Lingua Manca

A linguistic calamity has befallen the terrorist-romancing anti-Zionists of the fringy Left: Bend they have always done to the hive-mind that rules them, and contorted its vulgar tongue; now they’ve tossed their bitter prayerbook, with all its anesthetizing, stupefying, paralyzing, repetitiveness, into the liturgical smelting pit with the bent, contorted, ritual supplications of the Israel-inimical anti-Semitic fringy Right, and lo, transmogrification! Is that Gleichschaltung we see filling its pages?

What a tragic little shame for them their litanizing arabesques are utterly Buchananesque. Still, for the rest of us, it’s picaresque.

On the Kite Strings of a Vice President

(With apologies to Gerard Manley Hopkins)

O the Biden mind, mind has mountains (“Biden was in York, Pa., visiting the Goode Elementary School to argue that the American Jobs Act would support 400,000 education jobs”); cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer (“‘Are we campaigning?’  he said. ‘Yes! We are campaigning to change this environment’”), no-man-fathomed (“‘If our students suffer, our future suffers,’ Biden said, adding, ‘They are the kite strings that lift our national ambitions aloft’”) O my dear.

Hold those kite strings cheap May who ne’er hung there.

GILAD!!!!!!!!!!

He’s free and he’s home in the bosom of his family and his country.

Celebrate, Israel, with all the joyous gratitude that fills your hearts, as we all do along with you.

Then round up his captors, the slaughtering, death-worshiping, innocent-butchering, child-sacrificing savages who dip their hands in blood and use women—those who aren’t strapping bombs to their own devils’ spawn and sending them out to meet their seventy-two virgins by taking the lives of the school-bus-riding, heart-drawing, Transformer-doodling, homework-losing children of Others—and their offspring—those who haven’t already been pimped out by their mothers to the murder god—as shields, hiding behind their burkas and cradles like the unmanned animals they are, and throw them not into your prisons, where they can bide until they’re traded by the thousands for another child of Israel, but into the sea, to float there, food for sharks, stargazers, and whatever other oceanic carnivores God has put there for the purpose.

One Percent Solution

Okay, One-Percenters, happy to oblige: First I’ll tax you, then I’ll redistribute your wealth to someone more worthy, then I’ll feel sorry for the pathetic mommies and daddies who anointed your self-involved, ungrateful, dreadlocked little heads with the oil of love and luxury so they could end up listening to you repeat anti-Semitic imprecations like a Nazi mob and watching you turn the New York City streets into a toilet.  

If only someone had spent one percent of his or her time smacking you upside the head—figuratively speaking, of course—before sending you off with your Rosa Luxemburg lunch boxes to Elisabeth Irwin and then on to Yale . . . oh, I don’t know . . . maybe Zucotti Park, Congress Plaza, the Rose Kennedy Greenway, Woodruff Park, et al., wouldn’t be starting to look so much like Haight Ashbury after the Summer of Love, when flocks of homeless, infected, trippin’, psychotic trust-fund babies staggered into the Free Clinic to get their weekly dose of penicillin and thorazine.

Trading for Gilad

1,027 “Palestinian” prisoners—many of whom have shed the blood of Israeli and American children—for one child of Israel, Gilad Schalit. The Gazan murderers and their masters in Damascus call it a victory, and they are very likely right; what number of those released killers will breathe the fresh Israeli air and kill again?  For this they will owe a very great debt to Barack Obama’s feckless revisionism.

But all that’s for later, and Israeli bombs and targeted assassinations. Right now—if the savages holding him really do let him go—I’d call a thousand of them for one of him a fair trade. As, indeed, so would they, benighted as they are.

Because When You’re Speaking of Health and Education to Poor People In Botswana and South Africa . . .

. . . and while you’re at it teaching them to plant kitchen gardens (Let’s Move, Soweto!), you’ve just got to have your hairstylist and makeup artist along with you: Nobody who’s anybody in this fat, ugly world of ours pulls up carrots without her false eyelashes on. You’ll need them, as well, when you’re off to Johannesburg with your “senior staff,” Sasha and Malia, to use Nelson Mandela as a “surreal” prop in his retirement retreat. And you’ll want to look your very best (see fat, ugly world, above), naturally (or somewhat less than naturally) to “go see some stuff” at the Madikwe Game Reserve.  

Worth every single penny—especially the pennies fat-cat Republican “haves” (with their 35 percent income-tax rate) are raking in at the expense of hard-working Democrat “have-nots” (15 percent)—of our taxpayer money, that $432,142 safari, I’d say.