fact, won the hand. I’m not sure why. The woman had a pair of sharks and I would have assumed that sharks beat starfish. But it was determined that sharks were too predatory and therefore, my starfish pair was a much more uplifting hand. The dealer counted the pot and gave me ten percent of it; the remaining ninety percent he distributed among the other four players.

That’s how the night progressed. Every pot was equally divided among the other four players after I was given 10 percent. At one point, I had a pair of dolphins which, I had learned in previous hands, was the one card that seemed to beat everything. I was wrong however. The stoner was holding what appeared to be a hand-drawn picture of a polar bear and everyone agreed that the card was so rare as to be endangered; he was awarded the pot. I protested, claiming that we couldn’t just alter the constitution of the deck. I was strongly reminded by the young woman that the constitution of the deck was living and breathing; any animal could be found in the deck, even if it actually wasn’t in the deck. It was very relative and situational. At about this point, I realized I really missed that vodka.

The game was called around eleven thirty. I looked around the table and realized I was the short stack. The undocumented gentleman to my left had the bulk of the chips. He never bet, never put any chips into any pot, never risked a stake and his pile was at least three times the size of mine. I had to assume he was the winner. “Wrong,” said the dealer. “We don’t pick winners and losers here; everyone wins.” He proceeded to hand everyone else a twenty dollar bill, what they would have committed to buy-in if they had in fact paid in the first place. He gave me two dollars back. He told me I was taxed at the ninety per cent rate. He handed us all a participation gift before we left; mine was a “feel the Bern” bumper sticker which I promptly affixed to the rear of one of the four Priuses in the parking lot on the way out.

They were gracious enough to ask me if I’d like to join them in the spring for some golf; “Driving for Bernie” would be the theme. I had to refuse. I imagined a fantasy-land putt-putt course somewhere with cups the diameter of basketballs, left hand only clubs and I was sure I’d have to part with ninety per cent of my balls.


I think it’s time we updated our favorite fairy tales to more closely match what our children are learning in the real world every day. Hey, we live in a truly magical time where we can stay kids forever, no worries about growing up, no need to work, everything is free and equal. How great is that? Let’s take a look and see how our favorite stories have evolved over time, you know, much the way our elected officials do. So do like pajama-boy; grab a blanky, put on your pj’s and let someone else do the reading for you. It’s story time at the liberal daycare…

Hi Red. I'm from the government and I'm here to help..

Hi Red. I’m from the government and I’m here to help..

Let’s start with Goldilocks and the three bears. Goldilocks broke into the home of the three bears and became a squatter, supported by the “Occupy the Enchanted Forest” movement, protesting against the 1% of magical creatures who own 99% of the magical dwellings. A local judge, who determined that property rights weren’t all that magical, allowed her to stay until the eviction process ran its course. Three years later, Goldilocks left the three bears with over $150,000 dollars in damages and $500,000 in legal fees. They declared bankruptcy and were unable to maintain their home. They were forced to move out of their house after local authorities condemned it.

There was an old lady who lived in a shoe; she had so many children, she didn’t know what to do. Many suggested she might try to curb her promiscuity, but they were “outed” as being soldiers in the “War on ladies who live in shoes.” So she went down to the local welfare office and got an EBT card, SSI for her children, fuel assistance, food stamps and put her children on “Fairy-Tale Care Act” insurance until they were twenty-six. Once a month she brings all of her daughters to Planned Parenthood for their magical monthly women’s health procedures.

Geogie Porgie pudding and pie, kissed the girls and made them cry. That was until his elementary school principal expelled him and had him arrested for sexual harassment. He was transferred to a juvenile center for re-education in gender sensitivity and womyn’s studies. Years later, he married his long-time partner “Little” Jack Horner who finally came out of the corner. Their wedding was officiated by the Fairy Godmother. A wonderful cake was provided by “Baker-man, Baker-man” who, after initially refusing to bake a cake for what he called a “make-believe wedding,” was sued by the state, lost in court and was ordered to bake the cake under penalty of death. He was audited years later and was arrested for tax evasion. He is currently serving fifteen years.

Jack and the beanstalk is a story about a young man who decided to risk his money in a start-up bean farm venture. Unfortunately for Jack, one-hundred and fifty thousand “unaccompanied Giant minors” came down the beanstalk and took over the land. The unaccompanied giants consumed all the food and social services and soon, everyone was poor. Poor, but equal. With the exception of the evil “Goose that laid the golden eggs;” he was the only one working, supplying capital and creating jobs and they hated him dearly. He was also a member of the dreaded “tea and crumpets” party, which made him even quite ickier. He was soon dispatched for Foie Gras and eventually, no one was able to pay for food and services to the poor. Which was pretty much everyone.

Maybe we should read the old favorite, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. You see, the dwarfs would go into the forest to work for days at a time, but failed to protect the borders of their little dwelling. Now the story has been updated to “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, twenty Mexicans, thirteen Guatemalans, ten Nicaraguans and five Hondurans.” Snow White died from tuberculosis.

Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey. Fairy-Tale government officials however, changed the school lunch policy, so now she only gets nutritious veggie-burgers and wilted asparagus, except on Fridays when she gets a slice of gluten-free pizza topped with low-fat skim mozzarella. Poor little Muffet usually throws half of her meal away and goes hungry. One day, her mother sent her to school with a brown bag filled with wonderful curds and whey, but it was confiscated by the nutrition czar and she was sent home with a strongly worded written reprimand for her mother. Child protective services were called to monitor Mrs. Muffet’s child-rearing skills.

Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack was arrested for tampering with a public water supply and the EPA fined Jill for destruction of the habitat of an endangered magical species, the “well-dwelling snail darter,” even though the well was on their property. Both went to jail for five years and subsequently were unable to find work with a criminal background. Jack is now living in public housing on that most magical of money; fairy-tale assistance. Jack is on disability and is also addicted to crystal meth. Jill currently lives under a bridge with a troll who is her pimp.

Well boys and girls, that’s it for story time; time for you to finish your soy milk and celery sticks before the afternoon nap. And remember, you’re special, but not much so. You’re unique, but no different than anyone else. You can get whatever you want in life, as long as there is someone  to take it from and someone else to make them give it to you. Because, you deserve it. You can do anything you want in life, except think for yourself and speak certain words. Remember, Mommy and Daddy love you, just not as much as the state loves you and we’ll always be here to provide you with legal services if they ever decide to spank you. In fact, it’d be much easier if you just stayed here in Fairy-Tale land where you’ll never have to work, you can get anything you want and never have to grow up to be responsible for yourselves. Now isn’t that magical?

Sleep tight kiddies….

I recently posted a blog in response to a piece in Rolling Stone Magazine by Jesse Myerson who feels that now is the time for his cohort of millennials to fully embrace and agitate for full-scale socialism.  I saw modest traffic on the post, few replies on the blog. I did however get several responses directly via email.  In each one of them, I was informed of how my opinion displays my hatred for this class or that group.  One went as far as to say that I hated blacks because I just couldn’t stand the thought of “little black children being educated”.

New definition: debate tactic used when one runs out of substantive arguments.

New definition: debate tactic used when one runs out of substantive arguments.

Huh? I re-read the piece several times and wondered what blog this friggin’ asshat might have been reading.  I never mentioned race, let alone little black children.  Ahh, such is the risk of showing any type of conservative tendencies.  The left never misses an opportunity to show us how and whom we hate, even if the target of our supposed vitriol is never mentioned, explicitly, implicitly or otherwise.  Rule 13 applies here: “Pick the target, freeze it, personalize it, and polarize it.”  I deleted the email without response.  I don’t feed trolls.  I refuse to be intimidated by stupidity and projection masquerading as honest debate.  In fact, I often see little intellectual honesty in a lot of the debate from the left. A lot of emotion, a lot of passion, a lot of vitriol, but very little honesty.  The sad part is, most of them don’t even know it.  Like Pavlov’s well-trained shepherds, they have been conditioned to regurgitate activist talking points at the mere mention or even slight whiff of anything that disrupts their narrative of victimization and inequality.  Facts be dammed.  One must be outraged to speak truth to power.  Or something to that effect.

I noticed this during a back and forth exchange with a long time friend who views abortion through a different lens than I.  Of course, it meandered down the path of me wanting to control a woman’s body to ultimately me hating women, which would be slightly amusing if the three most important people on the planet weren’t the three women in my life.  I had to break the news to my daughters; daddy hates you; I know this because a liberal told me so.  Repeatedly.  With great passion and persuasiveness.  And with a few veiled threats.

I may have inadvertently pissed my friend off by employing her own rule #4: “Make the enemy live up to its own book of rules.”  She got heated enough to tell me that if I didn’t want an abortion then I shouldn’t have one.  Ouch.  Rapier wit, I was bleeding profusely.  I had to acquiesce.  I agreed.  I wouldn’t have one.  I wouldn’t buy one.  I refuse to be forced to pay for one.  See rule #4.  At which point she instructed me that I could either pay for abortions or pay for the unwanted children of women who couldn’t afford them.  Otherwise I hate women and I’m trying to restrict their reproductive choices.  Neat trick that.  If I don’t want one, I still have to pay for them.  Try that argument with someone who is anti-gun sometime.  Don’t want one?  Don’t buy one.  Of course when I employed that line, I got the response that guns kill innocent people everyday.  Yup, said with a straight face.  Almost 55 million children have been aborted since Roe was passed and not one of them was an innocent victim.

Of course, I tread at my own risk here; Abortion is the ultimate sacrament in the religion of liberalism.  One wonders if the numbers will ever mean anything to the left.  Or the victim groups they woo to keep them in power.  Margaret Sanger should have been wearing a white hood given the recent success of her eugenics program, supported whole-heartedly by the likes of Jesse and Al.  Recent numbers show that more black children are being aborted than birthed in New York City.  Of course pointing that out means I hate black women especially.  Unless I can find a way to blame Bush.

My stance against the president’s profligate spending means I hate black people.  Of course I hated him all along because he was black.  Or so I’ve been told.  Can’t be that I found his socialist leanings a bit disturbing.   Actually, I only hate one half of him because he’s half white.  Yup, I’m fine with his other half.  Although both halves are driving this country into the ground, morally and financially.  But hey, at least I got half a pass anyway.

Interesting that liberals are always so ready to tell me who I hate at the same time they call me a Neanderthal, a knuckle-dragger, a bitter-clinger and a tea-bagger.  That last one I had to Google and it seems to me that there’s probably a liberal demographic that more closely identifies with that phrase than I.   Does that mean liberals hate them?  No sure.  I don’t know who hates whom; I don’t have the ability to see into everyone’s soul the way a liberal does.

Oh by the way, John Kerry doesn’t have the time to have a meeting with folks like me who don’t believe the “science is settled” on global warming.   I’m a flat-earther you see, and he doesn’t have the time or the inclination to debate the over abundance of global warming piled up on my roof or frozen in great heaps in my driveway.  John doesn’t hate me though.

If I didn’t hate the brown folks coming across the border so much, I wouldn’t want current immigration laws enforced the way I do.  If I didn’t have so much hate in my heart, I could understand how someone breaking the first US law they encounter coming to this country couldn’t possibly be called a criminal.  I could be a Supreme Court justice if I could just get over my penchant for supporting and enforcing immigration laws, or for calling someone who breaks the law a criminal.  Merriam-Webster and I have too much hate in our hearts; how else does one explain their definition of a criminal as someone who breaks a law?  Those heartless bastards….

I have always remarked on how the welfare state is destroying generations of families, leaving many far more hopeless than before.  Thank goodness I have liberal friends who taught me that welfare reform is a buzzword for racism.  The lesson was hard though; I just couldn’t shake those nagging questions and contradictions.  If it’s true, as my liberal friends tell me, that reducing welfare impacts people of color more severely, than I must conclude that more black people are on welfare.  Asking for clarity on that point earned me another rap across my racist knuckles.  If there are not more blacks on welfare, why does welfare reform impact blacks far greater than whites?  Ouch, again on the knuckles.  If I didn’t hate black people so much, I’d get it.

It appears that I’ll never get it.  I’m doomed by the disease of conservatism that ravages my mind, causing me hallucinations where people are free and responsible for their own choices, to rise or fall by their own merits and get to keep what they earn with their sweat and labor.  Maybe one day I can be saved; I can learn the liberal definitions and values.  Maybe like a liberal, I can define compromise based on what I can force you to give up without anything in return; I can define tolerance by how much you’re willing to accept my position while I insist you discard your own principles.

And maybe one day, I’ll be able to look at other humans in this country and using my liberal Jedi-mind tricks, without knowing anything about them, tell them just whom they hate.

The candidate looked squarely into the camera through the almost invisible glass of his trusty teleprompter.  He was firm and measured, “cool” some said.  “The American people deserve better,” he said, pausing for effect.  “In the greatest country on the planet, at this time in history, to have such a disparity between the “haves” and “have-nots” is unacceptable, bordering on criminal.  The one-percenters have theirs and are only concerned with getting more.  How many cars are enough?  The other party, they’re all for the rich having as many cars as they want, with any options, three-car garages full of greed.  While they’re whizzing around in their Beemers and Hummers, they want granny driving over the cliff in an old 70’s Dodge Dart with no brakes; they can’t wait for you to die in a traffic accident.  People have a constitutional right to affordable, reliable transportation.  Our “Affordable Car Act” will finally bring mobility and freedom to millions of Americans who have been shut out of the car market by greedy car manufacturers and dealers, profiting on the pain and suffering of those who simply want to get to the welfare office to pick up their EBT cards and government cell-phones. It’s for the children.”

A government option...

A government option…

The campaign was long and grueling. The Affordable Car Act, nicknamed “Obamacar” was the centerpiece of his campaign to fundamentally change the parking lots of America.  “Yes we can drive” was the rallying cry of the campaign at universities and driver’s education schools around the country. “Hope and change lanes” posters popped up all over the country and the candidate was propelled to victory.  He swore to follow through on his promise to bring “affordable travel to the millions lacking in basic transportation” by the end of his first term.  Secretly, he supported a “single dealer” system but he knew deep in his heart, that it would be decades before American drivers would accept that.

The fight over the law was as long and grueling as his election.  The majority of Americans didn’t want their auto-plan decided by some bureaucrat in Washington. It passed in the middle of the night with only the Democrats voting for it.  Soon, the law was challenged in court, with many opponents convinced that it was unconstitutional to force Americans to buy a vehicle that they don’t want or have points taken off their licenses if they didn’t.  Were the points considered a  “moving” or “non-moving” violation? The administration claimed it was a non-moving violation until they stood before the Supreme Court and admitted that it was in fact a moving violation after all.  For some reason the Court held it constitutional to require Americans to buy a car against their will or be hit with punitive points against their driver’s licenses and the administration celebrated, ready to start the roll-out of the program scheduled just a few short months away.

To allay the fears of the majority of American drivers, the new President reiterated again and again that the law was for the benefit of all. “Let me be clear.  No one is going to lose their car. No one is going to lose their car dealer.  You like your car, you keep your car.  You like your dealer, you keep your dealer.  Period.  The government isn’t going to take away anyone’s car.”

The implementation of the law was a fiasco.  The website was scheduled to launch on Presidents day, to take advantage of all the savings on previous year models, making room for next year’s.  The website, was repeatedly unavailable for shoppers to get quotes.  Many people were shocked to find that cars offered through “Obamacar” were actually costing as much as 5 times more than their previous car payment and the car choices were limited.  Apparently, models and makes of existing cars were no longer available for sale and existing models owned by Americans, cars they liked and could afford were no longer allowed to be registered.  Many people were frustrated and quite upset, accusing the administration of “false advertising” and “bait and switch, used-car-salesman-like” tactics.  The Administration denied the claim of false advertising, saying that their fine print clarified it, that they should have been more precise. They added the caveat to their long held claim, changing their position to “most Americans would be able to keep their cars, if those cars met the minimum requirements and options required by “Obamacar”.”  Further angering the voters were the waivers given to lawmakers and union officials who had their down payments paid for by taxpayer subsidies, enabling them to keep their late model Lexus’.

In fact, many of the bills’ supporters and lawmakers never read the bill.  Specifically, the options required to meet “Obamacar” standards which were quite high, causing many existing cars to be illegal.  The administration blamed this difference on “Shady Dealers” or “Bad Apples” who dared to offer prices that reflected the options that car buyers wanted and could afford instead of the car the government decided all Americans should be driving.  People started losing their cars all over the country and their options in the “Obamacar” program soon became apparent.

The “Bronze” plan was the basic “Obamacar.”  At a monthly car payment of $750 with a $15,000 down payment, it had the following minimum options:

  • All cars were to be electric only
  • All cars were to be “Eco-friendly” green; no other paint options were available
  • All cars were required to have a minimum of 4 child seats installed, whether the buyer had children or not
  • The car was actually a minivan that sat 6 people
  • A minimum of 20 airbags including one in the glove compartment
  • A limited lifetime warranty provided by “Planned Driver-hood” shops, subsidized by the Department of Transportation
  • All cars had a top speed of 30 miles per hour
  • A built in GPS locator so the newly created Department of Towing and Recovery could locate you if you needed assistance.  At any time.  Anywhere.
  • 8 “cranial safety” devices formerly known as helmets
  • All cars were delivered with standard transmissions, although there was an option for the “Transmission Reassignment” repair for those who self-identify as “automatic” and wished to have their stick-shift removed

For an additional $15,000 the buyer could get the “Silver” plan:

  • Adds a radio, which only gets NPR
  • Heater set to go no higher than 68 degrees
  • One Eco-friendly spare tire made entirely from Hemp
  • Hands–free motor-voter connectivity to the DNC and Acorn

If the buyer wished, they could spend an additional $25,000 for the “Gold” plan, which was originally called the “Cadillac” plan but was changed due to confusion surrounding the fact that Cadillac’s would no longer be manufactured in the United States:

  • Heated seats, set to go no higher than 68 degrees
  • Air conditioning, set to go no lower than 68 degrees
  • Power windows and locks, but only on the left side of the car
  • Faux leather seats, as leather was recently outlawed due to animal rights legislation
  • Rose-tinted windshield

Many car buyers found they could no longer afford cars under “Obamacar.”  They were forced into the alternate transportation program known as “Medi-Car”, comprised entirely of re-furbished 1960’s era Trabants.  Others opted out of the program entirely, choosing to have points placed on their license.  Soon, the wait for a new car was over 14 months long and required you to find a dealer in your network.  Public transportation was overwhelmed and the black-market for open bus seats flourished.  Those with money took vacations to the Caribbean where they would rent high performance cars to drive for a week to get their driving-fix.  Within three years, the Automobile industry crashed.  Many dealers went bankrupt while others simply decided to retire. Manufacturing moved to China.

Two years later, the Democrats controlled the house, the senate and the White House.  The first female President, sensing the difficulties and hardships faced by the traveling public introduced “Single Dealer” legislation.  It passed on a straight party line, with MSNBC declaring that the country finally achieved total equality and fairness in transportation by defeating the racists, terrorist, tyrants, bomb-throwing, hate-filled Nazi extortionists of the “Model-T” party.  All cars would now be manufactured by Government Motors and buyers could get their new cars directly from their local federal welfare office, DMV division.

Every driveway had a shiny, new one-seat Alinsky-mobile.  No one drove them.  They had nowhere to go.  They had no money to go there anyway. There were no jobs and government benefits were very limited, due to the fact that “Obamacar” and “Medi-Car” subsidies were accounting for 88 percent of  GDP.

But everyone has the same car, the same outcomes, they drive the same distance. They’re all equally miserable on the road to nowhere.  Just the way they wanted it.

Worth the paper they're written on...

Worth the paper they’re written on…


“I am sick and tired of people who say that if you debate and you disagree with this administration somehow you’re not patriotic. We should stand up and say, we are Americans and we have a right to debate and disagree with any administration.”

Hillary Clinton

(Now you can be patriotic and racist at the same time!)


“Under my plan, no one who makes less than $200,000, you will not see an increase in your taxes”

Barack Obama

(Okay, so maybe it’s a fine instead?)


“Let me be exactly clear about what health care reform means to you. First of all, if you’ve got health insurance, you like your doctors, you like your plan, you can keep your doctor, you can keep your plan.  Nobody is talking about taking that away from you.”

Barack Obama

(Hey, I said you can keep them, never said you could afford them, or that they’d be legal.)


“The problem is, is that the way Bush has done it over the last eight years is to take out a credit card from the Bank of China in the name of our children, driving up our national debt from $5 trillion for the first 42 presidents — #43 added $4 trillion by his lonesome, so that we now have over $9 trillion of debt that we are going to have to pay back — $30,000 for every man, woman and child. That’s irresponsible. It’s unpatriotic.”

Barack Obama

(Striving to be twice as un-patriotic!)


“The fact that we are here today to debate raising America’s debt limit is a sign of leadership failure. It is a sign that the U.S. government can’t pay its own bills. … I therefore intend to oppose the effort to increase America’s debt limit.”

Barack Obama

(I was just joking…)


“When it comes to deficits, this president owns all the records. The three largest deficits in our nation’s history have all occurred under this administration’s watch.”

Harry Reid

(Spoken one administration too soon)


“My body, my choice.”  Pro-Choice slogan

(Now it’s also the IRS’s choice, and possibly the NSA’s and some guy at the DMV…)


“It depends on what the meaning of the word ‘is’ is.”

Bill Clinton

(Perjury is so complicated…)


“I love these members, they get up and say, ‘Read the bill. What good is reading the bill if it’s a thousand pages and you don’t have two days and two lawyers to find out what it means after you read the bill.”

John Conyers

(Someone who’s only responsibilities should be asking “do you want to super-size that meal?”)


“So it is with conviction that I support this resolution as being in the best interests of our nation. A vote for it is not a vote to rush to war; it is a vote that puts awesome responsibility in the hands of our President and we say to him – use these powers wisely and as a last resort. And it is a vote that says clearly to Saddam Hussein – this is your last chance – disarm or be disarmed.”

Hillary Clinton

(What difference at this point does it make?)


“What difference at this point does it make?”

Hillary Clinton

(You’re a liberal, dear.  It’ll never make a difference..)


“I felt this thrill going up my leg. I mean, I don’t have that too often. No, seriously. It’s a dramatic event.”

Chris Matthews

(Hey, it’s covered under Obamacare.  $10,000 a year premium and $5,000 deductible…)


“I actually did vote for the $87 billion before I voted against it.”

John Kerry

(yeah, lacking principles will do that…)


“I think that they played the race card on me. And we now know, from memos from the campaign and everything that they planned to do it all along,”

Bill Clinton

(Geez Bill, it’s right in the play-book, see page 11, chapter 7, paragraph six..)


“But if they make a mistake, I don’t want them punished with a baby.”

Barack Obama

(I’d rather have them punished with crushing debt…) 


“My fear is that the whole island will become so overly populated that it will tip over and capsize.”

Rep. Hank Johnson

(An analogy for Obamacare and the U.S. economy?…)


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