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

In his secret Chicago headquarters -a renovated Speakeasy from the Al Capone days- President Elect Barack Hussein Obama, is meeting with his trusted adviser, Rahm Emanuel.

Obama: Rahm, what’s that folder in your hand? You look like you want to talk to me about something.

Emanuel: Yes sir, I’m afraid we’re going to have to look at some of your campaign promises again.

Obama: What are you talking about? You know I only said that stuff to get elected.

Emanuel: Yes, sir. I’m very aware; I was a politician after all.

Obama: Huh… we really pulled a fast one on those gullible idiots, didn’t we?

Emanuel: We sure did. But anyway, can we get back to those campaign promises?

Obama: Sure. What’s up?

Emanuel: It seems that some of those people actually thought you were serious about creating all those jobs.

Obama: And you think that I need to look like I care so it doesn’t affect my pre-inauguration poll numbers? The season of giving, hope and change and all that other crap? Sure why not? Toss ‘em a bone.

Emanuel: Fantastic! One with absolutely no meat on it. Brilliant. That’s what I love about working for you sir; you always know just the right thing to do.

Obama: It’s a gift but speaking of jobs, do you think we can find Michelle anything to do? She’s really bugging me. That woman can be a major pain in the ass.

Emanuel: I’m sure we can find something but you want to be careful. Remember what happened to Bill when Hillary latched on to health care.

Obama: Good point. Speaking of Hillary, she’s making me nervous, being all sweet and everything. I think we’re putting her in a position that’s a little too close for my comfort.

Emanuel: Keep your friends close but your enemies…

Obama: You’re missing it. I mean she’s too close in the Presidential Line Of Succession.

Emanuel: She’s number four. There are three others before her.

Obama: Yeah, that’s what I mean. There’s only three…

Emanuel: I’ll keep an eye on her for you. Now sir, I had a major New York marketing firm look at this jobs issue and they came up with a few ideas. This folder was just delivered by courier so I haven’t had a chance to look it over yet.

Obama: Great, just spread those out here on my desk and let’s take a look. I’m sure those Madison Avenue boys came up with something we can use…

Share our funny pictures with your friends, or people you really just want to annoy. All we ask is that you attribute them to the page you found them on. We’re happy to take the blame.

Les James delivers here every Monday, like a pissed-off Postal worker during the Holidays. Neither rain nor snow or stupid comments can stop him from stuffing this junk mail in your slot. The rest of the time, you can find him hanging-out with his unsavory minions at political satire & humor at Sideshow Mirrors.