The Patriot Post® · Brazile Nuts
I didn’t take it too much to heart when I heard that Fox News must have beaten out CNN and MSNBC for the on-air services of Donna Brazile.
For one thing, I think that at least a third of Fox’s interviewees and panelists are a total waste of time. For another, I only watch Bret Baier and Tucker Carlson, so I assumed I’d be able to avoid Ms. Brazile as easily as I now avoid Juan Williams. I figured the network would roll her out for some of those tiresome panels that Chris Wallace oversees on Sunday morning, where she’d fit right in with such devout Never-Trumpers as Fred Barnes, Steve Hayes, John Podesta, Mort Kondracke and Karl Rove.
So, imagine my surprise when she popped up on one of Bret Baier’s panels. She certainly didn’t disappoint. Right off the bat, she credited the upswing in the nation’s economy to Barack Obama. If her point had been that he had driven it so far into the ground that the only direction it could go was up, her statement might have had some validity. But it wasn’t. She traced the upsurge to Obama’s taking office in 2009, and nobody pointed out that her hero had claimed that a 2% rise in the GDP was the new norm. That’s because Mollie Hemingway wasn’t seated beside her, giving her funny looks and actual facts.
At least, Juan Williams should be grateful. He is no longer the dumbest black person working at Fox. But even as pathetic as he is, he never snuck presidential debate questions to Hillary Clinton.
It got even worse when the former chair of the DNC scolded Donald Trump for insulting the memory of John McCain, that repulsive, arrogant hypocrite, who betrayed his party by putting his name on legislation authored by Ted Kennedy and Russ Feingold and sinking Trump’s attempt to get rid of Obamacare.
Ms. Brazile actually said: “My mama told me to never speak ill of the dead.” Which led me to wonder what mama might have said about lying and cheating on behalf of a liar and cheater like Hillary Clinton.
One old saying that has now gone by the wayside, thanks to Fox signing the lady to a big contract, is that cheaters never prosper. In fact, when it comes to politics and broadcasting, it is virtually a prerequisite.
When Nikki Haley suddenly resigned her position as our ambassador to the U.N., there was a great deal of speculation about her future plans.
After she showed up at a conference and first shared the stage with former head of the CIA, John Brennan (formerly one of the 58,692 morons who voted for the Communist candidate, Gus Hall, in the 1976 presidential election) and later, proudly posted a picture of herself with the notorious Deep Stater on social media, I had an inkling that she just might, along with Mitt Romney, be planning to challenge President Trump in the 2020 Republican primaries.
Even if both Romney and Haley decide to commit political suicide next year, it won’t be nearly as much fun as watching the Democratic clowns hitting each over the head with Styrofoam hammers and spritzing each other with seltzer bottles.
I should be the last person on earth giving them advice, but I know they won’t listen. They’re too busy paying a ton of money to the same people who have been running losing campaigns for the likes of Al Gore, John Kerry and Hillary Clinton.
It’s a lot like major league baseball, where the same 30 guys play musical chairs, switching teams until they get lucky and someone like Derek Jeter, Mike Trout or Aaron Judge, makes his manager look like a genius for a few seasons.
My advice is to stop pandering to the far, far Left of the party. No matter what they say, 99% of them will vote for any Democrat who gets the nomination. But by repeating the usual mantra in support of open borders, more gun control laws, higher taxes, third-term abortions and even infanticide, the candidates all sound like parrots in an echo chamber. What’s more, Bernie Sanders said all that crap long before you did, so why should anyone vote for the knock-off cuckoo clock when they can vote for the original cuckoo.
What’s more, if you insist on dancing on the furthest left edge of the abyss in the primaries, there’s no way to convince everyone else that you’re not certifiably insane when the general election rolls around.
Google is a perfect example of the downside to a global economy. At the same time that the outfit refuses to cooperate with the U.S. military, it is only too happy to comply with whatever obligations the Chinese government, with its 1.1 billion potential Google customers, places on it. And because Google has an endless stash of money with which to bribe members of the House and Senate, Congress has little or no incentive to blow the whistle and throw a penalty flag.
People keep sending me contrived inanities they pretend were uttered by A O-C and I wish they’d stop. For one thing, I don’t see the point when the things she has actually said are no less moronic than what they pretend she said. Also, the lines keep getting blurrier, which forces me to track down the source, and you know I hate doing research, much preferring to make stuff up, just the way I did when I was still writing for TV.
The fact is, I have never heard anything as ignorant as the stuff she says on a regular basis since the days when people like Maxine Waters used to defend Ebonics as an actual language.
Although he is without a doubt one of the most boring playwrights who ever lived, I thought that Henrik Ibsen hit the mark when he observed: “Money may be the husk of many things but not the kernel. It brings you food, but not appetite; medicine, but not health; acquaintances, but not friends; servants, but not loyalty; days of joy, but not peace or happiness.”
A thoughtful friend surprised me by sending me a couple of bags of asparagus seeds. He thought I should plant, harvest and eat the vegetable., suggesting I concentrate on the cooked spears, which, when compared to the stems, are “softer, easier to chew and really doesn’t taste bad.”
As recommendations go, that one leaves a lot to be desired. Although I appreciated the thought, honesty compelled me to reply: “Thank you, Ralph, but I have already lived longer than I ever expected, especially considering the history of men in my immediate family. I figure I’m on borrowed time. So my concern whether some food is good or bad for me is of very little concern.
"For all I know, I’m immortal. After all, when the combination of a wet step and Angel’s tugging on her leash out of sheer exuberance at starting her walk didn’t kill me, when it could as easily have been my head as my shoulder that hit the concrete, I figured God was sending me a message. Which, at its core, was that I could skip something like asparagus that ‘really doesn’t taste bad’ in favor of something that really tastes good, and not worry about it.”
Do I really believe I’m immortal? I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.
But so far, so good.