Complete with giant dog turd.
State workers here in California get today off (for now). Meanwhile, those of us with an honest living in the private sector MIGHT be able to take President's Day off to honor Washington and Lincoln along with James Buchanan and Warren Harding.
Chavez, who founded the National Farm Workers Association in 1962, is noted as the nation's foremost Latino civil rights leader.
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If he were alive, maybe he would be a guest at the Bush ranch. Pardon the sarcasm, but it is VERY well placed.
"Yippee....yet another paid day off!! Another day I don't have to work each year!!"....
I sat shaking my head in disbelief and shame. She makes six figures a year and works half as much. Hardly the message Mr. Chavez was trying to send.
Complete with giant dog turd.
Lenin's 100th birthday was the first "Earth Day". What a coincidence!
But if that PoS Rep. Joe (Jose) Baca thinks he's going to get the whole damned country to "celebrate" the life of an enemy of our way of life, he's got another thing coming. (On the other hand, I GLADLY celebrate the DEATH of any Communist, and will cheerfully dance, piss, and spit on the grave.)
"All Americans should be aware of this chapter in our nation's history."
What is it about these filthy leftists that drives them to force their positions on everyone else? I swear, socialism-slash-communism is like a proseletyzing religion to them. Anyone who disagrees is branded a heretic and apostate, and must be eliminated.
However, with the current attitudes regarding illegal aliens - oh, excuse my lack of ability to speak Orwellian Duckspeak - "undocumented workers", I don't think this leftist windbag has a snowball's chance in Hell of getting this "holiday" enacted into law on the national level.
Let's pray I'm right.
http://www.mochinet.com/poets/service/index.cgi?ListTitles=Bar-Room%20Ballads&Poem=18
And there was Lenin, stiff and still, a symbol and a sign,
And rancid races come to thrill and wonder at his Shrine;
And hold the thought: if Lenin rot the Soviets will decay;
And there he sleeps and calm he keeps his watch and ward for aye.
Yet if you pass that frame of glass, peer closely at his phiz,
So stern and firm it mocks the worm, it looks like wax . . . and is.
They tell you he's a mummy - don't you make that bright mistake:
I tell you - he's a dummy; aye, a fiction and a fake.
This eye beheld the bloody bomb that bashed him on the bean.
I heard the crash, I saw the flash, yet . . . there he lies serene.
And by the roar that rocked the Tomb I ask: how could that be?
But if you doubt that deed of doom, just go yourself and see.
You think I'm mad, or drunk, or both . . . Well, I don't care a damn:
I tell you this: their Lenin is a waxen, show-case SHAM.
Such was the yarn he handed me,
Down there in Casey's Bar,
That Rooshun bug with the scrambled mug
From the land of the Commissar.
It may be true, I leave it you
To figger out how far.