What’s the Rush?

April 24th, 2008

Excuse me, but what’s the rush to pick either The Obama or The Hill as the Democrat’s presidential candidate? Why is that so important? So what if Nutty John is the GOP pick? What in hell is the difference whether the nominee is picked before June when we used to have to wait until the convention was over in late August to buy those silly, flag waving bumper stickers? I haven’t seen any McCain bumper stickers, at least not in this state. I’ll have to ask friends in voting bloc rich states like California or Pennsylvania if they’ve seen any McCain schwag.

John McCain wanders around like old men in bathrobes do when they’re out on their front sidewalks in the summer looking for the morning paper. I have the feeling he has no idea where he is or what he’s doing and that his wife Cindy is a half-human cyborg clone who takes off her face at night revealing a mass of wires, red bulbs, and blown fuses.

Put McCain at the debate podium without his tribe of straight truth express stormtroopers and you’ll see a 70 year old ,has-been, political lizard stagger around a Universe of Answers to questions a simpleton could answer in seconds.


I can’t wait for the Republican hate machine to light up the tires on the campaign trail. I don’t blame them. How else do you sell your candidate to a nation forced to its knees in debt by good King George the W?


Children of today’s adult voters have every right to torture their parents to death when they come of age. The debt they’ve saddled the young uns’ with , who, I might add will be completely incapable of paying any of it off, would line up a pile of stacks back to back from here to the next star system.


And what nitwit would want to be President now after a drunken, toot blowing doofus has racked the U.S.S. Ship of State on the rocks with a full-fledged foreign war for a twist?


Don’t be in such a rush to be President . We’ve lost cabin pressure and the masks are dangling above our noses. We’re all on instruments and the fog is thickening. No one’s at the helm and the crew is worried. Now’s not the time to tell us you’ve got a plan when you’re the only one on board with a parachute.


A golden parachute. The kind of life savings float the rest of us don’t have.

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