Tomorrow is pay day. I like pay days. Especially as this one is my monthly “Eat Out” weekend.
I’m thinking of a breakfast tomorrow of a Half Order with eggs. Which I fixed for myself this morning.
I’m not exactly sure why I look forward to having to pay a café for what I can fix for myself.
Anyhow. I like the idea of a magistrate going in and giving a stupid murdering little shit his Miranda Rights. I do.
It’s almost like a solid, up-front, yeah, it’s true, WE, the government appointee’s, are in a conspiracy with the terrorists to upset the U.S. population and shred the Constitution and bring you misery and socialism. That’s what we do.
Really. We mean you arm. We’ll take your arms. We’ll do it our way. And be proud we did from three hundred million dumb asses that saw it coming, half of whom voted to re-elect the dummy leader we hid behind.
I see that Ms. Clinton (the elder) has gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar – in provable writing.
I’ve always been surprised the old TV clip of her explaining to the press that the man was not an ambassador, because Libya had no cohesive government to present credentials to, but that the man she was sending had the job of finding, collecting and securing the Quadafi arms. Like stinger missiles and chemical weapons.
Her rational was the weapons were a world threat.
And now, having denied she had given the man credentials as ambassador, she constantly refers to him as an ambassador. Because, it seems, that’s what the bunch in government finds handy to whip the population to attention to the terrible world of non-terrorists.
I’m making myself ill.
I’m afraid I see little truth in the White House, the Senate’s present majority leader, the minority whip of the lower house, the Justice Department and have doubts of the enforcement agencies that use governmental pressure to force honest businesses to do illegal things.
Gun runners, and Boston forcing citizens into house arrest (even calling it lock down – which is a term used in prisons to absolutely control the rioting prison population).
I’ll be alright. Just as soon as I figure out whether to laugh or cry.
From the reaches,