Thoughts from the ammo line

Ammo Grrrll welcomes the new year in HERE COMES 2019! She writes:

I definitely recall mentioning that 2018 seemed weird because it was my house number in Maplewood, MN for nigh unto 40 years. I have no such association for 2019, although I expect it to be a doozy. God only knows how many useless egomaniacal retreads will queue up to challenge President Trump in the Republican primary and the Democrat field will look like a cattle-call audition for the host of a new game-show called The Hating Game.

Metaphor Alert: When I was a young bride, hundreds of dog-years ago, we had another young married couple as friends. The other wife, Kate, and I were both just learning to play Contract Bridge. Mr. AG was already an excellent player. His mother was a Life Master at Duplicate and a math genius who also spoke seven languages. We had a special tablecloth for rookies with the conventions written on it. “If you have 16 points, evenly distributed, with stoppers in all 4 suits, open with one No Trump,” for example.

I caught on to the game pretty quickly and particularly enjoyed playing defense, but it always made me nervous to play the hand and I would do almost anything just to be the dummy. “Why in God’s name did you support me in spades when you had three spades to the nine?” “Because I wanted you to play the hand.”

But, wait! It may LOOK like we’re going to go down in flames, but we had a secret strategy – “When in trouble, give the lead to Kate.” If there was no way to get from your hand back to the dummy where you had a couple of critical tricks, you could be certain that Kate would play the one card in the entire deck that would guarantee that you could make the contract.

Why do I raise this, decades after those idle hours of marriage-destroying card games? Because I think that no matter how many human errors The President makes, that we can count on the Depraved Democrats to do whatever is the one thing that will irritate the electorate enough to re-elect DJT. Please, God.

I believe that Hillary Clinton was coasting to a sure victory before she decided to insult half the electorate with outrageous and tedious charges of bigotry. She will have the rest of her privileged life to think about that decision. She explained What Happened in her stupid book’s preposterous laundry list of blame. She won the election for Trump, that’s what happened.

If either that pathetic, ungracious loser, Romney, or John Kasich, who wouldn’t even attend the 2016 Republican convention in his home state, tries to challenge President Trump in the primaries, he will be squashed like a bug. Jeff Flake, with the personality and charm of a wet dress shield, would have the same chance as Creepy Porn Lawyer.

But, more importantly, on the Democrat side, there will be a real WWF cage match a-brewin’ from all the competing segments of their “oppressed” entitled constituencies. It is possible that fickle Rust Belt voters could abandon Trump for a Biden or even a Bernie, if those codgers aren’t upstaged by a younger dork on a skateboard with a fake Hispanic nickname. But there is no way that another old white man will be at the top of the Democrat ticket. Not when the Democrat Party’s main propaganda wings in the media and Hollywood have been peddling anti-male, anti-white bigotry for the better part of three decades. There will be tremendous pressure for a “person of color,” probably a woman, to head the ticket.

Eventually, SOME woman will be President and the fight to be the “historic first” one should be a real beaut. Hillary will still be vying for that even if it’s from an iron lung in a Memory Care Unit.

Elizabeth Warren has now thrown her tomahawk into that fight. She hasn’t got a prayer either. Both of those women are elderly, unpleasant, radical howling harridans, without a scintilla of charm, wit, or grace. And also, of course, fish belly white. I would be a better candidate than either of them and I would be a TERRIBLE candidate. (“Know thyself!” said one of them Greek philosophers – Socrates, I think, or possibly Jimmy the Greek. I know my political deficiencies, beginning with a jeans and t-shirts wardrobe, the inability to walk in high heels, a face made for radio and a voice made for the printed word. Plus a pronounced tendency to just blurt out what I really think. There’s more – fear of flying, a desire to not leave my cozy house, irrational hatred of pantyhose — but I’ll just stop here. It’s a short column.)

Sadly, the American electorate has the collective attention span of a teenager with A.D.D., and a poorly developed sense of gratitude. A working class fat with higher wages, lower taxes, full employment, and a robust stock market, can easily forget what was in store for them if Hillary “We’re Gonna Kill Coal and Open the Borders” Clinton had won.

The class of what columnist Colonel Kurt Schlichter calls The Normals elected President Trump out of a sense of desperation. But if Normals have it really good for four years, people forget who made that happen. They are vulnerable to being persuaded by a relentless onslaught from media and entertainment: “Sure, you are working now and doing well, but what about free health care, free college, free everything and a top tax rate for The Evil Rich of 90%? Think how great THAT would be!”

“Free Crap” is always a dangerously-alluring promise. Plus, any politician – from Churchill to Bush, Sr., to a lightning rod like DJT – can wear out his welcome. Especially with the vicious daily lies and hourly character assaults on Trump, unprecedented in my experience of a lifetime of political engagement. It can’t help but have an effect.

Which is why I count on the “give the lead to Kate” strategy to save us. Or more accurately, give the microphone to the potty-mouthed radical dingbats and hope there are enough sane adults left to notice. One concern, of course, is that – with beheading “jokes,” and the “c” word, “gash”, and, now the “mf” word already used up – they will have simply run out of naughty words and actions that would turn off Normals.

And then I remember the ancient wisdom of that great novelist Max Cossack, AKA Mr. AG: “There IS no bottom.” The Democrats will not disappoint. Witness their brilliant “Wall” rebuttal.

Happy 2019 to one and all. Stay strong and brave and in fighting form.

Responses

Books to read from Power Line