Trump the Miracle Worker
I am amazed at how much better I feel about America’s future, all thanks to Donald Trump’s having vanquished Hillary Clinton. Elections, even presidential elections, don’t always have that much riding on their outcome. But this one did.
I am amazed at how much better I feel about America’s future, all thanks to Donald Trump’s having vanquished Hillary Clinton. Elections, even presidential elections, don’t always have that much riding on their outcome. But this one did.
After eight years of Barack Obama caving to our enemies and betraying our allies, America needed what Obama would have called a radical transformation. After commandeering one-seventh of the nation’s economy by taking over health care and giving the fascistic bureaucrats at the EPA full rein to tyrannize American businesses through a torrent of regulations, Obama was on the verge of turning our nation into the very image of a European socialist state.
If Mrs. Clinton had been elected and allowed the opportunity to double down on his policies by promoting sanctuary cities, throwing open our doors to an endless stream of illegal aliens and Muslims, dividing us along class, gender and racial lines, and pandering to those who insist that the trouble within America’s inner cities has nothing to do with drugs, gangs, a rejection of education and an illegitimacy rate over 70%; everything to do with the way that honest cops do their jobs.
With so much on the line, including the future makeup of the Supreme Court, it is difficult for even a cynic like myself not to see the fine hand of God in the outcome. After all, with about 130 million votes cast, it would have taken a relatively small handful of ballots to change the results in Michigan, Wisconsin and Pennsylvania. If Lyndon Johnson and Chicago’s boss, Richard Daley, could manage to determine the outcome in 1960, why would anyone think that God couldn’t do the same in 2016?
This brings me to something I really don’t understand, and that is radio talk show host Mark Levin’s constant clamor for a Constitutional Convention.
It was a pretty goofy notion before the election when the idea that representatives from the 50 states would convene and agree about important matters in, say, Mr. Levin’s living room when they can’t agree about the time of day in the U.S. Senate.
After all, in order to amend the Constitution, you need three-quarters of the States to vote for it. That would mean that 38 states would have to agree about something when the recent election found that only 30 states could even agree to elect Donald Trump.
But if it made no sense before the election, it makes even less today. When you see the team that Trump is in the process of putting together, with the promise of an originalist replacing Antonin Scalia on the Supreme Court, what more could any conservative want?
Even I never dreamed that Trump would appoint someone who has been a vocal opponent of the unfettered EPA to head up that agency, and someone who has been equally eloquent when it comes to the current state of public schools to head up the Department of Education.
At times, I get so excited at the prospect of what the future holds for America, I come close to performing that little shiver my dog Angel does at the prospect of taking a walk and reminding the birds and squirrels who’s boss.
Speaking of birds and squirrels, is there a lower, dumber, form of animal life than bureaucrats? As they like to say on Fox, I’ll report and you decide.
In Austin, Texas, the busybodies decided it would be a swell idea to hang baggies filled with condoms and lubricant from the trees in a city park in order to encourage homosexuals to engage in safe sex.
What’s more, the little pixies did it without informing either the Parks Department or the police.
Once the baggies hit the fan, as it were, bureaucrats who assumed they would be in line for bonuses suddenly began pointing fingers at one another, trying to lay the blame for the fiasco at the feet of someone else; anyone else.
But, then, that’s the trouble with bureaucrats, isn’t it? They so rarely show any initiative that when they do, it’s not all that surprising that they’d botch it up.
A reader, whom I suspect could have predicted my response, wrote to ask me how I felt about the “settled science” regarding the weather. He wrote, “I get so tired of hearing about the 97% of scientists who say they believe in climate change. I wonder what they would say if they didn’t get all those government grants.”
I replied: “I’m only guessing, but I’m willing to bet that 97% of them would make a U-turn and tell the truth for once.”
But what really confounds me is that so many people were brainwashed by Al Gore, a guy who is boring enough to be a climatologist, but only took one science class in college, and yet has made hundreds of millions of dollars off the scam.
You would think that after 20 years during which there has been no increase in the world’s temperature and the ocean level hasn’t risen even a single inch, let alone several feet, scientists would get back to the serious business of coming up with smear-proof mascara and chewing gum that doesn’t lose its flavor after five lousy minutes.
Another reader let me know that he’s always glad to hear liberals speak of Ohio as flyover country. “Otherwise, they might think of moving here.”
The late Ray Bradbury, author of “Fahrenheit 451,” pointed out: “The problem in our country isn’t with books being banned, but with people no longer reading. You don’t have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.”
When I read that quote, I assumed that Bradbury, a prodigious writer of science fiction, was merely being his usual prescient self. But, then, I checked and discovered he hadn’t died until 2012. That meant he had lived long enough to see people bumping into lampposts as they concentrated on sending and receiving piffle 140 characters or less at a time.
As most of you know by now, I spend a good deal of time telling people how to improve my life. I don’t object if it also happens to improve the lives of others, but me first.
To start with, I have a bone to pick with the folks who manufacture tennis shoes. I don’t remember the last time I bought a pair that had the right size laces. Either they’re too short and you can barely tie a knot or they’re much too long and even if you double-knot them, they hang down to the floor.
It’s bad enough tripping if your lace comes undone, but tripping over a lace that’s been double-knotted is the sort of thing that circus clowns are paid to do.
Suspecting that money generally lies at the root of seemingly irrational things, I have begun wondering if those sly pusses are only breaking even on the sneakers, but making a killing off those of us who are forced to go shopping for the right size laces.
Moving on, I’d like to know why some outfit doesn’t sell six hot dogs and six buns in a single container. The rule appears to be for the hot dog people to sell their product six at a time, while the bread makers seem to believe that buns should ideally come eight to a package. That means that to make it come out even, you have to buy four packages of wieners and three packages of buns, but, really, who wants 24 of each except maybe a troop of Boy Scouts or Michael Moore if he goes on a picnic with Rosie O'Donnell?
