Yesterday’s open letter was an uncommon appeal to our more decent nature, and it took a lot out of me. Today I want to know why you’re all so fucking happy Barack Obama is windsurfing.
Are you serious with this? Barry is a likeable enough dude, but his greatest power, tactful diplomacy, probably worked against him when the schoolyard bullies in Congress started shoving. I have a hard time forgetting he had at least one American child, a 16-year-old boy, killed overseas. The current regime blames Obama for the most recent Yemen disaster that killed, among other women and children, the boy’s eight-year-old American sister. There’s no way to tell who actually pulled the trigger on that bungled mission, but at minimum Barry handed them the gun.
Still, I won’t cry, “But the emails!” (anymore) and pretend all sins are equal. When we get into the human algebra, the sociopath math of running the most powerful country on earth, a minimum standard of evil must be maintained. Perhaps we have Jimmy Carter at the low end and Andrew Jackson high atop a pile of skulls. Harry Truman and LBJ whip around him as specters, fiery wraiths nuclear and conventional. I’d like to place BHO near the bottom of the pack, but his participation in the Forever War bumps him up to at least low-middle.
You’ve probably seen the clip of Fred Rogers defending PBS in front of the Senate. If you haven’t, go watch it now. I’ll wait.
Believe it or not, Fred was a huge influence on me, and I tried to channel him best I could in yesterday’s message. I estimate he’s one of the top five best people to have ever walked this earth. Still, I’m not operating under the assumption that his approach would move today’s Congress. Long have I wished for a person so saintlike they couldn’t be ignored, but that’s a cheat. It’s a lazy shortcut for magicking hard work. Fred defended his work. Now we have to defend ours.
Barack could also turn a phrase, back before he got tired and reverted to droning constitutional law professor. His eloquence and intelligence fell on deaf ears, and if he couldn’t get a Supreme Court justice seated in a year, well, I’m not sure what Fred or anyone could do in Donnie’s Dominion.
I realize I’m attempting to herd cats here, but I’m not the only one. I’ve been inundated with lists of tips on how the left should engage people politically. I can get down with a few, such as addressing the regime and not the man (though I still love using the diminutive Donnie), but I can’t stop talking gloom and doom altogether. Chicken Little is my bag, baby.
It’s okay if Barry tickled your pickle. I’ve had more than a few one-night stands with the Choomer-in-Chief. You don’t need me to tell you it’s okay to have emotions, but I understand why you’d be excited about an attractive, influential man engaging in watersports. Thing is, just because something is hot doesn’t mean it’s correct. Some of us have had to learn that the hard way.
So go ahead. Reminisce about the bad old days now that worse ones have arrived, but don’t get what feels good mixed up with what makes sense. When Hill-dawg rolls out her new talk show, a mix of Oprah and The View with a little Ellen thrown in, tune in guilt-free. Maybe she can give away green cards or health insurance instead of a brand new car. Bob knows they’re going to need it, but keep in mind the bottom line will be Clinton 2020.
Just don’t equate excitement with enlightenment. Windsurfing Barry feels a lot like the wrong kind of nostalgia, and as dire as this dry spell seems, that’s one booty call we can’t afford to make.