Typical Moonie Moonbat, all decked-out in "Protest chic". From Zombie, of course. I've made a solemn oath that, from now on, I will NEVER reply to Moonbats on their own forums. Uh-uh. Not gonna do it. No way, Jose.
It's just a waste of my time. It does little good, from the Moonbat's perspective, as their lame, hysterical, paranoid arguments NEVER amount to much more than the typical dribbling talking-points proffered by ignoramus psuedo-intellectuals like the vastly-overrated and academically under qualified Noam Chomsky, the insufferably ignorant Weight-Watchers refugee Michael Moore, and that walking billboard of buffoonery and bombast, Cindy Sheehan.
I care not a whiff for your self-righteous hysterics, your conspiracy-diluted worldview, your callow embrace of Islamic terrorism, or your insistence that the President is actually named "Chimpy McBu$Hitler".
I spit righteous venom at your coiled references to "Imperialistic Neocons" , your seething, snake-like hatred for what is , generally, taken to be normal American standards and values, your convoluted cackling of the latest propaganda-mill punditry offered up on Rense, Antiwar, Lew Rockwell, Daily Kos, and even seedier websites, your sanctimonious seeking of "peaceful resolutions" that neither bring peace or any real resolution, your yellow-journalist's eye for atrocity propaganda that, curiously enough, only ever portrays the suffering of individuals the free world is currently at war with, and on and on and on...
You lose. Hell, even when you WIN, you LOSE. On the continuum of philosophic preponderances, your worldview has dwindled, considerably, with every passing decade. Morally marooned, ideologically bereft of any true measure of success or value, the hawking salesmen and carnival hucksters of Socialism (National and International variety) are relegated to the pathetic fringes of American Realpolitick.
Your protests are covered by eager photographers in much the same way as audiences once lined the sodden midways of so
many freak shows to catch a glimpse of a bearded lady, a hydrocephalic infant, or a real-life, honest-to-goodness Geek chewing the head off of a trembling chicken.
Just look at yourselves. All of you! Yeah, take a good goldarn look at your pathetic attempt to make up for lives of such startling insignificance! You wouldn't know what trouble, trauma, unhappiness, or real anger was if it hit you square in the center of your suburbanite backsides.
You want to talk about war? How many Nam vets have you ever known? How many have you ever talked to? How many have you ever drank with?
When I was a kid, a good friend of the family, a Vietnam vet , sat out on his porch one day, stuck both barrels of a shotgun in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. He Jackson Pollocked what was left of his brain on the white crumbling exterior of his little, Midwestern dump-house. A local fireman told me they picked up part of his dripping skull in the backyard.
He knew about war.
He knew about anger.
He knew about suffering.
Some flaming mediocrity accused me, just last night, of having "grim interests". As if the various topics of my writings are, somehow, a moral yardstick of who I am as an individual. All I can say to this intellectual sinkhole is, "Bite me!"
Of course, as soon as I got a good gander at her internet profile, I knew what was up. She went on to accuse me of being a Satanist, although I never once accused her, based on her profile, of being a "Koranist".
Lady, if you added up the total body count of every serial killer in America in the last century, it would still be dwarfed by the mega-murders resulting from Islamic terrorism. But I digress.
To the three stoolpigeons of Moonbattery who felt the need to erupt in verbal flatulence at me this morning, all I can say is, "Suckers!"
Useful Idiots. You have no idea of how lucky each and every one of you are to live in this country where the
Policidad are not going to line you up against a wall with a blindfold every time you open your latte-swilling sewer about something that made you upset on CNN. Don't like the President? Too fuckin' bad. You think you could do any better if someone gave you the opportunity to do HIS job for a day?
Hell no! You couldn't begin to handle the responsibility, the decisions over life and death, the sheer, relentless volley of hatred and invective someone with any REAL position of authority has to contend with. You're like worms resting in the wounds of a gangrenous leg, maggots rooting in a rotten stump of beef. Consume, cry, whine, play games, pick fights, spend more money than you earn and earn more money than you deserve. And then, turn around, raise your fist in the air, and squeal "I support the Intifadah!"
Yeah, believe me, they really appreciate it.
Their sharpening their blades in joy of you, even as we speak.
