I'm taking a break from snowflakes, Trump, and the MSM news cycle. Right this moment all of it bores me big damn time. Instead, I'm liberating a few gems from my archives. Some of them should amuse you.
Since Barry is mere days from being out of our misery, I'll start with this one:
This Is War
All you need to know is that, in my OTHER life, the life outside the FSOP, a group of Austrians succeeded in really pissing me off. I tried to cut them some slack, but they insisted on pushing it, again, and again.
I'm willing to let bygones be bygones, more or less, over their homeboy Adolph. I'm trying to 'be a man' about the steaming load who left Austria and ended up in Mexifornia's governor's mansion. BUT, I draw the line, when THEIR badly planned bullshit interferes with my duties here in the FSOP. As bad as that was, it got worse when they threatened the most important day of the year at Hambo's homestead: Halloween.
Enough was enough, so I declared war on Austria. That's right, PIGsters, Hambo is OFFICIALLY at WAR with this pissant, Eurotrash infested, pimple on humanity's butt.
Willing to wallow in the muck and the mire, I tried to enlist help. Where? I started at the top, by placing a call to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
Red Shed: "White House switchboard, how may I assist you?"
Me: "This is Hambo. I need to yammer at Barry, so grab his Dumbo ears and drag his scrawny butt to the phone."
R.S.: "If you mean PRESIDENT Obama, I must demand an apology."
Me: "Don't give me that crap, I'm not one of Barry's leg-humping asshats like Chris Matthews. I need Barry and I need him now. Don't make me come over there."
R.S.: "If you don't change your tone, you'll be very sorry."
Me: "Don't hold your breath. I only need a minute of his time. How long can it take to declare war on Austria, then nuke them back to the stone age?"
R.S.: "Declare war on Austria? You must be insane. President Obama is much too busy for the likes of you."
Me: "Just put him on the phone, while he practices his putting in the Oval Office. I need Austria nuked, and I need it RIGHT NOW!"
R.S.: "You're INSANE! We are not going to declare war on Austria, period."
Me: "Would it help things along, if I told you that Austrians LOVE the Fox News Channel?"
R.S.: "It can't hurt, but I still can't connect you with President Obama. I might get you on Valerie's call back list."
Me: "I have no use for Jihad Jarrett, since she hasn't got her finger on the nuclear trigger."
R.S.: "She has the president's ear."
Me: "Barry's ear? Admittedly, that's quite a handful, but it's not much help. I don't want, or need, Barry's ear. I need his nuclear trigger finger so he can nail Austria for me. If he does this favor for me, I'll pretend to believe it when he blames the nuking of Austria on George Bush."
R.S.: "I will NOT connect you with President Obama, PERIOD. End. Of. Discussion!"
Me: I knew this was a waste of time. What's the point in making a Messiah president, if he's not up for a smiting, when a patriotic American of my caliber needs one pesky little favor? He's supposed to do his part to perpetuate our life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness. Trust me when I tell you that, if he lobs a couple nukes at those Austrian bastards, I'm a happy camper."
R.S.: "I'm going to report this call to our Secret Service detail."
Me: "Whatever floats your boat, darlin'. By the way, do you have Messiah Al Gore's home phone number? I hear the Austrians are dastardly greenhouse gas spewing eco-terrorists. Maybe he can muster the right messianic stuff to smite those Austrian bastards for me."
R.S.: "You are INSANE."
Me: "Agreed, but I'm not answering the phones for a Dumbo-eared narcissist."
R.S.: "[Profane pleasantries.] Click. Dialtone.
I want to nuke Austria out of my misery and I want it NOW. If you have the right stuff to help me get the job done, put in a good word with the nuclear-armed smiter on your Christmas list.
Messiah Barry's Top Ten
[The Narcissist-In-Chief seems to be feeling cranky, these days, so I decided to repost this to, uh, cheer him up. I wonder if Chris 'The Tingler' Matthews whispers these sweet nothings to his hunk of burning love, when he and Barry are getting horizontal and squishy. Memo to self: remind me to ask The Tingler about it.]
Messiah Barry sent his trailblazer, David Axelrod, up the holy elevator of the Richard J.Daley Center in search of eternal wisdom that would last through the ages. Once inside this hallowed land in the Heart of Chicago, David met with the most high, George Soros, the man in charge of putting words in Messiah Barry's mouth.
Together, they created The Ten Commandments of Messiah Barry. Eat your heart out, Moses.
1) Thou shalt not have any other Messiah's before me, beside me or after me. Thou has me, why shouldest thou need another?
2) Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth, but thou shouldest, instead, fill every wall, in every room with images of and altars to thy Messiah Barry. Don't makest me cometh over there.
3) Thou shalt not take the name of thy Messiah Barry in vain, lest he heareth thee with his big ears and send his unheavenly host to smite thee.
4) To rememberest Messiah Barry's ascension and keep it holy, thou must instantly removeth the Twenty-Second Amendment from thy Constitution.
5) Honor thy father and they mother, unless they be conservatives, in which case you must taketh them to the nearest Gulag and giveth all their worldly goods to thy Messiah Barry.
6) Thou shalt not kill thy Messiah's mindless mutterings with questions, lest you suffer the fate of Joe The Plumber.
7) Thou shalt not commit political adultery with that notorious slut Individual Liberty, lest thy Messiah Barry put his holy boot up thine ass.
8) Thou shalt not steal thy Messiah Barry's teleprompter, lest he be exposed for the blithering, clueless idiot he really is...Um, um, um, um.
9) Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor if he be an Obamunist. However if he dost espouse 'life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness', all bets are off and thou shalt lie like a rug.
10) Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbor's, including his elephant whose big ears are rendered petite when compared to mine own. Plundering thy local achiever is mine job, so backeth the hell off and let me doeth what a Marxist Messiah must doeth, and remembereth what I said about that damn elephant.
With Uncle Sam on a collision course with the Black Helicopter Club, this dusty devil is pertinent:
"Hierarchy of U.N. Disapproval".
Once again, this feckless international debating society is "applying pressure" on a nation. The current crisis, is, as if you needed a hint the on-going intransigence of a thug nation. Inspired by the 'bite me' Iran fires off at the U.N. when that body chides it about nukes, Kim Jong-Basementboy decided to give the organization a thrill, by firing off a long range missile. America's fearful leader, The Red Shed Marxist, huffed and puffed, but Basementboy laughed like a mental patient, when The One, invoked - GASP - Black Helicopter Club disapproval.
Why don't we review the Hierarchy of U.N. Disapproval, which was obtained through our top secret sources?
2) Frown and finger shaking
3) Stern memo
4) Stern memo and frown
5) Stern memo, frown and finger shaking
6) Secretary General threatens to hold his breath until he turns blue.
7) After the feckless fool passes out, the U.N. regroups by letting everyone vent at a General Assembly whine-a-thon.
8) Ignore the facts and/or change the subject, by serving up a Security Council resolution condemning Israel.
9) Thunder ominously about American imperialism when [if] Uncle Sam vetoes the resolution.
10) Hold a press conference announcing "We did everything we could."
11) Reset disapproval meter back to "Frown".
Are we all up to speed on U.N. Disapproval now, new world order Sparky?
Black Helicopter Club: United Nations
Red Shed: Formerly known as the White House
Red Shed Marxist: Messiah Barry Obama - AKA 'The One'
Kim Jong-basementboy: North Korean tyrant Kim Jong-Un
Mexifornia Legislature's Budget Process
1) Get stoned on weed.
2) Pull egregiously inflated revenue projections out of your stoner butts.
3) Pretend that your revenue assumptions are real, even the $5 billion you 'plan' to get from 'the most interesting man in the world' in a case of Dos Equis beer.
4) Spend twice as much as your imaginary revenue allows.
5) Act shocked, when objective reality nails you with an extra $10 billion in red ink.
6) Threaten to fire cops and shut down schools if 'the rich' don't leave $10 billion in small bills on the capitol steps, in Dos Equis beer cases.
7) Return to step 1 and do it all over again.
Here's another Barry funny one.
A friend - she's an unrepentant Libertard of the Obamunist ilk - called with some breaking news from her neighborhood.
Her: "It's been one hell of a day around here."
Me: "Anything wrong, aside from your Marxist Messiah's approval ratings?"
Her: "We're not going THERE, so knock it off."
Me: "If that's not it, what else is wrong?"
Her: "What's wrong? How does 8 fire trucks, half a dozen cars, plus chainsaws strike you?"
Me: "Were they plying their trade at your house?"
Her: "No. There was a major fire in the apartment house right across the street."
Me: "That big multi-story job?"
Her: "That's right. It was a mad house around here."
Me: "That's much too close for comfort."
Her: "Tell me about it. I posted a picture of the fire on my Facebook page."
Me: "My lovely bride is looking for it, right now."
Her: "I feel sorry for the poor people who lived there."
Me: "A glass half full dude like me would lift your spirits by noting that your Thanksgiving dinner guests won't have to park in another time zone, this year."
Her: "You're a sick bastard."
Me: "Thank you."
Her: "Do you look at the picture, yet?"
Me: "Very impressive. If you look closely you'll see a skinny Kenyan wearing a Bush 43 mask, trying to hang a 'Mission Accomplished' banner on the smoldering building."
Her: Click. Dial tone.
Why, I wonder, do so many of my phone calls end that way? Enquiring minds want to know. In this case, I'm sure that the day's unscheduled excitement was too much for her.
I hope you enjoyed this journey through some dark corners of my hard drive as much as I did..