The monsters from the id that seized control the Democrat Party have transformed that party into a mob of undead extras from The Walking Dead (Season 285). From “the friend of the working man” this party has become an indecent and disgusting spectacle of crazed cultists and prevaricating perverts claiming they are “normal”. I suspect there’s more than a few million long-time Democrats who are revolted by the chancred, rouged and tarted up old queen the party has become, and millions more “independents” who are repulsed by it. That repulsion certainly seems to be creeping into the polls. No matter the good it once did, the Democrats today present in the Emergency Rooms of the nation as a sick and crazed political party that is so greedy; so hungry for power that it will do anything, including selling its country down the drain, to get it back.
Regardless of the race of the Democrats’ current skulking “leader” and retroactively failed president, Martin Luther King’s dream of judging people by the content of their character and not the color of their skin has been transformed into a tawdry thing; a dried husk in which they wrap their skeletal remains, a hollow phrase spewed by the ascendant race hustlers of the party and lapped up by their acolytes.
“As a party, it’s a poxed whore for whom no condom is thick enough.
Democrat’s a death trip.”
With the exception of Guiliani’s second term as mayor, I voted the Democrat ticket in every election since 1967 until 2000 when, gazing at the clown car of the Repubocrats, I sighed and went with Nadar. In 2004, when Democrat offered the Insane Clown Posse of John Kerry and John Edwards, I voted for George Bush. The spectacle of the next twelve years of various Democrat death-trips did not inspire me to change my view. Only the dead enjoy parties in a crypt. Only the Democrat Zombies feast on “Brainz!” without ever seeming to grow smarter, only more dead in mind, body, and soul.
From the party that gave us FDR, Truman, JFK and even, yes, LBJ, the Democrats have gone through a process of gradual but inexorable devolution to the party of such weak, tepid and compromised souls as Carter, Clinton, Kerry, Bernie the Crazed Attic Aunt, Clinton Part Deux, and of course Obama – the ultimate bargainer, the race hustler with an Ivy League sheepskin and the slick skinsuit hiding his childhood molestation. But these craven souls the Party puts up are only the shadows cast by the compromises it has made within itself. It has made many compromises over the years and taken in many “causes” each one more dubious and rotten than the last.
As a result of this unremitting ideological promiscuity, the “progressive” party has become progressively more diseased from each submissive encounter. The gangrene that has rotted the body of the party has transformed it into some transnational Dorian Gray. Strutting and noble and handsome when preening before the cameras and the crowds, but putrid and pestilential when you see it as it is in the dull light of its pustule blossoming “new morning.”
Politics is a profession founded on and fueled by hypocrisy. This we all know. But, at the same time, we also need a politics that somewhere within it has a shred of uncompromised decency, the dim understanding of honor, and more than a shred of courage. None of these qualities exists in the Democratic Party today.
For some time, I expected there would be a turning around among many Democrats. I expected that the better angels of their nature would triumph and lead them out of the moral swamp into which they were wading deeper with every passing month.
Since the election of Donald Trump, however, I have come to the place where the whole sorry circus of the Democrats has finally filled my gorge with disgust and revulsion. The party whose ideals once excited me has become a mockery, a dumb show, a parody of itself, and a dangerous parody at that.
Instead of the inspiration of the Statue of Liberty, the Democrat Party now appears as a brain-damaged cackling whore of unspeakable criminality whose suppurating chancres and pustules ooze only shopworn socialist bromides, sloshing drool-cup imprecations, spine-numbing boredom, sheer despair, intellectual and spiritual poverty, reverse sexism, and the worst sort of racism seen since it gave birth to the Klu Klux Klan. Classical racism loathes “the other.” The new racism of the Democrat requires one loathe oneself first and last, and to accuse those that do not of racism. To paraphrase Bob Dylan, “The Democrats want to get you down in the hole that they’re in.”
Instead of telling us what sort of New Jerusalem it would have us build as our City on the Hill, the Democrat party requires that its members root about for bought votes in the left-behind slave ghettos of the soul; it requires its colonized minds to ponder the rightness or wrongness of the very babies of its opponents. Instead of waving the bright banners of America triumphant, the Party dons the rags and bones of defeatism and hate and slunks about the country like a tarted-up Typhoid Mary, infecting all who kiss its pockmarked and pustuled lips. As a party, it’s a poxed whore for whom no condom is thick enough. Democrat’s a death trip.
No more dates with Demy for me. I’ll have no more to do with it. I know I’m not the only one. Day by day over the six months, more and more are coming to this conclusion. For zombies like the Walking Dead Democrats only a head-shot works. Double tap to be sure. What I’m not sure about is if that concept is still only a metaphor.***
[UPDATE; From the comments recently in Don Surber: Today in celebrities for violence against the president
In Forbidden Planet, the 1955 masterpiece starring Robbie the Robot among others, an alien civilization had expended all its energies creating a machine that could make thought reality. In the movie, they were ultimately destroyed by it. Today we have a (now) alien organization expending vast amounts of negative energy trying to materialize another Oswald out of the void in trust they themselves created serving the selfish whims of their satanic masters. They see the downside as negligible and will not stop.
The interesting thing about the old scientist that brought the monsters of the id into being was that he was all peace and love like today’s liberals, but the monsters of the id that came out of his subconscious were all powerful devils manifested in electric force fields. Unimaginable horror coming out of a guy like you’d find hosting Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood.
Here we have peace and love liberals conjuring up hatreds unlike the world has ever seen, hoping, longing, for violence and bloodshed. And considering themselves completely blameless in the process, just like old Dr. Morbius.]
*** This drill is an old chestnut among some shooters but I hadn’t heard it before. Goes like this. Get yer gear and yer sighted-in serious gun, go to the range, set yer target, get in position, aim and fire one shot. You’re done. Don’t touch that dial, nudging zero is a whole different exercise. This is a “know thyself” thing. Mark yer target and go home.
Do this over time, every weekend or every other day, or what ev-ver, no matter the weather: rain and misty, cold and windy, or warm and still. Whether yer rested or groggy. The idea is, a follow up shot may matter, or not, but the first shot will always matter. And you won’t get to pick the weather. Woodpile Report