Political Humor

A few days ago I drove through the bustling megalopolis of Beaver Marsh, Oregon -it took all of four seconds, but it was a scary four seconds. It may have been the blood red mobile home with the dark blue trim, or it may have been the wide spot in the road’s name. Whatever it was, suddenly I had an epiphany, and this triggered an emotional response that I don’t know very well… fear.

What had me so freaked-out was that I realized I agreed with Rahm Emanuel. I had to concede he was correct when he spoke to a group of Far Left libs some months ago. They are fucking retards. What’s worse, I defend his right to use that term.

Terrified at this revelation, I took both hands off the steering wheel and quickly reached between my legs. A firm, two handed grasp sent a reassuring bolt of pain to my brain.

Satisfied I hadn’t been neutered -and would soon want to start chanting “Yes we can” between sips of lesbian coffee at a Starbucks, where I was Tweeting- I re-took control of my four wheel drive truck, stomped on the gas and cranked up Rush. As in Limbaugh, not the band, but the band would have been a good choice too.

Emanuel got himself in hot water for not being political correct. Rahm isn’t known for being very PC, or worrying about the sensitives of others. He’s just that kind of guy. While I don’t agree with that point of view (he says without snickering), I do believe most people are overly-sensitive. They sneak around certain words like a wet-back crossing the border. Here’s my solution: Come down from your crosses, use them to build bridges, and get the fuck over it!

A chink with a Samurai sword, a flee-ridden camel jockey and two nappy-headed hos walk into a bar…

All this politically correct bullshit has got to go. First off, why did we even allow ourselves to be drawn into something labeled politically correct? The first word in the phrase should clue you in. Politically? Oh please. Give my lily white, Aryan ass a brake. Even a bleach blonde bimbo from the San Fernando Valley, carrying a Chihuahua in her purse, knows politics are like totally corrupt. Then there’s correct. In whose opinion? What four-eyed, Pollock numb-nuts thought up that winner?

I say, toss that moronic jargon and let’s rediscover the joy of a funny greasy spaghetti bender or a fat, ghetto, welfare mom joke. A chink with a Samurai sword, a flee-ridden camel jockey and two nappy-headed hos walk into a bar… Seriously, don’t you miss the good old days, before people got their itty-bitty feelings hurt or their panties in a wad, and then start whining like a bunch of little girls? They all need to be publicly bitch slapped.

Even Gov Palin -who has nice tits- has forgotten this. Sarah needs to grow thick elephant hide, and not the RINO, McCain backing skin she seems to be trying on for size, like a red “Rogue Warrior Jacket“.

And speaking of nappy-headed hos (No, not Palin, dumb ass. Take your finger out of your nose and get back on the short bus, you retard.), when it comes to Presidents, I don’t really care what a person’s race, color, creed, or any of that other stupid crap is. Or even if they end their sentences in prepositions.

As long as the candidate shares my conservative convictions, I don’t give a flying shit if they’re an eye-patch wearing, midget, Buddhist woman, in a wheelchair with a parrot on her shoulder, who farts in public -both her and the parrot.

Pick whom ever you want, I’ll vote for them.  Just as long as they’re not a fag or a hippie, ’cause then I’m going to want to beat ‘em like an anorexic, red-headed stepchild.

Coming soon! New material from Les James at both Sideshow Mirrors and Mild Max

J.A.R. -Just Another Rant

I’m angry. No, it’s more than that, I royally pissed. Sometimes, I scream at the radio. Other times, I yell at the TV. Occasionally, I’ll write nasty replies to comments from vacuous followers of the Chosen One, who chant “Yes, we can. Yes, we can”, in rhythm to the nodding of their dashboard Obobble Heads.

I feel a little better after that, but it doesn’t last. The problem with writing Cutting Edge Humor (or at least edgy) is that you kind of need to know what’s going on -unless your Fiar. He’s the only person I’ve met who can write this stuff, and be blissfully ignorant of the daily comings and goings of the political world. It’s like he does it by osmosis.

Hang on, I’ve got a better analogy. Fiar’s the frikkin’ Sponge Bob of Blogging. He just soaks it in without ever being aware of the content, then he wrings himself out over a keyboard. And it turns out funny. Damn, he ticks me off too.

Since I am not a porous, chunk of cellulose, I have to do it the old fashion way, I listen, watch and read. I also, yell, scream and write mean things. Can you blame me?

I can poke fun and satirize a lot of topics. But there are certain ones I never joke about. For example, politician’s kids are off limits until they reach 18 and start saying stupid crap, then the gloves come off. Spouses of the same, who keep their mouths shut about political issues, are likewise left alone. My Brothers and Sisters in Arms are verboten. Even though I’m retired, I’ll never stop never stop admiring those who serve, or have served.

Terrorist, on the flip side, are fine targets of opportunity. I’ll take potshots at them anytime I can think up something. These Radical -No T.P. Using, Left Hand Ass Wiping, Cowardly, Goat Smelling, Women Beating, Buy their head gear at Bed, Bath and Beyond, Camel Fornicating, Dress Wearing- Muslim Bastards (may they fry eternally in Hell,) deserve to be lined up next to cliff and herded off like so many lemmings. I see no sense wasting courts on this bunch.

Yeah, I’m saying these foreigners smell bad, dress funny and I want them to die. What of it? They also deserve whatever verbal and/or written barbs that are aimed their direction before that time, but I mean this all in the nicest possible, politically correct, culturally sensitive way.

Now we add Obama into the mix with these Flaming Fagots*, and I’m ready to burst a blood vessel in my head. Civilian Trials for them in New York? Give me break. Obama gets his tax cheat friends off, and now he’s setting up a scenario to get Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, a.k.a. KSM, and his merry band of blow-up buddies off. Hey, if you’re going to split an infinitive, do it right.

*FYI -a fagot is a small bundle of sticks used to start a larger fire. Tell me if that isn’t fitting?

Barack Hussein Obama -needing to always be the center of attention- has assigned himself the role of pivot man in this never ending circle jerk. The sad part is, that while all his terrorist, fascist, tax evading, lying, Mao loving, two-faced friends are getting off, we’re the ones who are getting jerked.

Sorry, that’s all I’ve got. No solutions, just a harmless release of pent-up frustration and hostility. Where’s a blue dress when you need one? That punch-line will never get old!

Thanks for reading this rant. I feel better now. You really ought to try it. You know you want to. The comment box is waiting. As long as you’re on the Right Side of things -just this once- I promise not to make fun of you.

This offer isn’t extended to the writers or management of Radioactive Liberty. Looks like you’re Sierra Oscar Lima there fellas.

A Politically Correct Guide to Mother’s Day.

A Very Bad Beginning

According to the National Restaurant Association, Mother’s Day is their busiest day of the year. This is when you are supposed to treat your mother to a meal, served to you by someone else’s Mom. Hummm…

Why do you do this? To make the one who gave birth to you, feel special for a few hours once a year. That’s why. Is that asking too much? Damn straight it is! Oops, sorry, I really shouldn’t assume you are…straight that is. How very un-PC of me. I apologize.

The history of Mother’s Day goes back to ancient Greece and Rome. There they honored the mothers of their gods. Oh my goodness, a religious holiday. That’s strike one.

The Greeks celebrated it around the Vernal Equinox, while Rome’s began on the Ides of March. If Brutus had only taken his Mom out to lunch…

The practice continued across time, until the custom found itself swallowed up by the Mother of All Churches, the Catholic Church, sometime during the Middle Ages. Dear Mother of … a Christian religious festival! Well, that’s strike two.

During this era of great social inequity and repression, it was celebrated as a holiday that was timed to coincide with a tradition. One that allowed apprentices and women in servitude to go home -just once a year- to see Mom. Terrible, terrible, terrible.

Now, we don’t even let store clerks, cooks or wait staff off to see their Moms on this day. Outrageous!

If everyone can’t do it, no one should be allowed to. After all, we’re the greediest, mostest resourcest grabingest, dividedest people on that planet. Still, we have a duty to see that justice be done, by shutting down the evil corporations that subjugate these underprivileged people (most of whom are minorities), if only for one day. Strike three? Nope, foul ball, right down the left field line.

2 Strikes, 1 Ball, America’s Up To Bat (a poorly worded analogy)

Julia Ward Howe, pacifists and social activist, who championed women’s suffrage, suggested the American version of Mother’s Day. It was supposed to honor women, but really never took hold in her lifetime. Now that’s about as Politically Correct as you can get, right? If you said yes, you’d be wrong.

She’s also the woman who wrote new lyrics to the song, John Brown’s Body, in 1862. She called this version, The Battle Hymn of the Republic. You remember, Mine eyes have seen the Glory of the coming of the Lord.

If you’re just coming back from that deeply emotional, near religious experience, then you fully understand why this is strike three at the bottom of the ninth.

Game’s Over, But The Controversy Continues

In 1908, a year after her mom’s death, her daughter, Anna Jarvis, was instrumental in ushering in the first Mother’s Day celebration. It was held in the very same church where Anna had taught Sunday school. Worse still, that church is now the International Mother’s Day Shrine and it’s a Historic National Monument to boot. The shame of it all.

The obviously well intentioned but misinformed socialist, President Woodrow Wilson, declared the first official Mother’s Day in 1914. A few years after this, Anna Jarvis -after seeing the commercial exploitation of her Mother’s dream- renounced the holiday as the epitome of pure evil. You go girl!

The Politically Correct Solution

I think that you can see where this is all going. Here we have a capitalist, Hallmark Holiday, which doesn’t even allow all of those who are being honored to properly celebrate it, and is blatantly in violation of the Separation of Church and State clause, as set out in the U.S. Constitution. It’s right there in Article, ah… I can’t find it right now, but you know as well as I do, that it’s in there.

It’s high time we put an end these divisive, Christian holidays. This year, I implore all men, to do the right thing. Don’t buy gifts or flowers. Don’t make reservations for some fancy brunch.

This Sunday, go fishing, play golf, or just have a few beers with the boys and watch the game. Help break with this vile tradition. You’ll be honoring all women by this gesture.

As for me, I’m leaving on Saturday for a four-day river trip with a buddy, who also is married and has a daughter and living mother. They’re going to be so proud of us, for taking this bold stand.

Oh, almost forgot. Men don’t mind being exploited –especially sexually. So ladies, don’t forget the Home Depot or Bass Pro Shop, or better yet, Hooters gift certificates for Father’s Day.

Humor-Blogs.com is the perfect gift for Mother’s Day.

Image: Pino: A Mother’s Love