Pelosi Tells America to Shut Up on Ground Zero Mosque

Nancy Pelosi had some choice words for the American public yesterday: Shut up.

If you’ve got an opinion about the N.Y. mosque controversy, better keep it to yourself or you could end up under investigation in the House Star Chamber. Pelosi says she wants to know how opposition to the mosque is being “ginned up.” She wants to know who’s funding this anger. She wants to know what the hell is wrong with the 61 percent of Americans who evidently disagree with her views. (Her disingenuous view being that this is a “zoning issue” only and all the national controversy is much ado about politics.) Ah, if only she could threaten to take away a prized committee from the average Joe out there, the independent bastards, then things would run so much more smoothly.

Don’t get her wrong. Speaker of the House J. Edgar Hoover is perfectly willing to look into the finances and god knows what else of those who are behind the mosque, too. She has gone berserk with prosecutorial tics.

In a statement issued by her staff “clarifying” her first statement, the speaker wants us to know she was simply calling for an openness of debate. Transparency is the word of the day, according to her staff. Another one might be intimidation.

Pelosi’s efforts to walk back her provocative call for an investigation were about as clumsy as the president’s I-voted-for-it-before-I-voted-against-it statement about the mosque--one day he was for it, until he met an immediate political backlash, and the next day he was against it.

Pelosi--safe in her politically surreal balloon that is San Francisco--is not nearly so malleable as President Obama. She’d still like to gavel somebody in a courtroom and get to the bottom of this “concerted effort to make this a political issue by some.” For the sake of fairness, she’ll gavel everybody. Quick, somebody find the FBI’s old cointelpro files. We can toss Joe the Plumber’s file in there alongside Martin Luther King’s and John Lennon’s.

Pelosi’s comments are appallingly reminiscent of her views during the heated town halls of the healthcare debate. The ones that gave birth to a movement fully formed, angry that its government would force a liberal version of healthcare reform down its throat despite all national polls showing the public’s opposition.

This was not legitimate protest, Pelosi and the White House claimed at the time. It was, they asserted, a concerted effort to make this (healthcare) a political issue by some. Sound familiar? It wasn’t that the public could possibly have been upset with the healthcare bill; it had to be a case of evil genius Republican operators “ginning up” false controversy.

One wonders when Nancy Pelosi last had to run a real campaign for reelection. Having managed some myself, I remember simply trying to gin up a good crowd for a fish fry or watermelon festival. Couple hundred people turning out for a member of Congress was excellent. A couple thousand? You take note of that--something way beyond a political machine is at work here.

This, however, is Pelosi’s way: You’re either with us, un-American, or a Republican-manufactured mob.

Evidently, Pelosi’s nightmare mob reared its ugly manufactured head again. Unfortunately for her--and more so for vulnerable Democrats on the campaign trail--the “mob” is, once again, the American people--sometimes known as voters. The ignorant, malleable clods.

As for me, now that I have dared speak about that which shall not be named, I plan to watch my back. Pelosi’s people could be anywhere. Keep your blinds closed and your voice down.

Dear Bolshevik Bitch,
I save this one for special occasions Nanc...enjoy.

You swine. You vulgar little maggot. You worthless bag of filth. As they say in Texas, I’ll bet you couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with instructions on the heel. You are a canker. A sore that won’t go away. I would rather kiss a lawyer than be seen with you.
You’re a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless little worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk, a cad, a weasel. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a stench, a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon. You are a bleating foal, a curdled staggering mutant dwarf smeared richly with the effluvia and offal accompanying your alleged birth into this world. An insensate, blinking calf, meaningful to nobody, abandoned by the puke-drooling, giggling beasts who sired you and then killed themselves in recognition of what they had done.
I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformation. I barf at the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut. Lepers avoid you. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You are a weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth. And did I mention you smell?
You snail-skulled little rabbit. Would that a hawk pick you up, drive its beak into your brain, and upon finding it rancid set you loose to fly briefly before spattering the ocean rocks with the frothy pink shame of your ignoble blood. May you choke on the queasy, convulsing nausea of your own trite, foolish beliefs.
You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, squalid, nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You’re a fool, an ignoramus. Monkeys look down on you. Even sheep won’t have sex with you. You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in a land that reality forgot.
And what meaning do you expect your delusionally self-important statements of unknowing, inexperienced opinion to have with us? What fantasy do you hold that you would believe that your tiny-fisted tantrums would have more weight than that of a leprous desert rat, spinning rabidly in a circle, waiting for the bite of the snake?
You are a waste of flesh. You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a disease, you puerile one-handed slack-jawed drooling meatslapper.
On a good day you’re a half-wit. You remind me of drool. You are deficient in all that lends character. You have the personality of wallpaper. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted. You are the source of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go. You smarmy lager-lout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off, pillock. You grotty wanking oik artless base-court apple-john. You clouted boggish foot-licking twit. You dankish clack-dish plonker. You gormless crook-pated tosser. You churlish boil-brained clotpole ponce. You cockered bum-bailey poofter. You craven dewberry piss-head cock-up pratting naff. You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. You dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill. You are a fiend and a coward, and you have bad breath. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go away. I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. I mean rock-hard stupid. Dehydrated-rock-hard stupid. Stupid so stupid that it goes way beyond the stupid we know into a whole different dimension of stupid. You are trans-stupid stupid. Meta-stupid. Stupid collapsed on itself so far that even the neutrons have collapsed. Stupid gotten so dense that no intellect can escape. Singularity stupid. Blazing hot mid-day sun on Mercury stupid. You emit more stupid in one second than our entire galaxy emits in a year. Quasar stupid. Your writing has to be a troll. Nothing in our universe can really be this stupid. Perhaps this is some primordial fragment from the original big bang of stupid. Some pure essence of a stupid so uncontaminated by anything else as to be beyond the laws of physics that we know. I’m sorry. I can’t go on. This is an epiphany of stupid for me. After this, you may not hear from me again for a while. I don’t have enough strength left to deride your ignorant questions and half baked comments about unimportant trivia, or any of the rest of this drivel. Duh.

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