Is it true that the heckler turned out to be Joe Biden? He was just getting his routine prepared for his gig in Tampa
where are all the blacks in that picture of Hussein in NV.?
The more he speaks the more I despise him.
Everybody has had a good teacher, the successful are the ones who took advantage of it.
If you are heckling and American communist, I daresay you already came under the tutelage of at least one good teacher.
To indoctrinate him in the ways of the state.
After all here my fellow FReepers let us remember what "Kindergarten" means.
It means children's garden.
The term was created by Friedrich Fröbel as a social experience for children. So they could "transition" from home to school. His goal was that children should be taken care of and nourished in "children's gardens" like plants in a garden by the State.
He obviously didn’t receive the proper indoctrination - the primary purpose of public schooling these days.
Looks like a LGBT parade going on behind him.
He loves preaching to his choir of worshipers. This moron loves himself so much that he doesn’t realize he makes an a$$ of himself every time he opens his mouth. He and Biden are the gifts that keep on giving.
Probably needed a good pastor/priest/rabbi.
Oh yes, he needs an OBAMA approved teacher of course. No thanks!
Using the Presidential Seal at campaign events, again?
You mean to say a young man can go through all their school years even through college and not come across a good teacher. Somethings not working then is it? Might it have something to do with the unions and tenure?
Mel
“POP”
by BHO
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.
The big FORWARD sign is right behind him.
I thought that was off limits, like harassing the other Party's Nominee at their Convention.