Why I left the Democrats

fat
Sports Illustrated “model.”

AND WHY YOU should do the same.

It started for me in 2007 when it came to light that the Obamas had sat for 20 years in the church of the Rev. Jeremiah Wright, he of the “Goddamn America” sermon. Wright was quickly muzzled by Obama’s handlers.

It went downhill from there between me and the Democrat Party for which my entire family had proudly voted for decades.

There was Political Correctness, that ham-fisted ideology that blossomed in the 1990s and just got worse. Later, the lunacy kicked in. Putting fat gals in the Swimsuit Edition of Sports Illustrated in the name of “equality.” Obesity is a serious health issue, not something to be glorified. Obesity isn’t just another valid lifestyle choice.

And there is Cancel Culture. Share our opinion or be fired. From the disturbing, it’s descended into madness. Take Aunt Jemima off the syrup jar. Change the names of sports teams. Don black clothing and masks to march and riot in the streets.

Can’t dress like Pancho Villa for Halloween unless you’re Mexican. Actors can’t play disabled people in movies unless they are themselves disabled.

Last night at the restarting of the NBA games, every player and coach on both teams, 100 percent, took to their knees before the national anthem, thumbing their noses at the flag of the nation that made them wealthy and privileged.

Conservatives are squelched online by Big Tech. Black Lives Matter — which consists to a great degree of white leftists whose aim is Marxism, a word they wisely removed from their website not long ago — still laughably states on its website:

We disrupt the Western-prescribed nuclear family.

The film classic Gone With the Wind is blocked from online streaming. Statues are toppled, not just of Gen. Robert E. Lee but the Great Emancipator Abraham Lincoln himself, which demonstrates a dizzying level of ignorance.

And nincompoopery.

The owners of a Michigan Bed & Breakfast were browbeaten recently into removing a Norwegian flag outside their business because it resembles a Confederate flag.

Defund the police! Imbecilic.

Speaking of nincompoopery, here’s a very smart and brave girl who goes by Cringe Panda online. Her internet fame has skyrocketed since the first of the year. Watch her address the appalling state of public education.

No need to watch the entire thing. The first five minutes will educate you.

All of the above and much more flows totally from the left side of the political divide, those people who vote Democrat. All of it, 100 percent.

And if you are unaware of the things I mentioned, consider finding news sources other than The New York Times, Washington Post, Huffpost and MSNBC.

You’re being duped.

If you are aware of the things I mentioned, and you still vote Democrat, that is far worse, and I’m ashamed of you. But let’s move on to:


JOE BIDEN

The presumed Democrat presidential nominee is that hated thing, an old white man, and decades-long political hack. How did this happen?

It happened because actual Democrat voters, most of whom are not Marxists, participated in the primary elections, and apparently grass-roots Democrats were not happy with the radical choices they saw on the debate stages. Every Democrat, for instance, raised a hand when asked if they supported “free” healthcare for illegal aliens. Even Joe.

Voters opted for the old shoe they knew, smelly as it is.

Tulsi Gabbard, the best of the sorry lot, would have shot her candidacy skyward had she the bravery to leave her hand down to the question of healthcare for illegals. The move would have stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb but in a positive way. She killed her chances with that one raise of the arm.

She was the only one who had a prayer of beating Trump.

Biden is old, older than Trump, and plainly has cognitive issues which makes his vice-presidential choice far more important than usual. If you vote for Biden in November, know that you’re actually voting for the vice president to be president.

He will nominate a radical woman “of color” because the leftist party bosses have him by the short hairs. He’ll do anything to be president. He’d get on all fours and bark.

Take a close look at the vice-presidential nominee, and think hard about how Democrats are running cities and states these days. The riots, lawlessness, Antifa, BLM, high taxes, vagrancy, high-priced housing, tent cities, and so on.

Again, if you’re unaware of these things, consider finding news sources other than The New York Times, Washington Post, Huffpost and MSNBC.

You’re being duped.

Consider doing what I did in 2007: Leave the Democrat Party.

New Zealand loveliness

A FELLOW ON MeWe posted this, and I loved it. You will too.

These are kids from New Zealand singing Bob Dylan’s classic Mr. Tambourine Man. All of the youngsters are, well, kids singing, with one exception, the one with the great tan.

That one is incredible, and a joy to watch.

Songs from an old lover

WHEN I WAS far younger, I lived for a spell in a penthouse that overlooked the sea in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico. It also overlooked the supposedly perilous slum of La Perla, but that’s a story for another day.

I lived in that penthouse with a black-haired, freckle-faced Argentine girl of 20 whom I met in a bar just a few blocks away. Our relationship was often iffy, but always fascinating.

Returning once from a flight to her home in Buenos Aires, she brought two record albums, the old style you played on a turntable. Here are two songs from those albums, tunes that have remained in my mind for decades, and I now have the compact disk versions.

The first singer is Atahualpa Yupanqui, whose real name was Héctor Roberto Chavero. He was considered Argentina’s most important folk singer of the 20th century. He died in 1992. I like his style.

The second video is Vinicius de Moraes, a Brazilian. The song is my favorite from that album. He is singing with Maria Creuza and Toquinho. I think Portuguese is the loveliest of languages. I wish I spoke it.

Either of these songs immediately takes me back to the hammock on the terraza outside my very small apartment in San Juan. The sea breeze was always soft. The music was always marvelous. The Cuba Libres were always strong, and they were handed to me by the lovely, young Argentine through the window from the living room.

I lacked for nothing that mattered.