Replies

BHO was a rootless and thoroughly confused and lonely boy when his narcissistic loon of a mother dumped him back in Oahu after what six years in Indonesia where he had some sort of a structured life. Then who steps in to be his ‘mentor’ than communist pervert frank Marshall Davis. I don't agree with Michael Savage often but he knew Davis when he was in Hawaii and called him ‘the most evil man ‘ there. Davis has left behind plenty of hints in his writings that he was a polymorphous pervert with a particular taste for ephebes, male or female. Davis in some sort of unholy concert with his communist associates in Chicago, befriended & groomed BHO (perhaps with BHO’s grandfather’s enablement, including periodic and probably occasionally violent sexual abuse. I know from a close family friend that there is nothing like this combination of friendship, grooming, sex abuse and implanting of memes to produce a reliable Manchurian Candidate. As long as some one is around to keep the messages refreshed the person who has had this treatment will continue to parrot these views and function like a robot with a bit of guidance to carry out their destructive mission. In this case making the US a combination third world banana republic and socialist welfare state.
I have paid a lot of attention watching how BHO presents himself. I mute the TV voice and watch the dumb show. BHO is a sick and tormented man at the core of his being. His constant angry scowling and rageful expression and his general rigid stilted demeanor marks him for what he is. A man whose soul has been raped and destroyed and who has become the ventriloquist dummy for other truly sinister and evil persons. BHO is a dark and evil presence in our national history. G-d protect us from him and his puppet masters.

you should post more often....

yes...the bammey minions entirely are evil...

we're not just fighting obammey...we're fighting the death grip he has on our people...

may God indeed, please protect us, send us grace, send us wisdom....

Pop”

Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and broken
In, sprinkled with ashes,
Pop switches channels, takes another
Shot of Seagrams, neat, and asks
What to do with me, a green young man
Who fails to consider the
Flim and flam of the world, since
Things have been easy for me;
I stare hard at his face, a stare
That deflects off his brow;
I’m sure he’s unaware of his
Dark, watery eyes, that
Glance in different directions,
And his slow, unwelcome twitches,
Fail to pass.
I listen, nod,
Listen, open, till I cling to his pale,
Beige T-shirt, yelling,
Yelling in his ears, that hang
With heavy lobes, but he’s still telling
His joke, so I ask why
He’s so unhappy, to which he replies…
But I don’t care anymore, cause
He took too damn long, and from
Under my seat, I pull out the
Mirror I’ve been saving; I’m laughing,
Laughing loud, the blood rushing from his face
To mine, as he grows small,
A spot in my brain, something
That may be squeezed out, like a
Watermelon seed between
Two fingers.
Pop takes another shot, neat,
Points out the same amber
Stain on his shorts that I’ve got on mine, and
Makes me smell his smell, coming
From me; he switches channels, recites an old poem
He wrote before his mother died,
Stands, shouts, and asks
For a hug, as I shrink, my
Arms barely reaching around
His thick, oily neck, and his broad back; ‘cause
I see my face, framed within
Pop’s black-framed glasses
And know he’s laughing too.

You have just described Obama better than anyone so far. That is exactly how I see that BOY, exactly.

Every day, every night that description stays inside & sickens me every time I see or hear him. Actually, I have to change channels or MUTE and turn my eyes away. I cannot look upon Satan.

Come back often and repost the same post, over and over. By morning this thread will be on page 2 or 3. Keep it up front.