Archive | September 10, 2020



Anyone who is not a boot-licking Democrat for the MSM believes NOTHING THESE CREEPS SAY.  I added Steve Job’s widow who owns The Atlantic to my list of repulsive, vile, dung beetles.

This is their end-product, their stock-in-trade.  They live for this.


The BLM political organization couldn’t care less about black lives.  Vote Democratic for this law enforcement in your neighborhood.

Six more judges are on the way.


The Liberal Anarchist Editor:  What will happen if Trump loses, LL ?  What is coming for the poor bastards in the Sanctuary States ?

Insurrection Cat:  If Trump loses these are some of the coming attractions.  The airlines who won’t refund your money for flights they cancelled will apply this progressive idea to all flights.

They will apply this Democratic goal to all restaurants in America.  Joe and Hunter got this idea from China, along with $1.5 Billion.

All White people will have to attend a presentation by Chelsea Clinton on how to not be White.

Rumor has it that the Trump vaccine will turn all Black, Brown, Yellow, Red, and other people White.  Just as White as Pocahontas.  It changes the genes that determines melanin and other things in your body.

The Cathy Smith Foundation will administer the vaccines.

Even Bolton says The Atlantic and Steve Job’s widow are fakers.

Disney and the NBA should move to China.

Oil will be free, like in Venezuela.  Joe and his anarchist want to bring this workers paradise to you.


Wiser words about golf have never been spoken so eloquently…..


In My Hand I Hold A Ball, White And Dimpled, Rather Small.
Oh, How Bland It Does Appear, This Harmless Looking Little Sphere.
By Its Size I Could Not Guess, The Awesome Strength It Does Possess.
But Since I Fell Beneath Its Spell, I’ve Wandered Through The Fires Of Hell.

My Life Has Not Been Quite The Same, Since I Chose To Play This Stupid Game.
It Rules My Mind For Hours On End, A Fortune It Has Made Me Spend.
It Has Made Me Yell, Curse And Cry, I Hate Myself And Want To Die.
It Promises A Thing Called Par, If I Can Hit It Straight And Far.

To Master Such A Tiny Ball, Should Not Be Very Hard At All.
But My Desires The Ball Refuses, And Does Exactly As It Chooses.
It Hooks And Slices, Dribbles And Dies, And Disappears Before My Eyes.
Often It Will Have A Whim, To Hit A Tree Or Take A Swim.

With Miles Of Grass On Which To Land, It Finds A Tiny Patch Of Sand.
Then Has Me Offering Up My Soul, If Only It Would Find The Hole.
It’s Made Me Whimper Like A Pup, And Swear That I Will Give It Up.
I Take A Drink To Ease My Sorrow, But The Ball Knows … I’ll Be Back Tomorrow.

Stand proud you noble swingers of clubs and losers of  balls!
A recent study found the average golfer walks about 900 miles a year.
Another study found golfers drink, on  average, 22 gallons of alcohol a year.
That means, on average, golfers get about  41 miles to the gallon.
Kind of makes you proud.  I Almost feel like a hybrid.