Posted on 03/01/2021 5:15:40 PM PST by conservative98
Sen. Mitt Romney was knocked unconscious when he fell in Boston over the weekend, leaving him with “a lot of stitches” and a black eye.
“I took a fall. Knocked me unconscious. But I’m doing better,” Romney told reporters on Capitol Hill Monday night.
(Excerpt) Read more at nypost.com ...
harry reid kicks ass!
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve had a couple falls. And I came out of them OK. As my life resounds around music - I have looked back in recent years, and seen:
Rufus Thomas
Pops Staples
I’m sure there are more, but these are beautiful musicians in their 80s who died from falls. And most of them were alone. Why were they alone?
Why wouldn’t they be alone ?
.
Seamus is LOLing in dog heaven.
LOL! Thanks for the clarification!
Bravo! You should be a writer. :-) Either version works for me.
“Why were they alone?”
Anthropologists say that male primates become less sociable as they age.
Maybe they just outlived their friends and relatives. It seems to me that people half my age would prefer not to socialize with us geezers.
My only regret upon reading this is, that I cannot take credit for knocking this POS unconscious and causing the lacerations requiring stitches.
I heard he walked into a door knob.
Sure he didn’t run into someone who smacked him a good one and this is his excuse for getting his block knocked off???
Would have to be a Democrat or other unsavory associate to be kept secret. If it were some unhappy American that person’s name would already be blared far and wide with some sort of political terrorism charge by the FBI (unlike Senator Paul’s assailant)
Thank you for the compliment.
Hmmmmm...
Very interesting.
There is such a thing as the Mormon Mafia.
Yes There is. They have lots of children and love them and play board games and talk to them.
Mitt Romney is a liberal Democrat. Get well soon.
And on deck is A Cornuto (D-NY).
He sat on a wall and had a great fall.
Have you heard of one Humpty Dumpty
How he fell with a roll and a rumble
And he curled up like Lord Olofa Crumple
At the butt of the Magazine Wall,
The Magazine Wall,
Hump, helmet and all?
He was one time our King of the Castle
Now he’s kicked about like a rotten old parsnip.
And from Green street he’ll be sent by order of His Worship
To the penal jail of Mountjoy
To the jail of Mountjoy!
Jail him and joy.
He was fafafather of all schemes for to bother us
Slow coaches and immaculate contraceptives for the populace,
Mare’s milk for the sick, seven dry Sundays a week,
Openair love and religion’s reform,
And religious reform,
Hideous in form.
Arrah, why, says you, couldn’t he manage it?
I’ll go bail, me fine dairyman darling,
Like the bumping bull of the Cassidys
All your butter is in your horns.
His butter is in his horns.
Butter his horns!
Hurrah there, Hosty, frosty Hosty, change that shirt on ye,
Rhyme the rann, the king of all ranns!
Balbaccio, balbuccio!
We had chaw chaw chops, chairs, chewing gum, the chicken-pox and china chambers
All provided by this soffsoaping salesman.
Small wonder He’d Cheat E’erawan the local lads nicknamed him.
When Chimpden first took the floor
With his bucketshop store
Down Bargainweg, Lower.
So snug he was in his hotel premises sumptuous
But soon we’ll bonfire all his trash, tricks and trumpery
And ‘tis short till sheriff Clancy’ll be winding up his unlimited company
With the bailiff’s bom at the door,
Bimbam at the door.
Then he’ll bum no more.
Sweet bad luck on the waves washed to our island
The hooker of that hammerfast viking
And Gall’s curse on the day when Eblana bay
Saw his black and tan man-o’-war.
Saw his man-o’-war
On the harbour bar.
Where from? Roars Poolbeg. Cookingha’pence, he bawls
Donnez-moi scampitle, wick an wipin’fampiny
Fingal Mac Oscar Onesine Bargearse Boniface
Thok’s min gammelhole Norveegickers moniker
Og as ay are at gammelhore Norveegickers cod.
A Norwegian camel old cod.
He is, begod.
Lift it, Hosty, lift it, ye devil, ye! up with the rann, the rhyming rann!
It was during some fresh water garden pumping
Or, according to the Nursing Mirror, while admiring the monkeys
That our heavyweight heathen Humpharey
Made bold a maid to woo
Woohoo, what’ll she doo!
The general lost her maidenloo!
He ought to be ashamed for himself, the old hayheaded philosopher,
For to go and shove himself that way on top of her.
Begob, he’s the crux of the catalogue
Of our antediluvial zoo,
Messrs Billing and Coo.
Noah’s larks, good as noo.
He was joulting down by Wellinton’s monument
Our rotorious hippopopotamuns
When somebody let down the backstrap of his omnibus
And he caught his death of fusiliers,
With his rent in his rears.
Give him six years.
‘Tis sore pity for his innocent poor children
But look out for his missus legitimate!
When that frew gets a grip of old Earwicker
There’ll be earwigs on the green?
Big earwigs on the green,
The largest ever you’ve seen.
Suffoclose! Shikespower! Seudodanto! Anonymoses!
Then we’ll have a free trade Gael’s band and mass meeting
For to sod the brave son of Scandiknavery.
And we’ll bury him down in Oxmanstown
With the deaf and dumb Danes,
The deaf and dumb Danes,
And all their remains.
And all the king’s men and his horses
Couldn’t resurrect his corpus
And there’s no true spell in Connacht or hell
That’s able to raise a Cain.
Morman mafia?
Sounds like a concussion to me.
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