|Bernardine Dohrn and Bill Ayers|
in Occupy Wall Street,
Nancy and her hubby's place is rather much like this one.
Poor Nancy. Thank the little people. she does. I remember her being a better Catholic than the Pope, when she gave thanks for the meal that her servants had prepared and served to the two or three hundred millionaires and billionaires who had gathered to fight the War on Women. She prayed, so eloquently, "Thank You for the dirty dishes, They have a tale to tell. Some folks are going hungry, While we're eating mighty well! Amen!"
We all appreciated the setting with the Pelosi's vineyards, the landscapes, the little people who got to wash the dishes and serve all that Thunderbird she had them put into the fancy French labelled wine bottles.
We did the limbo that night until somebody's pants ripped, or so we thought. It just turned out to be Nancy's face giving way again, and ripping from cheek to cheek and then right up over the top of her head, just like last time. The lady who takes care of her, and keeps her medicines like the President with the nuclear football, she found Nancy's eye, but this time it was the left eye. The Doctors came and essentially just packed her face with another semi-permanent papier-mâché surface shell, and the makeup artist came and painted on that wild-eyed, insane-madwoman look that is so becoming for her.
Whew, That was quite an evening. Maybe next time I'll be able to wrangle a invitation for one of you OROGs. Did I just say Rangle? I meant to say Barney....or was it Jesse....or Billy Jeff....All those names start to sound the same after a few score years.
El Gringo Viejo