Rumor has it that every time an African American baby is born, a Democrat get his wings.
My blog would not be rewarding if it didn’t tell the truth. We could not be friends if I did not look you in the eye and say exactly what is on my mind.
Can I get a shout out from my African American readers? (Elder J waves his hand)
How many of you are Democrats? (Elder J, puts down his hand)
Okay, for those of you who are African American, and a Democrat please tell me how it feels to have possibly 99.9% of Americans know how you are going to vote, 99.9% of the time? How does it feel to be so predictable that no politician cares about advancing your causes anymore? Sorry, not even the black politicians.
What do you do when you are taken for granted and your man cheats on you? You lose your “shine” and he begins to court others? Women, Latinos, gays and lesbians…
He does not care about you anymore. Why should he?
You are always going to be there waiting in bed for him when he staggers home at night no matter how badly he neglects you. His dinner will always be waiting for him, warmed in the oven.
Yes, it is all your fault.
You have provided little if any contrary evidence that you are nothing more than a doormat. Step on it, brush it off, roll it up, store it in the closet for several election cycles, open the storage room, look for it beneath the old Ku Klux Klan robes Democrats would wear and there it still is…The Black VOTE. Loyal as wounded puppy kicked by its owner.
Oh sure, it snarls. Sometimes it barks about getting a spine replacement. Does it bite? Never.
The Party of Ass knows this and relies upon this unfortunate truth to do whatever it does not want to do for blacks. Historical predictability is an invaluable partner for the Democrats.
Like a KFC fried chicken dinner, one can expect the original recipe dark pieces of chicken. Blacks will give their thighs, legs and sweat for the DNC. In return they get a bland Styrofoam cup of mashed potatoes and a stale white guilt bread roll. As with any relationship, there will be spats along the way. Some customer will always come in to redeem a coupon. They will want more in the form of political positions, laws, or campaign contributions .
When Al Gore lost his bid for the presidency in 2000, it was evident that African American voters had not turned out as they should have. It was even more evident when John Kerry challenged President George Bush in 2004. Afrocity did not vote in that election.
By that point, my enthusiasm for the political process of voting had depleted. It would take time for me to realize that it was not the process I loathed, it was my chosen – or I should say my pre-ordained party that contrasted with everything I believed in. Freedom from government intervention, fiscal responsibility, and lower taxes.
I packed my bags and left. It was an unhappy marriage and why would I want to stay in it for another moment?
Of course the jackass begged me to stay. Threats of losing my blackness and accusations of self loathing were flung in my direction.
Nope. These donkey hoofs were made for walking.
He offered me the change he said I needed.
What was this “change” I wondered. There was a gift for me by the door. I sat down my suitcase, shook the gift to check for bombs. The gift was wrapped in transparency and had a familiar smell. Postmarked from Chicago, Illinois with Martin Luther King Jr. and Rosa Park stamps all over it. I opened it, and there it was. BarackObama. The same damn fried chicken dinner but this time it was “Popeyed-up” with red beans and rice. Dirty rice at that. How sweet for the jackass to include a doughy buttermilk biscuit that I could chew on for hours. It took a heart of stone for me to turn such a lovely racially thoughtful gift away but I was far more politically advanced than the jackass had anticipated. Suitcase in hand, I opened the door and left screaming kids in soiled diapers grabbing at my feet and all. Having been shocked, the jackass just stood there in the doorway holding the Kool Aid drink with a straw sticking out. My lips would not touch it. He had super-sized me for nothing. (Donkey shrugs shoulders, sucks on straw in cup).
A video which justifies my feelings for black democrats in political positions.
(Hat tip “Racer X” from Little Green Footballs)
Autographed Letter Signed,