Editor’s Note: A few typographical and grammatical corrections have been made in the following, quoted content for improved readability, but, otherwise, what you’ll read here is what “Stephen Boone of TX” wrote in all the following brilliant and shining beauty:
Did ANYBODY READ Obama’s book?
You don’t have to get far to see he is a committed racist for one thing and delusional for a second. On page six he says that white people walked several blocks through Manhattan to have their dogs poop in front of his apartment because he — a black man — was living on the 2nd or 3rd floor. Anybody that has lived in the area knows that is strictly loony tunes for a dozen reasons. I am sure that his neighborhood — like it is today and like it was when I lived nearby in the mid 60’s, was very integrated by race, background, ethnicity, sexual orientation, etc.etc.etc. and he and his roommate would have had to dress as Bozo The Clown and set their hair on fire daily to attract undue attention. The idea that people knew or cared that he lived there and then — have you ever tried to keep a dog from doing his business for several blocks? MY DOG, who is an exceptionally bright and trainable breed knows she should try to make it to the field 2 blocks away, but several blocks? In Manhattan? The head of the KKK wouldn’t do it. He is a total egomaniacal narcissistic grand paranoid. I find it amazing this hasn’t disappeared from later additions, but — hey — he uses the N-word in his autobiography more than the keynote speaker at a Klan rally.
READ IT. It should be called “MEIN FRUITCAKE”.
“MEIN FRUITCAKE”: this is quite likely the literary title that will commemorate the Barack Hussein Obama Administration in all it’s four-year-long pipesmoked poultice of woozy promises cast in melted, oozy soap.
Because, this day, the drunken, besotted delusions by the Left (that, as Obama boasts about himself, “landed [him] in office”) are beginning — ever so slightly — to approach the tipping-through-the-darkness by morning light: where there was condemnation and ridicule of anyone making any sense that didn’t fit their bill when Obama was campaigning, now there begins the creeping dawn — not of apology or willingness to apologize with any regrets — but at least the slight pause of acknowledgement that they followed (and were enamored by) something far less than a shining star. But it’s still someone else’s fault…
Delusions are like that. People suffering delusions tend to replant their needs in another corner or on top of another shiny object — anywhere but reality because reality is gritty, strife-filled and never lets up — but while they’re scoping out possible rearrangements for their delusions — finding that object o’ desire somewhere, anywhere, has to be around — people of delusional mind (what else can it be called, I don’t know) tend to sink a tad under the weight of reality while they’re occupied maintaining cover otherwise: sparing themselves the burden of apologizing for liabilities if not damages they’ve created for others would involve admitting the weight of their problems, so efforts are made to avoid bearing up in these regards: just find another object and tread conversational water until it’s found…
Because the weight of carrying an apology around for so much as a flash in time would sink them. So they don’t apologize.
No, instead, they write avoidance notes and posts of blame that lapse into cuteness when possible and they yell at others during radio shows or television appearances, anything to get through the treading-of-the-waters-of-delusions phase.
In that phase, though, there are millions of persons who, despite abundant evidence and advice from others that informed the non-delusional about a pending cliff they should avoid (like, not voting for Barack Obama and associated Progressives), despite having been surrounded by reason and not jumping over the edge to certain peril, no, despite all reason, there were millions who defied the abundant, sound advice and instead, denigrated the sources of that advice in their needs to dig and maintain the moated fantasy that, herein, in Barack Hussein Obama, was that object of their fantasies. So they lept. The rest of us just shook our heads and watched the disaster unfolding, but, we did tell them so: disaster ahead, don’t jump, think it through, because…
Columns today, yesterday, more to come, I expect, from the Leftwing who, though reality be eeking through their mental window frames on little cat’s paws, they can’t quite bring themselves to admit their wrongs, all told, they are, indeed, going about that argumentative, criticizing phase like ghosts already tumbled down, such that, even the fanatical, damn-America-American-Conservatives- Right-Wingers-Republicans-Americans, Mort Zuckerman, now tepidly hints that his fantasy piece is far duller than an idol.
My consideration this morning is that all that fanatical, idol-groping intensity that we have witnessed in the past two years as to Barry Obama — remade into Barack Hussein Obama because he needed that — will resurface in another decade as an even more agitated madness. If such is possible. And from the experiences among a few other nations in our world’s history, quite horribly, yes, such is, indeed, possible.