THE QUISLINGS HAVE SPOKEN

Republican senators, along with the Republican rank-and-file, are not overjoyed at the results of the recent election. But unlike the common herd, their ability to express themselves is not entirely limited to grunts and arm-pit scratching.

"Well, it seems to me that being elected by the Electoral College is a threshold where a title like that is probably most appropriate and it's, I suppose you can say official — if there is such a thing as official president-elect, or anything else–elect. And there's an inauguration that will swear somebody in and that person will be the president of the United States, but whether you call it that or not, you know, there are legal challenges that are ongoing — not very many — probably not a remedy that would change the outcome but, so, I don't — again I don't know how politician refers to another politician, but it does look to me like the big race is really between the inaugural committee and the Justice Department at this point, so we'll see how the emails turn out."

-------Senator Kevin Cramer, North Dakota

[SOURCE: Buzz Feed - Republicans.]

That's an amazing example of weasel wording, one of many rightwing Senatorial comments that exemplify scumsucking lick-arse leno-loquy from the pit of fester. Not an exception.

Two of the Republican cigar smokers I am forced to associate with in my periodic professional capacity as psycho-therapist to the cavemen of Marin are still desolate. Both of them are "good Christians" (even the Jewish one, he just doesn't know it yet) and are, consequently, intellectually challenged. As you would expect. Severely so. A sad condition.
One of them is Irish. So he expresses himself mostly by swearing.

The charm has worn off. The monotonousness of their utterances palled ages ago. In the past two and a half years I refrained from speaking to them anymore than was necessary. A friend of theirs has not cracked a smile since the fourth of November, and seems at a loss for sensible words, though he is by no means silent.


If these men were marooned on a desert island, two of them would be eaten.
In lieu of the abundant coconuts in their paradise.


Which brings up the natural question: if you were stuck on an atoll after a shipwreck, who would you want to be there with you?

Obviously, not your spouse or helpmeet. Because it would be horrid. With nothing but coconuts or Republicans to eat. It's not something you would wish on her (or him). And if you also had a box of cigars or a few tins of pipe tobacco, no other smokers.

Probably someone who couldn't run.


First pipe today, which is a day off, away from the nuts, was an item which is older than myself.

Enjoyed in the calm and quiet of a cold winter morning on Nob Hill, shortly after dawn.
Sheer heaven. Things like this that keep me from killing the repulsive boys on this island.

Eventually the medical profession will realize that tobacco contributes greatly to public health; its role in keeping sane individuals from committing mayhem cannot be underestimated, even though it makes raving Republican swine giddy and yackative.

It allows quiet time away from the savages.
Time to think, and become ourselves.

TOBACCO INDEX


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