Mitt, Willard, R'Money is the republican nominee for president of the United States of America. He will face an impossible campaign against the citizen impostor born in Kenya, sired by a Kenyan, and pushed onto the world by a 17 yr old communist hag. Educated in Indonesia as a Muslim in a school system which taught the evils of the Americans in Viet Nam. Brought to America and educated as a foreign student by Bill Ayers and family at the finest universities in America. Packaged as the Un-Clinton by Axelrod, a communist sympathizer, Obama blew Hillary Clinton's panties up and over her head sending her and William Clinton, with his rapier wit, off to inconsequentialville, shaking their heads in disbelief not knowing what hit them!
The bloodless revolution was complete. Twenty years after the fall of communism. Timing is everything. Now what? Now what, indeed? Obama, Ayers, Axelrod got the job done, but are too late to make any inroads against the history of communism. It has failed in every country in which it has been tried and it will fail here too. Be patient. All is well that ends well.
You believe what you hear and learn as a child, hence the take over of lower education by the Union thugs and the left of our nation. President Obama believes this country is evil and he promises "to fundamentally change it," and he is here to destroy it. He will get another four years in which to push his plan towards fruition.
Mitt is a fine fellow, but is not the best choice to stop the Obama juggernaut. He will join the ranks of the other weak candidates thrown down in sacrifice to weaker presidential candidates. Bob Dole, a lifetime politician who could not excite a crowd even if he promised to give all in attendance a free ride in a space ship to Mars and back.
And John McCain, who spent his most productive times alone in Viet Nam in a POW camp while Young Obama was being taught and learning his hatred for America. McCain bitter. He is not bitter, but he excites like Rosie O'Donnel in a G-string waddling down the street in the Rose Bowl parade turning first this way, and then that way as she waves to a horrified crowd of unsuspecting on lookers. Dogs barking, children crying, mothers gasping and clutching small babies to their breasts.
If I were to advise the R'Money team, I would make this election about the economy.
Worked for Bill Clinton in an economy to which all of us would happily return compared to what three and a half years of Obama, Pelosi, and Reid have wrought. Bill Clinton had a fawning press to push the myth of the "worst economy in 60 years!" Mitt will have no willing co-conspirators in the press and will have to go this one alone.
I will give him his campaign slogan:
"It's Not the Economy, Stupid, It's Stupid's Economy!"
I will give Mitt his theme song:
"Born in the USA" if he can get the rights to it from the Boss, who like most other liberal entertainers has his nose so far up Obama's rear, if the Springsteen sneezes, Obama belches.
That may have been my best use of disgusting imagery ever. I will have to stop there. It can only get worse from here.
Thank you for your patronage to these pages.
Jackson Delano Maybolt, president Urban Poverty Law Center
Showing posts with label rosie O'Donnell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rosie O'Donnell. Show all posts
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Urban Poverty Law Center Death of My Father, 25 yrs Ago
Blogasphereons,
I have taken some time off from fighting poverty with both my right hand and my left foot to read
Mark Twain's autobiography. It is delightful and a fine look into the life and mind of America's most gifted writer.
I received his complete works compiled in 1906 as a birthday gift from my father, Jackson Delano Maybolt,Sr. He left my
mother for a carnival stripper when I was 19, just after I was injured so grievously by the manure spreader. I read all the volumes from my hospital bed and was hooked on Twain. It was the last gift and the last time I ever heard from father so the books have a special meaning for me. Twain's autobiography has caused me to reflect. Hence the following:
I am ashamed to admit my father was stabbed in the heart and killed by the bearded lady when he caught his stripper girlfriend and the aforementioned bearded one cheating on him while the midget clown troupe was watching the hot action hidden in a trunk in the corner of the bearded lady's dressing room. Seems the bearded lady liked an audience no matter the task and the midget clown troupe, through prior agreement, was a willing audience. Little did they know they were in for the spectacle of a lifetime that fateful day.
The midget clown testified that father mistook the bearded lady for a fellow, what with the facial hair and all and attacked her by throwing the trunk which contained the three midgets at her head. She was able to duck, but the midgets, beings as they were in the trunk were along for the ride so to speak...when the trunk slammed into the wall and fell to the floor, all three midget clowns staggered out of that trunk just in time to see the bearded lady grab the sword swallower's prop which was in the corner. They watched as she pointed the sword at father who was rushing in to attack his sweetheart's bearded paramour. The sword pierced my father's chest bisecting his heart. He staggered back and fell against the wall.
My father, who was well known for his love of the dramatic arts, never let an opportunity for public oratory pass. Even when mortally wounded, he took this most unfortunate, yet appropriate time for his last words. I have copied them as reported in the court documents compiled from the testimony of Bobo, the midget clown, whose statements got the bearded lady acquitted of murder in my father's death.
"Hark, I am greatly injured by this object which you have so carelessly passed into my chest. Is it not enough that you have broken my heart with your actions here with my sweet, sweet Loulou the Louisiana Voodoo Stripping Queen." ( This was my father's girlfriend's stage handle, she used snakes and skeletons as props, and though I never saw her in action, one of my
friends slipped into one of her shows and said she needed the props since her "ass was smokin hot, but her tits were weak".
Recall this was at a time before fine titties could be bought for $5,000 from any plastic surgeon.) I digress, back to my father's last words.
At this point, Bobo testifies that the effect of the sword in my father chest was taking command of the situation, and the look on my father's face went from shock to cold acceptance of his fate. Father continues, his words now sprayed out with frothing
bright red blood, which added dramatic effect according to Bobo.
"Oh, woe is to me that I gave up a loving family and a rural postmaster's position with full federal benefits and 16 federal and state holidays off a year to satisfy my wicked carnal desires with this tramp from the swamps of humanity!"
By now all the occupants of the small dressing room are crowded into the corner furthest away from my dying father because as Bobo put it, the blood spatter from my dad's last words was "wickedly profuse and looking like a red mist. The day was saved when the smallest midget clown, CoaCoa, whose specialty was honking a funny sounding air horn instead of talking, found an umbrella and opened it to protect all of them from that bloody spray.
Via Bobo, even with the life draining out of father, he bravely continues his speech:
"Tell my family that my last thoughts were of them. Beg......." At this time Bobo said my father's eyes got really big and he was unable to continue until a forced cough cleared a large blood clot from father's throat which flew under the umbrella at great speed and struck the bearded lady where it immediately began to slowly slide down the curly rivulets of her beard, inching its way towards a horrified CoaCoa. At this time CoaCoa let out a blast from his horn and promptly threw up on Bobo's hilariously large clown shoes. This was apparently too much for little CoaCoa. Father's last words continued:
"Beg, nay pray them to forgive me for I am just a man, a man who was unable to resist temptation... the temptation of a wicked temptress........."
Another clot, this one taking longer to clear than the previous which allowed the bearded lady to protect the huddled mass of carnival humanity by redirecting the umbrella downward and towards father who has slumped in the opposite corner. Then the cough with the clot that struck the umbrella with force enough to unnerve those in attendance. My father continues:
"who used me for her carnal pleasures over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over..... and then over again, and threw my life away, nay cast my love away for what, a fat white man with a beard!"
According to Bobo, there was not a dry eye in the trailer. When my father's speech was concluded, they all went over to shake his hand and to congratulate him, but it was too late. He was gone. CoaCoa held his air horn next to father's ear and let out a short blast to make sure he was really gone. No reaction, my father was dead and was now required to follow the custom of not moving or talking or doing anything that might disturb the others. 1.
No one has heard from him since.
It pains me even now though the anesthetic of time passed has lessened it somewhat. I still tear up and get that fullness in my throat when I think about him, because he was my father and he loved me and I loved him.
Mark Twain's daughter, Suzy, often asked her father the meaning of life. "What is it all for?" 1. That a man, a fine church going family man, postmaster for 25 yrs with only 5 yrs to go til fully vested in a generous federal pension system could or would throw it away on what? What is it all for, Sam and Suzy Clemens?
We may never know the answer to that query which has confounded mankind since first he became aware.
I hope this does not cause any of you who risked reading this any discomfort, but I had to get it off my chest as it is the 25th, yes, the silver anniversary of my father's last words. God bless you all and your little children.
Jackson Delano Maybolt President Urban Poverty Law Center
orphaned since 2008 yet not hopeless
"Let's not talk about your father, he's dead."
Mother Maybolt 1922-2008
1. Mark Twain Autobiography
I have received many requests to comment on what ever became of the principles in the above story.
The bearded lady shaved her beard off and is now known as Rosie ODonnell and is believed by some to be an actress and political commentator.
Loulou the Louisiana Voodoo Stripping Queen went on to write the "Vagina Monologues".
The Midget Clowns all gave up the carnival life and one of the clowns, Bobo, changed his name to Jon Stewart and hosts a successful political satire show on Comedy Central.
CoaCoa, the Midget Clown, now works as the horn operator at the Sports Emporium in Salt Lake City, Utah.
The third Midget Clown was never seen or heard from after that infamous day. jm
I have taken some time off from fighting poverty with both my right hand and my left foot to read
Mark Twain's autobiography. It is delightful and a fine look into the life and mind of America's most gifted writer.
I received his complete works compiled in 1906 as a birthday gift from my father, Jackson Delano Maybolt,Sr. He left my
mother for a carnival stripper when I was 19, just after I was injured so grievously by the manure spreader. I read all the volumes from my hospital bed and was hooked on Twain. It was the last gift and the last time I ever heard from father so the books have a special meaning for me. Twain's autobiography has caused me to reflect. Hence the following:
I am ashamed to admit my father was stabbed in the heart and killed by the bearded lady when he caught his stripper girlfriend and the aforementioned bearded one cheating on him while the midget clown troupe was watching the hot action hidden in a trunk in the corner of the bearded lady's dressing room. Seems the bearded lady liked an audience no matter the task and the midget clown troupe, through prior agreement, was a willing audience. Little did they know they were in for the spectacle of a lifetime that fateful day.
The midget clown testified that father mistook the bearded lady for a fellow, what with the facial hair and all and attacked her by throwing the trunk which contained the three midgets at her head. She was able to duck, but the midgets, beings as they were in the trunk were along for the ride so to speak...when the trunk slammed into the wall and fell to the floor, all three midget clowns staggered out of that trunk just in time to see the bearded lady grab the sword swallower's prop which was in the corner. They watched as she pointed the sword at father who was rushing in to attack his sweetheart's bearded paramour. The sword pierced my father's chest bisecting his heart. He staggered back and fell against the wall.
My father, who was well known for his love of the dramatic arts, never let an opportunity for public oratory pass. Even when mortally wounded, he took this most unfortunate, yet appropriate time for his last words. I have copied them as reported in the court documents compiled from the testimony of Bobo, the midget clown, whose statements got the bearded lady acquitted of murder in my father's death.
"Hark, I am greatly injured by this object which you have so carelessly passed into my chest. Is it not enough that you have broken my heart with your actions here with my sweet, sweet Loulou the Louisiana Voodoo Stripping Queen." ( This was my father's girlfriend's stage handle, she used snakes and skeletons as props, and though I never saw her in action, one of my
friends slipped into one of her shows and said she needed the props since her "ass was smokin hot, but her tits were weak".
Recall this was at a time before fine titties could be bought for $5,000 from any plastic surgeon.) I digress, back to my father's last words.
At this point, Bobo testifies that the effect of the sword in my father chest was taking command of the situation, and the look on my father's face went from shock to cold acceptance of his fate. Father continues, his words now sprayed out with frothing
bright red blood, which added dramatic effect according to Bobo.
"Oh, woe is to me that I gave up a loving family and a rural postmaster's position with full federal benefits and 16 federal and state holidays off a year to satisfy my wicked carnal desires with this tramp from the swamps of humanity!"
By now all the occupants of the small dressing room are crowded into the corner furthest away from my dying father because as Bobo put it, the blood spatter from my dad's last words was "wickedly profuse and looking like a red mist. The day was saved when the smallest midget clown, CoaCoa, whose specialty was honking a funny sounding air horn instead of talking, found an umbrella and opened it to protect all of them from that bloody spray.
Via Bobo, even with the life draining out of father, he bravely continues his speech:
"Tell my family that my last thoughts were of them. Beg......." At this time Bobo said my father's eyes got really big and he was unable to continue until a forced cough cleared a large blood clot from father's throat which flew under the umbrella at great speed and struck the bearded lady where it immediately began to slowly slide down the curly rivulets of her beard, inching its way towards a horrified CoaCoa. At this time CoaCoa let out a blast from his horn and promptly threw up on Bobo's hilariously large clown shoes. This was apparently too much for little CoaCoa. Father's last words continued:
"Beg, nay pray them to forgive me for I am just a man, a man who was unable to resist temptation... the temptation of a wicked temptress........."
Another clot, this one taking longer to clear than the previous which allowed the bearded lady to protect the huddled mass of carnival humanity by redirecting the umbrella downward and towards father who has slumped in the opposite corner. Then the cough with the clot that struck the umbrella with force enough to unnerve those in attendance. My father continues:
"who used me for her carnal pleasures over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over..... and then over again, and threw my life away, nay cast my love away for what, a fat white man with a beard!"
According to Bobo, there was not a dry eye in the trailer. When my father's speech was concluded, they all went over to shake his hand and to congratulate him, but it was too late. He was gone. CoaCoa held his air horn next to father's ear and let out a short blast to make sure he was really gone. No reaction, my father was dead and was now required to follow the custom of not moving or talking or doing anything that might disturb the others. 1.
No one has heard from him since.
It pains me even now though the anesthetic of time passed has lessened it somewhat. I still tear up and get that fullness in my throat when I think about him, because he was my father and he loved me and I loved him.
Mark Twain's daughter, Suzy, often asked her father the meaning of life. "What is it all for?" 1. That a man, a fine church going family man, postmaster for 25 yrs with only 5 yrs to go til fully vested in a generous federal pension system could or would throw it away on what? What is it all for, Sam and Suzy Clemens?
We may never know the answer to that query which has confounded mankind since first he became aware.
I hope this does not cause any of you who risked reading this any discomfort, but I had to get it off my chest as it is the 25th, yes, the silver anniversary of my father's last words. God bless you all and your little children.
Jackson Delano Maybolt President Urban Poverty Law Center
orphaned since 2008 yet not hopeless
"Let's not talk about your father, he's dead."
Mother Maybolt 1922-2008
1. Mark Twain Autobiography
I have received many requests to comment on what ever became of the principles in the above story.
The bearded lady shaved her beard off and is now known as Rosie ODonnell and is believed by some to be an actress and political commentator.
Loulou the Louisiana Voodoo Stripping Queen went on to write the "Vagina Monologues".
The Midget Clowns all gave up the carnival life and one of the clowns, Bobo, changed his name to Jon Stewart and hosts a successful political satire show on Comedy Central.
CoaCoa, the Midget Clown, now works as the horn operator at the Sports Emporium in Salt Lake City, Utah.
The third Midget Clown was never seen or heard from after that infamous day. jm
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)