Here’s a simple (yet popular) blue-eyed school girl’s response to the brown eyed handsome man’s performance last night.
With every blurred stance Barack muddled so pathetically, maybe even pathologically, through, the Obama clan, which had been running at best a Chinese-fire-drill of a Presidential campaign, had to be breaking out all over in the stench of loser BO.
If America ever wanted to see clearly the difference between the kinds of leaders they’ll soon be voting for, well, gang, they got a 20/20 view last night in that house of worship. And what they saw in the beautifully tailored though empty suit of Barack Obama was no Messiah.
As I see it, the McCain/Obama differences were like night and day.
If you want some kind of incoherent administration elected, if you want to be as far from Ronald Reagan as you can get, not to mention Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt (take your pick), Truman and Kennedy, then your flat screen TV showed you the face of the man to cast your ballot for in living color. The good Senator Obama.
What was watching Barack like for me metaphorically speaking?
Well, it was watching no Jackie Robinson.
It was poor Billy Buck letting the ball go through his legs in the World Series. It was Ralph Terry throwing the hanging slider to Maz in the 60′ Series. It was Jackie Smith dropping the Super Bowl pass in the end zone (and my dad’s a huge Jackie Smith fan). It was Sergio Garcia missing another 3 foot put in the PGA championship. It was Rosie O’donnell making a fool of herself on The View claiming the CIA was involved in 9/11.
It was the highly defined picture of an ultra liberal, ultra intelligent Harvard law grad being taught a lesson in right from wrong that he’ll never forget, by a man who lives the creed of every cadet that passes through the hallowed halls of the United States Military Academy.
Duty. Honor. Country.
John McCain was born to embody those words. And as long as he has a breathing and a metabolizing, this Annapolis graduate will live them.
Barack Obama is not in the same league. Sometimes, I don’t even think he’s on the same team.
Masquerading as if one has the character and courage to be President can only take you so far. Last night the gloves were off and so was the mask. The acting job was good for awhile, but over time it’s wore thin as tissue. Steep and Nicholson have nothing to fear from Barack.
Even worse for Barack, this performance was much more than falling and skinning his campaign knee. I’m afraid not even David Axelrod has the strategic or tactical Tide to remove these stains.
It was as if the candidates were both thrown into a bleach filled verbal washing machine. And the truth came out.
Sorry Barack. Game. Set. Match.
As the heretofore anointed one awoke this morning, in the distance he must have heard a mournful tone. Not a car alarm. Not the clang of train tracks. Not a dog barking. Not far off thunder.
More like a bell. And who does that bell toll for, Barack? It tolls for thee.
Illia iacta est. Or as they say in south Philly. The die is cast.
John McCain will be your next President.
