Finding a Job for Barack Obama
In the past, ex-Presidents tended to leave office in their 60s and 70s.
In the past, ex-Presidents tended to leave office in their 60s and 70s. After departing the White House and leaving the key under the mat, they would generally have their memoirs ghostwritten, providing them with a good-sized nest egg, and you wouldn’t see or hear from them unless they showed up at their party’s presidential conventions and then, of course, when the nation’s flags were lowered and people filed by their caskets in the Capitol rotunda, either to pay their final respects or to make certain the rascals were actually dead.
But, lately, the guys have been leaving office in their mid-50s. Bill Clinton was 54 when he and Hillary tried slipping out with the White House china, and Obama was just 55.
Clinton has devoted most of the past 18 years to keeping busy chasing women and trying to get his wife elected, so they’d get a crack at the White House silverware. Now that they’re both in their 70s, they are starting off on a joint speaking tour to be called “Conversations,” that will kick off in Las Vegas with tickets going for $72. How the mighty have fallen. It wasn’t that long ago that they could expect as much as half a million dollars for a half-hour speech to the bulls of Wall Street or the bears of Moscow.
Hard to imagine those two spending months together without one of them killing the other, especially knowing that most juries would find it justifiable murder.
But what is Barack Obama going to do for the next 25 or 30 years? Of course, he will spend some time trying to elect like-minded pinheads in the hopes that his eight years in office won’t be completely erased, but even when he was still the President, it turned out he had shorter coattails than Batman’s comical nemesis, the Penguin.
Some have suggested he’d make an ideal Secretary General of the U.N. I agree. If ever a man and a job were made for each other, this would be a perfect marriage. Certainly better than the farce maintained by the Clintons.
For one thing, both the man and the organization are corrupt. Both openly despise the U.S. and Israel. Both are given to spouting high-sounding banalities, and both have been the undeserving recipient of Nobel Peace Prizes.
Of course if that doesn’t pan out, perhaps because the Obamas and Valerie Jarrett would rather stay put in Washington, D.C., and not have to move to Manhattan, I’m sure that Barack could always find employment as towel boy at a gay bathhouse.
In yet another sign of the ridiculous times in which we live, the city fathers and mothers of Columbus, Ohio, decided they would no longer celebrate Columbus Day. They didn’t sign up for the absurd Indigenous People’s Day; instead they decided to call it Veterans Day. However, they didn’t bother mentioning which nation’s veterans they had in mind. Which, I regarded, as an unfortunate oversight because you can no longer take anything for granted.
Still another sign that madness stalks the land is that Tom Steyer, an extremely wealthy white man, was just the latest to weigh in against Brett Kavanaugh’s confirmation. Steyer insisted, with no apparent irony, that he was only confirmed because rich white men wanted him on the Supreme Court.
Rumor has it that at the monthly billionaires luncheon, uberliberals Bill Gates, Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg and George Soros, kept asking each other who the hell Steyer was talking about.
Speaking of Kavanaugh, the way the congressional Democrats and the members of the left-wing media went after him, it sometimes appeared they regarded “rapist” and “racist” to be synonymous.
With the mid-terms elections just a few week away, it occurred to me that the biggest danger to America isn’t that we have people in Congress as demented as Dianne Feinstein, Richard Blumenthal, Cory Booker, Chuck Schumer and Dick Durbin or as blatantly ignorant as Nancy Pelosi, Mazie Hirono, Maxine Waters and her fellow members of the Congressional Black Caucus.
The most terrifying realization is that tens of millions of people are so deranged, they can’t wait to re-elect them.
Someone sent me a funny reminder that Jane Fonda actually spent more time in Vietnam than Sen. Blumenthal.
After recently writing of my love of dogs, a few people have let me know they shared my feelings. One lady wrote to share the heartbreaking moment when she had to hold her beloved dog in her arms one last time while the veterinarian administered the fatal injection to end her pet’s pain.
I’ve had the same experience a couple of times and found it so heartbreaking that I told my wife that I couldn’t bear the thought of bringing another dog into our home. But as is often the case, man proposes and God disposes, and through truly bizarre circumstances that I’ve written about, Angel showed up one day.
The lady’s email did remind me that there are only two creatures who are guaranteed painless deaths. The first group consists of our beloved pets; the other group consists of serial killers who committed their vicious crimes in the few states that recognize that it is murder, not killing, that is referred to in the 10 Commandments.
Penny Alfonso shared the following: “If you think having a vagina doesn’t determine your gender, but does mandate how you should vote, you must be a Democrat.”
Bert Black reports that an Arab sheik was admitted to Johns Hopkins for heart surgery. But tests disclosed that the man had a very rare blood type which couldn’t be located locally, so a call went out around the world.
A Scotsman was located. He agreed to donate the required amount and the operation went off without a hitch.
Out of gratitude, the sheik sent the donor a new BMW, a diamond necklace for the man’s wife and $100,000.
A few months later, the sheik had to undergo a second surgery. This time, they went straight to the original donor, who happily agreed to provide additional blood.
Again, the procedure went off perfectly, but this time the wealthy Arab just sent the donor a thank-you card and a box of chocolates.
The donor was shocked and placed a call to the hospital. “I thought you would be more grateful, more generous. Last time, you sent me a luxury car, diamonds and money. This time, you just sent me a card and a lousy box of chocolates. What gives?”
“Aye, Laddie, but now, I have good Scottish blood in my veins.”
For those of you who might question my courage, you should know that I ran that joke even though I have six subscribers who happen to be named McCray, McKee, McNary, McNeil, McLain and McNeeley.
On the other hand, if any of them shows up at my front door wearing kilts with murder in his eye, I’ll cough up Bert Black’s address faster than you can sing the first verse of “Scotland the Brave.”
