Posted on 03/02/2012 9:17:36 AM PST by Short Bus
Sheriff Joe Arpaio of Arizona is bound and determined to make sure we never forget the embarrassment of the birther movement. Most of us would love to put that ugly little racist blip in our history -- a time when conspiracy theorists and fools alike accused President Barack Obama of not being American. But Arpaio, a sheriff in Phoenix, Arizona, just won't give it up.
Can we say beating a dead horse, people? Sometimes it seems like certain politicians just do things to help out Stephen Colbert, Jon Stewart, and Bill Maher. After all, how else does anyone explain Arpaio's inane and insane assertion that Obama, a man who produced his birth certificate last year, isn't American?
See his ranting [here].
"Forgery or fraud may have been committed," says Arpaio. Ooooh no! Are ghosts and goblins real, too, Sheriff Arpaio? How about the Loch Ness Monster? Do you go visit old Nessie on your days off from enforcing the laws of Arizona?
In all seriousness, this is vile racism plain and simple. In a place like Arizona, it's no surprise -- after all, many politicians there (including Arpaio) hold rather Draconian views on immigration -- and it's disgusting. And it's getting old fast.
For all you doubters for whom book learning was apparently a challenge, here are the facts: President Barack Obama was born in Honolulu on August 4, 1961. He has produced both a certificate of live birth during the 2008 campaign and the long-form certificate last year. Neither has been disproved.
So why is this still going on? Arpaio seems like a joke, but, according to Obama campaign spokesman Ben LaBolt, Republican Presidential hopeful Mitt Romney doesn't think so. Yesterday LaBolt tweeted:
Romney has called Arpaio for his endorsement, his aides called "weekly" and Arpaio was his honorary Chair in 08.That's embarrassing. The fact is, most people agree Arpaio is a few cards shy of a full deck, but here we are still talking about him. Is this an alternate universe? Why am I guessing this guy is the type of person who stays at parties hours after they have ended asking for more chips and guacamole? Dude, the party is over, the ship has sailed, and you are beating a dead horse.
Sadly, there aren't enough cliched ways to say IT'S OVER to make it any clearer to this guy.
It wouldn't be possible anyway. There never was a "decent" JFK.
I'm glad you enjoyed it. :-)
Why, does TC want to harvest a bunch of Pats?
Oh. Yes. Of course. I knew that.
I don't have a Pat answer to that question.
Obama is NOT black . . . he is a “mulatto”. Check the definition on line or in a current edition of a good dictionary. He is nothing more, nothing less. The media has hoodwinked the American Public into thinking he is black.
Does the cilantro reseed itself, or over-winter?
Is your cat a liberal?
The cilantro reseeds itself. It gave out in late summer, and started back up in late fall. I don’t know what arugula tastes like, although I assume it’s one of the “mixed greens” we get at the grocery store. I couldn’t pick it out of the mix!
The printer worked, and it didn’t rain on the Cub Scouts. God is generous. Rained a few drops after we left the meeting.
Sounds like a pretty good day.
in the deep distant past, i had about sixteen webelos at a summer webelos encampment. we were with the rest of the camp at the campfire right at the lake (code for: as far as possible away from our campsite) when an unexpected severe storm and tornado warming was announce: 'take your scouts back to camp; the storm could be here in about thirty min(CRAAAAAAAAACK! BOOOOOOOOOOM!)utes.'
we herded the scouts along the tree line around a couple of open fields, the adults trying to get the scouts to sing 'happy' songs as they cried.
at the camp, we have these elevated shelters for storage, with one long side completely open. herded the scouts inside and hung four coleman lanterns from nails at the front, open side so that the boys faced blinding light and couldn't see what was going on outside.
then it was a constant stream of talking and jokes and skits in the crowded shelter, trying to keep their eyes focused forward at the blinding light so they couldn't see that the wall of the shelter that they were sitting and standing against was crawling with wolf spiders the size of pontiac aztecs.
two and one-half hours later, it stopped as abruptly as it started.
outside, the mud was a couple of inches deep. one scout (the one i would have predicted) suddenly took a spread eagle leap from the shelter and landed face down, arms and legs akimbo, in the mud, and began making a mud eagle.
ah . . . those days with webelos.
i hope your outdoor meeting is as exciting so you have a good story to add to your collection.
I LOVE being outdoors.
I HATE the outdoors coming indoors on people’s shoes.
We have a HUGE tent — a three-armed monstrosity absolutely required for the burgeoning horde we call “our family” — that has a “vestibule” separated from the inner sanctum where we sleep by a zippered wall. We use that as a changing room and the place where you sit with your legs poking out the door while you take off your shoes before coming the rest of the way inside in your stocking feet.
I’d love a house out in a more rural area, but a mud room with a concrete floor and a floor drain would be an absolute MUST.
NOT to say that I hate getting dirty, just that when I’m DONE being dirty, I prefer to leave most — if not all — of the dirt outside, where it belongs.
MUD does not comply. Not at all.
“the wall of the shelter that they were sitting and standing against was crawling with wolf spiders the size of pontiac aztecs.”
Interesting story there : )
Careful. They can be extremely dangerous when cornered. I've read accounts of gruntles, herded into narrow confines, such as a cubicle, for example, causing serious injury or worse when some fool attempted to dis-band them. (They tend to congregate and make musically pleasing flugle sounds when they've gone feral, but if forced to it, they'll resort to Metal in order to escape)
If they do rush you and you're still lucky enough to bag one, be sure to shear it at the first opportunity. There's a brew, more than a tee and yet not quite a coughee that can be prepared from the shearings of a recently dis-tressed gruntle that is purportedly the most calming, satisfying beverage evah.
Thanks. I'll be here all week; try the veal gruntle, and don't forget to tip your server. :)
We found a northern watersnake by the church’s ornamental pond last year when I took the Tiger Cubs for some outdoorsiness. No such excitement last night, but they were happy to be out.
I don’t like mud (dirt, grass, bugs) coming in the house, either. It’s a constant struggle. Yes, I want the children to go out in the woods and get filthy. No, I don’t want an extra two loads of laundry, on top of the 3-5 I’m already doing, plus all the rest of the cleaning.
If only they could just undress outside!
Where do you get such notions?
Just have them go around back, and go in through the pool room entrance. Of course, then they'll be tracking water around, but at least they would be clean.
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