Pinko Muthafuckas
Pinko Muthafuckas
And the hits just keep on coming! NBC tries one more Trumpian hit-job. They get hit instead, about alleged wiretaps on Trump’s personal consigliere, Michael Cohen. Now, clearly, Trump was previously, illegally, wiretapped, just not this time. This time the lie was supposed to hint at dark deeds by Michael Cohen—and, hopefully, Trump as well. Yes, hope springs eternal for the Democrats, not unlike a group of pedophiles lurking around a kindergarten class.
"My God! These people are either purely ruthless or ruthlessly stupid!
Here’s the thing, if not for the alternative media, no truth would ever see the light of day. I mean, being Republican is like being a jazz musician, in terms of difficulty. Who wants to hear that old complex music, when you’ve got new music, like rap (I use the term “Music” loosely, in such cases.) You know what I’m talking about, where a guy “Talks” over a record made by somebody else, like The Police or Led Zeppelin, and then throws down some rhymes about bitches and ho’s on top of “When The Levee Breaks.”
"Is there any doubt, the end is nigh."
Meanwhile, we Republicans riff like Charlie Parker, improvising shit that no mere mortal—certainly not a liberal—could or would play. That’s the problem. Democrats are a bunch of White-ass, no rhythm, no groove, pinko muthafuckas. Sure, they gotta couple’a Broadway, Rockstar, Rap, TV, Movie assholes on their side. But, when the rubber meets the road, normal folk, salt of the earth types—Black, White, Red, Yellow members of the human family, Americans all, join together. That’s how we win, and they lose.
That’s the problem of being Republican, we’re just ahead of the curve. Too much info. Swinging too hard. Playing at the edges of time and space. Rewriting the book, while still understanding the importance of those old-school rules.
"Because the Constitution ain’t nobody’s bitch."
All I can say is; “May God have mercy on their souls.” Because we sure as hell aren’t going to. Now, repeat after me:
“Burn their bridges and their crops. Until you hear the lamentations of their women. Leave them desolate. That repentance may visit them. In the darkness of their slumber. Where the rubber meets the road. A never-ending, winding sumbitch-of-a road, for sure.”
That's us my friends.
That's being Republican.
That’s America.
Bust'a Crab
And the hits just keep on coming! NBC tries one more Trumpian hit-job. They get hit instead, about alleged wiretaps on Trump’s personal consigliere, Michael Cohen. Now, clearly, Trump was previously, illegally, wiretapped, just not this time. This time the lie was supposed to hint at dark deeds by Michael Cohen—and, hopefully, Trump as well. Yes, hope springs eternal for the Democrats, not unlike a group of pedophiles lurking around a kindergarten class.
"My God! These people are either purely ruthless or ruthlessly stupid!
Here’s the thing, if not for the alternative media, no truth would ever see the light of day. I mean, being Republican is like being a jazz musician, in terms of difficulty. Who wants to hear that old complex music, when you’ve got new music, like rap (I use the term “Music” loosely, in such cases.) You know what I’m talking about, where a guy “Talks” over a record made by somebody else, like The Police or Led Zeppelin, and then throws down some rhymes about bitches and ho’s on top of “When The Levee Breaks.”
"Is there any doubt, the end is nigh."
Meanwhile, we Republicans riff like Charlie Parker, improvising shit that no mere mortal—certainly not a liberal—could or would play. That’s the problem. Democrats are a bunch of White-ass, no rhythm, no groove, pinko muthafuckas. Sure, they gotta couple’a Broadway, Rockstar, Rap, TV, Movie assholes on their side. But, when the rubber meets the road, normal folk, salt of the earth types—Black, White, Red, Yellow members of the human family, Americans all, join together. That’s how we win, and they lose.
That’s the problem of being Republican, we’re just ahead of the curve. Too much info. Swinging too hard. Playing at the edges of time and space. Rewriting the book, while still understanding the importance of those old-school rules.
"Because the Constitution ain’t nobody’s bitch."
All I can say is; “May God have mercy on their souls.” Because we sure as hell aren’t going to. Now, repeat after me:
“Burn their bridges and their crops. Until you hear the lamentations of their women. Leave them desolate. That repentance may visit them. In the darkness of their slumber. Where the rubber meets the road. A never-ending, winding sumbitch-of-a road, for sure.”
That's us my friends.
That's being Republican.
That’s America.
Bust'a Crab