Thoughts from the ammo line

Ammo Grrrll declares that “THE STATE TOTTERS.” She writes:

William Shakespeare’s The Tempest (Act 3, Scene 2): Drunk Trinculo speaks: “They say there’s but five upon this isle; we are three of them. If the other two be brained like us, the state totters…”

William the Bard of Avon knew a thing or two. I do fear that our fragile republic “totters.”

One of my favorite cult movies is Spinal Tap, a parody of a documentary about a washed-up heavy metal band. The only accidental “hip” thing I have ever done in my life is take my 11- year- old son to see it in a theater in 1984. He was already a metal fan and somehow and had heard the movie was funny. There were about eight people in the little theater the night we went. It turned out to be hilarious. I laughed so hard that eventually my mortified son got up and moved to a distant seat. Another successful mother-son outing!

Anyway, there is an epic scene at the beginning of the movie where members of the band are sitting around talking with Rob Reiner’s character, Marty, the producer of the “rock-umentary.” It seems that over the years Spinal Tap’s drummers kept dropping dead. One of those deaths involved “choking on [upchuck].” After some extremely icky additional details about the incident, which cannot be discussed here while people are possibly having breakfast, one of the musicians tells Marty that the authorities determined that it was “better left unsolved.”

And couldn’t that be the DNC’s official motto? From the wide open border, to gas prices, to the evaporation of our portfolios, to inflation, to the supply lines, to the baby formula crisis, to rampant violent crime, NOTHING is being solved. I am nevertheless open to the idea that it is all being done deliberately to destroy the American Republic and hurl us into a kind of feudal/communist hybrid disaster, with a possible Third World War as icing on the cake.

So in that sense I guess it is being “solved” exactly the way they want it. Sigh. I am not a naturally cynical person. It’s taken a long time for me to grasp that fellow Americans could do that to us. My “faith tradition” instructs me to give my fellow humans the benefit of the doubt and to love them as I love myself. Luckily, I’m not all that crazy about myself. Because it’s getting tougher by the day to love the Destroyers of Civilization.

In titular “charge” of this cascading disaster is a mean, nasty, angry, greedy, corrupt dementia patient and creepy child-sniffer who is also a serial plagiarist and pathological liar. According to his daughter’s diary, she took to showering very late at night so that he wouldn’t hop in the shower with her. Yuck! Where is Psycho’s Norman Bates when you need him?

And yet this creep roams free. “Roam” being the operative verb here. The man with the nuclear codes is no longer capable of finding his way off any stage or remembering whether someone is dead or alive. But the only way you’ll know that is to observe it with your own two lyin’ eyes. Because the entire Democrat cabal, the craven media, and censorious social media outfits are determined to continue complimenting the naked Emperor on his nice outfits. You may not have heard about this, but Joe is NOT a speech-slurring, gibberish-spouting mental defective, but really some kind of hero for overcoming a lifelong “stutter.” Uh-huh.

But let not your hearts be troubled because waiting in the wings is an empty-headed racist Womyn (pronouns “she” and “her”) of Light Beige Color who believes that everything from hurricane relief to medical treatments to COVID checks should be doled out on the basis of skin color. I expect any day now the Democrats will repurpose their old Klan sheets, as long as they’re 100 percent organic cotton that was sustainably raised, and possibly dyed lavender.

I have to admit that – like Scott in a post last week — I am in shock over the incompetence and rank stupidity of Kamala Harris. Heck, she even fell for Jussie Smollett’s ludicrous tale! I never thought she was an intellectual heavyweight, but neither did I dream that she couldn’t even come prepared to field softball questions during a “journalist’s” tongue bath or give a brief speech about banks or know the difference between the Koreas. Frankly, I don’t even believe she ever passed the Bar on her own, bearing in mind that one only needs a D Minus.

Regrettably, on my best day, I was not a VDH-level intellect either, and I am a considerable distance from my best day. But in the 6th grade I could have written a better speech on “Community Banks” than Kamala did. And if some even worse Affirmative Action staffer wrote it — why? What better thing has Kamala to do than 20 minutes of what’s called “research” (“look it up, Kamala…”) and write a short speech?

The thing is, even though the Vice Presidency should not be an on-the-job training position, she isn’t even training! She learns nothing. She never improves. As a newbie comic, I endured epic failures where I prayed that the stage would open up and swallow me like a San Francisco drunk falling through a trapdoor and being shanghaied onto a ship. However, I did not enjoy the experience of failing. Not even a little bit. Comics refer to bombing on stage as “vertical death.” So, I watched the veterans. I learned. I got better.

I think Kamala’s career path and the time-honored way some attractive women have found success did her no real favors. How happy I am that I had to work for everything I achieved.

Mamas, don’t let your daughters grow up to be sidepieces to powerful married yet faithless politicians. It may LOOK like a stellar career move for your pretty daughter; it may get your scrawny, plain step-granddaughter a temporary gig as a runway model with her bare “chest” (as breasts are called now in the continuing erasure of everything womanly) hanging out for all the world to see. But in the end, all you get is Failure Theater.

The most striking thing about this administration besides its incompetence is its devotion to lying, either by commission or, more often, omission. Every day debuts a new blizzard of lies — with precious little concern for whether the lie is even remotely credible. They are STICKIN’ IT TO US, my friends. They know we know it’s a lie and part of the kink is in making us repeat the absurd lies. How well I remember speaking at my mother’s memorial service and asking, “Where the heck is Mom?” Because, you know, she was “top of mind” for me that day.

I could list lies all day, but let’s just take just one fairly recent example: Monkeypox.

Official position of the NIH, CDC and Administration: “Monkeypox is an unpleasant pox-like affliction, not usually fatal, except in young kids, that generally takes 2-4 weeks to heal. It can totally just happen to anyone in a random and whimsical manner. You’re minding your own business, sitting in a Bible Study Class and suddenly, you break out in oozing poxes. It has nothing to do with degenerate loveless orgies of men with other men, so get that thought out of your bigoted heads right now!”

“Oh, incidentally, we have been so busy trying to think up a less racist name for Monkeypox, that we do not currently have enough monkeypox vaccine for everybody. So far, it’s a 3-way tie among Universal Pox, Fox on Pox, and Climate Change Pustules. But until we get more vaccine – prepare to be surprised — we are going to prioritize men who have sex with other men. Why? No particular reason, Equity, maybe. But, if you are not an orgy-prone gay man, get out of line! Men having sex with lots of other men, get that shot and party on!”

Psircling back to Shakespeare’s The Tempest (Act 1, Scene 2): Caliban speaks: “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

Notice: All comments are subject to moderation. Our comments are intended to be a forum for civil discourse bearing on the subject under discussion. Commenters who stray beyond the bounds of civility or employ what we deem gratuitous vulgarity in a comment — including, but not limited to, “s***,” “f***,” “a*******,” or one of their many variants — will be banned without further notice in the sole discretion of the site moderator.