Thoughts from the ammo line

Ammo Grrrll rebels against the tyranny of leftist clichés DYING IN THE STREETS FROM HITTING THE GLASS CEILING ON THE PLANTATION! She writes:

When I was young, Art Linkletter had a book and a show called Kids Say the Darnedest Things. Leftists say the darnedest things too, apparently in the belief that if you just say them often enough and loudly enough and with enough spittle flying from your mouth, that they will become true. For today’s Friday Fun, let’s examine just three of these moronic phrases.

THE GLASS CEILING

Oh, gosh. Ladies could be anything except for that darn glass ceiling. We try and we try and we are allowed to get so high and then, WHAM! We bang our heads on that pesky glass ceiling. Let’s leave aside the fact that I can walk without stooping on a very small plane and have never hit my head on any ceiling. Since childhood, I have accomplished every goal I ever set, despite being a grrrll. Are these women up on 12-foot ladders wearing stilettos when they hit that glass, or what? Men, on average, are taller than women. Wouldn’t THEY also bump their heads on that ceiling or does it somehow only cover women?

And, then, if you are lucky, you break through that ceiling! Which sounds downright dangerous. If you DO break through it, won’t it shatter and spray you and the people below it with shards of glass? That seems like a pretty good description of what has happened when loony women like Maxine Waters, Frederica von Eavesdropper, Sheila Jackson Lee, Patty Murray, Nancy Pelosi, and, Miss Uranium herself, Hillary Clinton, have broken enough of the glass ceiling to inflict great harm on the hapless people below.

Besides, it’s a crock. Women are astronauts, construction workers, pilots, surgeons, lawyers, senators, engineers. And have been some of these things for a lot longer than Affirmative Action has been around. I once entertained a small trade group of Women Electricians. It broke down pretty neatly into two types of members: the first, a group of tough, righteous “old broads” (a term I use with the highest respect), who had gotten into the trade through a family business; and the second, a few young women who had won places at the table through Affirmative Action. Would it surprise you to learn that the women who had done it on their own were not overly impressed with the new forced-hires?

We have had plenty of dreadful to mediocre male Presidents to be sure. But there are really only two women I have ever seen on the national stage whom I would have voted for to lead the country – Condi Rice and Jeane Kirkpatrick. And neither one because she was a woman.

DYING IN THE STREETS

The wretched actor, faux comic, and political “activist” Russell Brand, to take but one example, has shrieked at some length about the terrible medical care in the U.S which leaves “the poor” to “die in the streets.” Well, no. Most of “the poor” who have the brains to sign up are covered by Medicaid. The rest go to the ER with a cold because they can’t be turned away. Name one person scooped up from dying in the street, unless it was a victim of a gang drive-by in gun-controlled Chicago.

On the other hand, in Mr. Brand’s native Great Britain, people die in the halls of filthy, neglected hospitals or are given “palliative” medicine if they are too old and sick to merit any further care. The difference in breast cancer survival rates in both countries is appalling.

A friend of mine in the Canadian NHS waited two years for a hip replacement, hobbling around in great agony while he waited. He was wintering in Palm Springs when his name finally reached the head of the queue. He had one week to get back to Canada to claim his place. If he demurred, he did not go to the next available spot. Oh, no. He would be put at the bottom of the queue again. An American friend wintering in Phoenix decided she had had enough of her hip pain. One week later, she was in Rehab recovering from the surgery.

I remember reading during the Obamacare debate that at one hospital in Colorado, two mentally-disturbed homeless men had cost the ER department over two million dollars because they rushed to the ER with “heart attacks” night after night, and the staff had no choice but to take their “symptoms” seriously. Should one of the men actually have a heart attack on the 27th trip, after being sent away, distant relatives who hadn’t seen Uncle Henry – or was it Horatio? Whatever – in a decade, would descend on the hospital with the Colorado version of Gloria Allred seeking “justice” in the form of a boatload of money. For them.

In America, nobody “dies in the street,” but you hear it all the time as a talking point.

THE PLANTATION

Oh, how I would LOVE to bring back Frederick Douglass or Sojourner Truth to hear Jesse Jackson claim with a straight face that “picking cotton” as a lifelong chattel slave and “picking footballs” for millions are exactly the same thing. (Picking footballs? Do you mean interceptions? So only cornerbacks and safetys are slaves? What the hell are you babbling about? Talk about a tortured analogy.)

Grow up, Jesse. What a pity you couldn’t have found one of your catchy rhymes for “football” – “loot Mall”? no, best not go THERE – but even you know better than that. Slavery was one of the most cruel and wretched institutions in the history of the world. That it still goes on in the Middle East and Africa is rarely, if ever, noted. Perpetrators are the wrong colors and wrong religion. Not to mention that I consider drug dealers of any color to be the modern version of slavemasters. Their slaves OD in junkie dens or cars with babies screaming in their car-seats, and the dealers get new slaves whose every hour is devoted to one thing: get more drugs!

Yup, the NFL is just one big plantation. Show up for 16 Sundays, maybe a Thursday or Monday, get $12 million a year (minimum of half a million), get more for endorsements, live like a king, go clubbing with $8,000 bottles of champagne, drive drunk, beat the heck out of the child of one of your six baby Mamas, knock your girlfriend silly in an elevator. Sounds exactly like Uncle Tom’s Cabin to me.

When you hear any of these inane phrases, call bullcrap. Enough, already.

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