Saturday, 12 May 2012

Every trick in the book

     What do we do for a fellow who is born into communism, lived abroad for most of his formative years, did not attend classes in his super-preppie, exclusive preparatory school in Hawai'i because he was too drunk on beer and stoned on weed and spaced on cocaine....in high school?   How do we come to terms with the snookering the press took, and passed on to an unsuspecting America, when we come to truly understand that we have a President whose biological mother, biological father, stepfather, and grandparents were all communists?

     How do we thread the needle, then, to learn that he managed to be accepted into Occidental College.  If, by his own writings (according to him) and his personal readings of his own writings, he rarely attended class, was he just pushed along because of his good looks?   What did he do at Occidental.   What were his grades?   What were his pursuits?  His clubs, his favourite saloon?  His favourite pizza place?   While he was selling drugs, did he sell on and off campus?   Did he provide marihuana and cocaine to professors?   His book leaves such questions open to answers in the positive.
     We have a person who obviously failed to achieve graduation from high school, but graduated none the less.    Then we have a person who graduated from Occidental College, but can show no proof of graduation nor grades qualifying him for graduation, nor grades qualifying him for graduate studies at any university.   We can find no particular accomplishment while at high school, university, or graduate studies.   He did not play organised sport, he did not play in the band, he did not join the thespian society, nor is there any indication that he worked at gainful employment on or off campus.   No waiting tables, no clerking the convenience store, no...anything.   Just smoking, drinking, toking, snorting, and hanging out with "marxist" professors, and radicals.
      And then the unqualified high school graduate, who became an unqualified college graduate, and then the unqualified graduate school graduate, finally became the brilliant graduate of Harvard Law.    The beautiful Duckling became the resplendent Swan.  He also becomes editor of Harvard Law Review.  He is deigned to be a "constitutional scholar" and is given assignments as a visiting professor.   He publishes nothing.   He cannot speak coherently without notes or, during the present day, without a teleprompter.
         He masters the art of community organising.   But why would one leave Harvard Law, a professor's, in order to become a "community organiser"?  And, by the way, what community did he ever organise?  To what end did he organise it.  What was the name of the community?
What in the name of Jumping Jehoshaphat does the term "community organiser" even mean?
      Why would Bill Aires's father essentially adopt Barry Soeto?   Why would Barry Soeto be dropped into the slimiest of slimy political machines as a chosen star, when he has absolutely no accomplishment, not even a being a union-thug or some other ward worker type qualification?   Could it actually be true that he is programmed and controlled?   Could it be that he is lobotomised?  Why are we ordered by Republican Poobahs even, not to question his place of birth, his early education, his medical record, his secondary and university level education experiences, his associates, his professional life, his employment or anything about him, his family, his illegal alien auntie and uncle or a myriad other things. 






Michelle Robingson Obama,
 First Lady of the United States
"For the first time in my adult life
I am proud of my country."

   


      Is it really possble that this woman might actually be the President's minder?   Could it be that  being wife and mother are secondary tasks to the one of making certain that her charge does nothing so horribly outlandish that not even a 100% compliant press and bureaucracy could cover for him.   We clearly remember when a woman asked him a question at a "town hall meeting" all of which have been famously scripted to the letter and syllable for Barak.   The question was either not in the right sequence or had snuck through the censors.   Obama droned on with irrelevant rambling for 17 minutes with scarcely more than a comma to detain his pointless dribble.


      His last "interview" with Robin Roberts showed that he requires a compliant, marxist drip to ask compliant, motherly questions as he styles himself as a reasoning philosopher coming to the conclusion that homosexuals should have the right be married.   How else, wonder all marxists, can we approach the issue of making a mockery of all Western institutions?   It is especially necessary to destroy marriage as an institution in America.   But we are treated to the spectacle of a person holding the office of President of the United States being forced to grovel before his fourth biggest campaign money source, and act like it was something akin to the Nazarene wandering in the desert for forty days and forty nights.   It must be quite a quarantine, roughing it in the White House.

     El Gringo Viejo feels certain that it will be but a short period of time before the Democrat National Socialist Party decides quickly that it is time to field another candidate.    The marxist way of arguing a point, coming to a compromise, and then rejecting it publicly as a "trick'' by the "wealthy"  or the "interests of the the millionaires and billionaires" has been done so many times by this verminous pretender that even the dull and the hard to convince have had enough.   Every week, one percent more of the American electorate seem to be figuring it out.

We shall see.   These are precarious times.  We are only two steps away from the guillotine.   And make no mistake, the millionaires and billionaires are actually anyone who is leaving more money inWashington D.C. than he/she receives back in his/her IRS refund.    All the self-supporting will be either Jews or Georgian farmers or Chinese traditionalists and Christians if we continue this madness.

El Gringo Viejo