When a person makes a pizza, apparently, that person really gets his hands in there. He kneads the dough and throws it all around if he’s really good. Then he throws on some sauce and then dips his hands into the cheese and then into the toppings and he throws the cheese and the toppings on the pizza with his hands. All while he’s doing this, he’s breathing, he’s breathing while he’s standing over the pizza and using his hands to knead, to dip, to spread your lavish toppings all over the pizza.
I sure am glad that the CEO of one of the largest pizza joints in America has assured us that he can’t afford to offer that kid health insurance.
Enjoy your dinner.
To the driver who made like Richard Petty on my right hand side despite my turn signal, seemingly on purpose to prevent my making my exit and forcing me to tootle my horn on the freeway to force my way into the lane, the same driver who then accelerated and passed me on my left only to take the same said exit, the same driver who, despite her best efforts ended up directly in front of me at the traffic light, and who at the following traffic light failed to exercise her left-on-red right of way, leaving us both stuck in the middle of the intersection, to you, I say, may you have a rewarding and beautiful day.
I have finally found the descriptive phrase I’ve been lookikng for that describes the superstitious smear that President Obama’s opposition has run against him for the duration: evil mysticism.
The attempt by his opposition has been to create the story that there is something other-worldly about the President, that he is the kind of fellow you would encounter commuting on a magic carpet, and then he looks down at you and laser beams shoot out of his eyes, but the laser beams are actually barbed arrows that kill you with open chest and stomach wounds that are painful.
I was reminded by a Faced-book friend of a movie released recently that paints the President as an “anti-colonialist” and who has worked his entire life to live up to some vision of his father’s who he met once for ten minutes when he was 10. Also, the movie is really pissed about the President allegedly returning a bust of Churchill back to England, which happened, except that it was on loan and there was another one in the President’s residence.
Don’t ask me to make it all make sense to you. It doesn’t.
It doesn’t because it is part of the ongoing effort to establish the President of the United States as an evil mystic, one who should not even be talking to your children because he will beguile them with evil impulses, remember that? Remember? I do. And I still haven’t heard a word of apology because the President mentioned every wholesome thing in that speech to your precious little ones except the benefits of good posture.
I wish we could do without it. I wish we could subtract this aspect of the political discourse completely, this attempt to paint Mr. Obama as an evil gypsy with supernatural powers. I wish the debate centered instead on actual public policy. Because that might have been an interesting conversation. Instead, we have this nonsense, did you know Barack Obama can grow fangs and claws at will? Did you know he sports a tail?
It’s nonsense and I wish you would knock it off.