Thoughts from the ammo line

Ammo Grrrll is not amused: FECKLESS FEMI-NINNIES LEARN A NEW WORD! She writes:

Well, kids, it does pay to increase your Word Power. The witless Samantha Bee not only broke new ground by trotting out the c-word – and retained her wretched television show — but she modified it with the adjective that popped up on her Word-A-Day Calendar:


Not to be outdone, Kathy Griffin of bloody, severed head fame, pouted aloud why Mrs. Bee got to say naughty words and not lose her television show, when SHE, Kathy Griffin, lost her Squatty Potty spokes-gig just for doing her hilarious ISIS impression? With the head of the duly elected President of the United States dangling from her arm. And, then, she must have concluded that it had something to do with that magical, incantational word: feckless.

But Kathy could not call Ivanka a totally different, yet, equally disgusting name. That had already been done. So, she had to pick another Trump. She called Melania a “feckless POS.” She assured us long ago that young Barron Trump will not be off limits for her rapier-like wit, so we can expect that soon a teenage boy will be a feckless “teabagger.” At minimum. Sadly, “c*ck-holster” and several other great words have also already been taken. What’s a weepy, unfunny, nasty attention whore with a Carter-era speed limit IQ to do?

These crude, hateful, degenerate women, chock full of feck though they be, have suddenly discovered that it is sad when children are separated from their parents. We won’t even discuss the million babies scraped from their mothers’ wombs yearly. We’ll stick to the already born. How well I recall the tears of the femi-ninnies when Kate Steinle’s dying words were a plea for her father to help her. Oh wait, I must be thinking of someone else. The children brutalized by MS-13, bless their divine-sparky little hearts, mourned by Nancy Pelosi.

In the Grotesque Comparison & Obscene Equivalency Olympics, there has been a competition in the last several days for who can offend sensibilities the most grievously. Are the children’s shelters merely Japanese Internment Camps? (Laura Bush, my favorite First Lady ever, who should know better). Or are they just the same as Auschwitz? Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!

As it happens, our extended family knows quite a bit about both. There will be nothing funny forthcoming here, though it is my stated mission. I’m sorry, but as the saying goes, “I can’t even…” Maybe next week. After I clean the part of my keyboard where my head exploded.

My husband’s family lost dozens of people to the Holocaust, including my husband’s grandfather, his brothers, their wives and children. A few relatives survived the camps, and one climbed a fence to escape a transportation camp en route to Auschwitz. One of our cousins in Israel met a survivor who searched her out and who threw himself upon her sobbing. He explained that he was alive only because her uncle Latze (may his memory be for a blessing) had given him, then a child, all his food while Latze starved to death. Latze strung out his agonizing death as long as he could in order to keep his starvation rations coming so he could give them to children.

Now we also happen to know something about illegal alien children. In the early ’90s, we took in a 13-year-old boy, Antonio, from Honduras who had, of course, been coached to request asylum. He was an orphaned street child in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, who had walked from Honduras to Mexico and crossed the Rio Grande at Brownsville. He turned himself in and was placed in the children’s shelter. He referred to the shelter as the most wonderful home he had ever had before ours. They had classes, sports, lawyers, new clothes, food and a clean bed. Paid for by the terrible, racist American taxpayers. Feckless, every last one.

Do-gooder lefties from Minnesota, feckful to the max, went down to Texas to take six boys out who were waiting for their cases slowly to slog their way to court and brought them back to Minnesota to work on farms up north. Through a series of events too complicated to go into in this small space, Mr. AG wound up representing Antonio in court. He won asylum based on the fact that he is black. It turns out – though somehow you never hear about it – that beige and tan and brown Hondurans and Mexicans persecute and abuse black children. Go know.

We came to love him like a son and he lived with us for four years. Heart-warming story, nu? Ah, but alas, not the WHOLE story. He, like all of the “youths,” had come with no papers and was encouraged to shave at least three years off his age. The younger the kid, the more sympathy he could draw and the longer before he would have to be “feckful” (responsible).

Tragically, he never achieved even partial feckibility. We lived through four years of drugs, gangs, glue sniffing, rehab, counseling, serious and accurate sexual harassment charges against him and more. Of the six boys brought into Minnesota by the do-gooders, one impregnated two different young women nearly simultaneously, one of whom had a preemie that cost the Medicare system over a million dollars. He was “separated” from the other little boy because he simply left the boy’s mother. Several of the illegals just disappeared and never bothered to show up for any of their hearings. Some became criminals.

A second boy whom we helped, Pedro, an El Salvadoran who was the hardest-working young person I have ever seen, turned out great. He lost his asylum hearing but married a U.S. citizen, became a naturalized American citizen, moved to Florida and is a tax-paying over the road trucker, home owner, husband, and father of a very bright little girl who competes in STEM contests and projects. I figure America is batting about 1 for 6 on that batch of illegals. Multiplied by tens of thousands. If only we could straight up trade Lena and Kathy and Chelsea and Samantha, Bill Maher, and a femi-ninny to be named later for six Pedros.

I read that 80 percent of unaccompanied girls and women are raped. What kind of parents send their little girls out to “take one for the team” in order to win that great lottery – America — and all her largesse? The parents know the score when they commit the crime; the crocodile tears now being shed for being temporarily separated from their children are just an end-run ploy. If you want to cry for children separated from parents, hold a thought for military families.

Feckless Femi-ninny “comediennes”: shut the feck up. Normal Americans are sick of you.

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