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Sunday Soliloquy: Ghost Dance October 31, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — afrocity @ 1:28 PM
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Having proved that my intentions to blog more often have failed- let me apologize.  October was a rough month for dear Afrocity.   I had surgery during late September and tons of things to do for my various income paying projects.

Many of you have asked, “What happened to Sunday Soliloquy?” .   Well to put it bluntly, I seem to be in a denial stage (again) with my mother’s death.   I know, I know it will be four years in 2011- this should be an old hat for me now.  Writing about our life together is sometimes not an easy thing.

Sunday Soliloquy takes a lot out of me emotionally.

Not only does it involve drudging my mother up from the ashes, it also brings unpleasant memories often of being hungry, homeless, or just plain feeling vulnerable.

Perhaps this sudden avoidance is a natural progression with the grieving process. Remember, I never saw my mother dead.  There is no ghost of spirit bereft flesh for me to contend with.  They would not let me see her body or the pictures they took when they found her.  She was so far gone that I had to take a DNA test just to prove she was my mother.  A DNA test which took 12 weeks for them to process.  Without proof seen with my own eyes, there was no death.   Just a phone call one night from a strange woman with a Texas twang.

“…maybe you should sit down honey, I have some terrible news…”

There is nothing more denial friendly than an AWOL corpse.  Though mother showed up in my mailbox later as a box of carefully wrapped ashes,  it never computed.  They were placed in my credenza like some relic- a gift that I hated from a relative who knew nothing of my taste.  The bad Christmas sweater or hideous art work that you hid in the closet.

Now I trawl the streets of Chicago, dealing with ghosts.

Where was I going with this?  Oh, it is Halloween.

Mother and I liked this holiday because during our lean years it meant free food- if candy can be considered a food group.  There was a sense of improvisation with my costumes. An old dress, glitter paint, and make shift angle wings cut from cardboard boxes and covered in Reynolds aluminum foil transformed me into a fairy princess.

Other more middle-class endowed kids would have store bought costumes- which I wanted but mother insisted on making mine- plus the money was not there.

In 1980,  I was taking dance lessons at a local studio.  Often, I  was late because mother would never pick me up from school to get there in time.  This lead to awkward moments where I tip toed into class – the only African American girl in the entire school mind you (sure I was not noticeable) , wearing something that mother thought was proper dance class attire…Like a Underoos for a leotard.  My teacher would shake her head at me and I fell into line with the rest of the girls who were laughing at me.

Given that this dance class was mother’s idea, she sure made it her business not to be involved in aspect of it besides registering me.  She never reminded me to practice but the studio never forgot that she had not paid the bill.  Part of the embarrassment, was at the end of class when the teacher would call my name to stay after and that folded up white piece of paper would get stuck in my  hand.

“Afrocity, give this to your mother,” she would say with a fake reassuring smile.  “And next time practice the steps at home.”

I nodded and made my swift exit into what I would call the bitches with perfect blond ponytail zone- the dance studio locker room.  Their leotards were perfect- all from Dansko.  Ballet shoes from Capezio,  personality by WASP.  Their treatment of me was dictated in large measure by what I did wrong in class.  On this Halloween Eve which was a Thursday,  Afrocity had done a lot of things wrong.   Dancing was not my strong suit.  Coordination was not a gift- feet went left when they should go straight, my timing sucked.

“I thought all black people could dance,”  said Ponytailed Bitch #1.  “What happened to you?”

My reaction, which was to ignore her, served more or less as an admission of guilt.  I did not know why I could not dance like the other black kids- especially my cousin.  Cousin could imitate any move on Soul Train. Afrocity, well I stuck with the books.  Rythmless creature that I was,  I am sure the other girls in the class grew tired of teacher having to stop just so she could come to the back and correct my posture or pose.

“What are you going to be for Halloween?”  asked  Ponytailed Bitch #2.  “Two left feet???”

A massive need to bolt welled up in me but I just laughed with them and changed into my jeans while looking down at the floor.  Halloween was the next day and I bet they would have ponytailed bitch perfect costumes.  I would be the Fairy Princess of Welfare or what ever mother was planning.  I had the Old Salvation Army puffy long Glenda the Good Witch dress, aluminum foil wings (not sure how she is going to attach those),  a crown from Burger King happy meal type box, all I needed was some shoes.   And this is where the ponytail bitches ridicule of me came in handy.  As I was looking down at the floor I notice a box of dance shoes. Ballet slippers, tap dancing shoes, pink shoes, red shoes…

The huge cardboard box must have been either some sort of lost and found or discards.   As my eyes, tore through what I could see in the box, there was a pink satin ribbon sticking out- like the kind on those really beautiful ballet slippers that they wear in the advanced class. Not the leather slippers with the shoe toe bow, but real princess ballet slippers.  I wanted those shoes for my costume. Eyes directly focused, the shoes were about may one third of the way into the box.   A less greedy and more conscientious Afrocity realized that I would have to wait until the locker room was empty to go through the box without appearing to be an urchin.  With Ponytailed Bitches primping and giggling this could take hours- and it did.   I endured about 4 more racist like insults, including one where I was asked why do black people have Brillo Pad like hair.  This was said as Ponytailed Bitch #3 was brushing her shiny tresses much like Marsha Brady in one of those Jan envy episodes.

“Can a brush even get through you guys hair?” asked Ponytailed Bitch number #1 .

“Yeah I mean lookit,” Ponytailed Bitch number #3 said coming at me with her brush.

I backed away from them. Why didn’t they just leave?

Thankfully another Ponytailed Bitch stuck her head in the locker room door and yelled “Hey guys if you want a ride it is my dad’s weekend to have me and he is outside. He has a bigger car than my mom so…”

Alone at last. The Ponytailed Bitches grabbed their Pert shampoo, Aquanet, Phisoderm,  and other Seventeen Magazine shit and left me in the room with the box of shoes.

Quickly, I went to the box and pulled on the pink satin ribbon until the shoe emerged. Oh, please be my size, please be my size.  Stuck my foot in…they were a bit big but I could stuff them with paper towels.

Digging for its mate, was a bit more challenging.

This box was about up to my waist.  I was nearly head first, feet up in the air in the box when of all people my teacher walks in the locker room.  The ability to see her upside down was not uncommon because I was always falling in class anyway.

She was tiny about 4’11, blond, lithe.  A blue towel was wrapped around her neck.  She was sweating and flushed, her skin pink and freckled against the black leotard.

“Did you drop something in the shoe box?” she asked as she went to her locker.

By this time I was upright and out of the box.  I still had the one slipper on the floor.  “Ummm I am looking for my other shoe.”  I lied.

“Oh? I did not know you took ballet classes too,”  she said changing into sweat pants. “I thought your mom just put you in the modern jazz class.”

My lip began to twitch.  What do I say no?  “I have not started yet but I am practicing early.”

“Oh, I see you are practicing for the class that you have not had yet you cannot seem to practice for my class?”

My head went back to the floor.

“Do you not like jazz dance?” she asked coming closer to me. “Do you prefer ballet because many girls often do because of the pretty clothes and shoes and pink tutu, ponytails…”

Silence was my answer.

“Hmmm, ” she nodded “You know Modern Jazz Dance class  is more in step with your culture. Ben Vereen  does it do you know him?”

I swallowed a lump… “Yes, he was Chicken George on Roots.”

“Very good Afrocity but he also is a great black dancer and was in Pippin- a musical. Have you seen Pippin?”

I shook my head.  “I know what it is.  We cannot afford to go.”

“That is too bad because Mr. Vereen is a great black Modern Jazz dancer.”

“I like your class,” I mumbled stupidly.  Gee that was insincere. I hated the class but mom wanted me the. Teacher was right, I would rather be in ballet but face it ballet was a very white class.  The costumes were more expensive and my hair was not Ponytailed Bitch compliant.

Teacher closed her locker and towards the door to leave.  Dumb me was still there at the shoe box.  Beyond the lockers was a window. I could see that it was dark outside.  Suddenly I missed the daylight until 8PM days of summer. All of this shoe business was making me late. Mom was probably wondering where I was and since we had no phone, I could not call her to say why I was delayed.

“Afrocity,”  she said flinging her knapsack over er shoulder ” If you promise to practice, I promise to bring you my album of Pippin to listen to at home.  You may borrow it…okay?”

The  necessity to say no was there and valid I did not own a record player. Mother had pawned ours for $13 dollars so we could eat.  I lied again . “Okay,”  I nodded.  “I promise to practice.”

“Good,”  finally teacher was opening the door to leave. “And don’t forget to ask your mom about Ben Vereen.  I am sure she knows all about him.  There is a reason why she chose the jazz class for you and there are so few black kids that can afford to take classes-  tell you mother than we can work something out with that letter I gave you to give to her.”

I nodded again.

“Do you have a ride home?  Is someone picking you up?  It is nearly 7 o’clock.”

I lied again,  My mom is coming she had to work late. She will be here soon.”    My mother was on welfare and she was not coming to get me.  I was going to walk the 15 blocks home.

“Okay, you sure?”

I nodded again.

“I will see you next Thursday on time,” she stressed that last sentence. ” Practice makes perfect and we have a deal now. Imagine yourself tall and elegant.  See you next time.”

“Okay.”   I lied again.  Never would I step foot in that dance studio.   That was the last time I saw the teacher.  I would not listen to Pippin or be late or practice or receive another past due bill.

In the midst of all the humiliation, there was still the matter of the satin ballet slippers that I needed for my perfect fairy princess Halloween costume.  With a  vengeance, I decided to dump the entire box and find the mate.   Dirty shoes, small shoes, black shoes, white, pink…Ah there was the mate all smooth and perfect.

My inner thief, concealed the slippers in my book satchel and was almost about to cover my tracks when the cleaning lady came in.  She was African American,  and looked pissed off …with reason.  “What the heck happened with all of these shoes on the floor?”   She looked at me.   “Did you do this?”

I shook my head and ran past her through the door into the autumn Oak Park, Illinois night.   My jacket was flimsy and I was wearing Underoos and tights.

The suburban neighborhood had put great effort into making its homes look scary for Halloween.  Jack-o-lanterns on every porch step,   brown paper bags with tealight candles lining the walkways.  The rustling leaves were in step with my running legs.   I ran the entire way home back to my apartment complex, avoiding any single man I saw walking down the street.   This practice of knowing the well lit shortcuts was an art, no one would abduct me and I had special powers to ward off lurking pedophiles because of my new stolen slippers.

Once I was home, mother seem not to care that it was nearly 8PM.   In fact, she did not bother to come out of the bedroom when I entered the apartment.

I put down my satchel and took out the ballet slippers, placing them next to the fluffy dress and box of aluminum foil for my fairy costume.

Dinner was absent from the kitchen.  I opened the cupboard and all there was in that empty space was soup.   I took out the Cream of Mushroom Campbell’s , got a pot and dumped the globby contents in.

“Add water to it.”   Mother instructed. It was alive.

I put tap water into the empty can, poured it into the pot,  stirring slowly.

Mother went into the living room.  I could hear her rustling through my bag.  “Someone had a party at school,” she said.

She was referring to the candy in my bag and popcorn balls from the class party.  I was so hungry that I had stood at the stove top eating the soup from the pot before it had heated fully.


Could not answer her because my mouth was full of soup.  Her footsteps came to the kitchen.

“Where did you get these?” she asked holding the ballet slippers by the satin ties.

Here came my ten millionth lie of the evening “I just found them on the street by the school…I tried to turn them in but my teacher told me to just keep them.  I thought maybe I could wear them tomorrow with my costume that you are working on…”

For a moment I think she knew I was lying. She looked suspicious of me.  Later I would learn that she had been derelict in her duties of aluminum foiled wing making.   “Well lucky you.  That was an easy find. “

I shrugged my shoulders, “Easy find”

She looked at the shoes closely ” Someone must be missing these.  Oh well, God knew that you needed the perfect shoes to be a fairy princess for Halloween- the Lord will provide”

I nodded. I lied.

“The other girls will be so jealous of you,” she said.

I nodded.  I lied.

Autographed Letter Signed,



The Adventures of Done Juan October 21, 2010

From Fred

I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.

It was a normal Fox News Night.  O’Reilly was reveling in his triumphant appearance on The View. The rabid liberals ummm, I mean hostesses  Joy Behar and Whoopi Goldberg walked out on Bill-O and left Barbabra Walters sitting there on the couch- stunned.

It was a good talking points night for O’Reilly Factor…I wonder if Bill new that the evening would lead to liberals walking out on another Fox kid.

From the Atlantic

Juan Williams Fired by NPR For No Particular Reason (UPDATED)

By Jeffrey Goldberg

October 21, 2010

National Public Radio has fired the political analyst Juan Williams for comments he made about Muslims on Bill O’Reilly’s Fox show. These are two of the controversial comments in question, according to The New York Times:

‘I mean, look, Bill, I’m not a bigot. You know the kind of books I’ve written about the civil rights movement in this country. But when I get on the plane, I got to tell you, if I see people who are in Muslim garb and I think, you know, they are identifying themselves first and foremost as Muslims, I get worried. I get nervous.”

And this, in reference to Faisal Shahzad, the Pakistani immigrant who attempted to blow up Times Square with a car bomb:

“He said the war with Muslims, America’s war is just beginning, first drop of blood. I don’t think there’s any way to get away from these facts.”

The first quotation reflects the views, I’m guessing, of the vast majority of people who fly in this country (and in Europe and Asia and other parts of the world, as well). With some regularity, Muslim men associated with radical Islamist organizations have been trying to kill American civilians, here and abroad. A group of 19 Muslim men succeeded beyond their wildest dreams in their mission nine years ago. The majority of Muslims abhor terrorism, and Muslims are the disproportionate victims of Muslim terror, but the essential truth remains that most of the world’s spectacular terrorism today — thwarted and achieved — is committed by Muslims. Juan Williams misunderstands one crucial fact: Muslim terrorists who are attempting to commit acts of terror seldom if ever dress in “Muslim garb”; they dress, for obvious tactical reasons, in a manner meant to help them blend in with surroundings. So Williams is wrong, I think, to be particularly suspicious of traditionally-dressed Muslims. But is he wrong to worry about Islamist terrorism? Of course not.

Here is the actual clip:

I was there watching while eating dinner and I almost choked on my pasta and had to do a double take.

“Did he just say what I think he said?”  I asked.  “Not Juan…Juan????”

I laughed and looked for a reaction from Bill-O. There was not much of one but I sensed a tinge of WTF?


RACIST!!!!In the current climate of hyper-PC-ness, you just don't say that sort of thing. I knew there would be repercussions for Juan's statement.

Was Juan’s  statement racist?

Yes-somewhat.  Prejudging is racist.  Juan’s statement is equivalent to saying that you lock your car doors whenever you drive through a black neighborhood.  Was I surprised that it was coming from Fox News’ small reserve stash of liberals?  Yes, but I am not surprised.  Few liberals will admit that they feel the same way as Juan Williams does when he sees someone in “Muslim garb” board a 767- but they do.  Few liberals will admit that they voted for Obama because he was black- but they did.  And even fewer liberals will admit that they are racist- but they are.

But “racists are only Tea Partiers ” you say?

Nope.  And thank you Juan Williams for proving that.

Autographed Letter Signed,



Never Give A Democrat A Cookie…Or Pie…Or Lobster October 19, 2010

Remember this quote from Michelle Obama back during the 2008 campaign days?

The truth is, in order to get things like universal health care and a revamped education system, then someone is going to have to give up a piece of their pie so that someone else can have more.

—Michelle Obama

But Michelle never really gave up her $500 Lanvin tennis shoes, or trips to Spain for lobster fest …

I did and here is my story…

Sunday, I went grocery shopping as usual. Campbell’s soup was 10 cans for 10$, so I got some of those.  Brownberry bread was buy one get one free with my shoppers card.  I passed my favorite Sugar Wafer cookies by Nabisco- eek $4.99.  I went on by.  At the deli stand I requested Swiss cheese, smoked turkey and “Old Fashioned Loaf” meat.

While rolling by the seafood stand I espied two gorgeous large lobster tails.  There was a sale sign that said $5.99 each.  My eyes blinked in disbelief.   Scallops were nearby and they were beauties also.  Being economical, I asked for some salmon fillets.  The seafood clerk wrapped my fillets in the familiar white butcher paper and slapped the price tag on.   I had hardly noticed his outstretched hand because I was still gazing at the lobster tails.

“Miss,” he said waving the salmon.  “Is that all?”

I shook off my lobster lust and nodded my head grabbing the package of salmon.

The next stop was the meat counter for beef stew meat and a few steaks.  Surf and Turf was calling my name.  Still had a bit of gas in the grill- this could be the last hurrah so to speak for grilling season.  Okay, okay, okay…I will get the lobster tails.  My cart did a 90 degree turn and I smiled widely and told the seafood clerk ”  I have decided to get those lobster tails.”

I pointed to the only two lobster tails in the display case.  “Those,”  I claimed, chest sticking out like a peacock.   Afrocity gonna feast on some lobster TONIGHT!!!

The melted butter and lemon smell was aromatically playing over and over in my head.  My little treat for me too bad mother is dead- well not that it mattered- she was allergic to shellfish anyway.   Baked potatoes would be a great pairing- get in my Michelle Obama veggies-

“Forty-five dollars .”

And I could maybe invite my dad over to share or eat both tails my- ” HUH?”

“Forty-five dollars.”

NO!!!!  I looked at the sale sign and pointed ” It says lobster tails  $5.99 each -“

The seafood man came around the counter and laughed. ” Oh, that. That sale is for the small tails.  I am out of those.”

I must have looked like someone just told me Christmas was canceled because the poor man shrugged his shoulders and looked guilty.  ” The tails you pointed out are large tails, they are like twenty something each…”

I walked away from the counter.

“You don’t still want these? I wrapped them-“

With a grinch snarl, I shook my head and made a speedy getaway with my shopping cart. How embarrassing.  For a moment I thought just spend the $45.  If I put back the vanity light bulbs, fancy ravioli, Welch’s pomegranate blueberry juice with added fiber, Patsy’s Pasta Sauce, $4.99 Vanilla Chai Protein drink…the ten cans of soup- then maybe I could have the lobster tails.  And what does that counter seafood guy think of my race now?

“Cheap black people always want something for nothing.”

Maybe I should buy the tails just to prove that African American can afford lobster.

You see, even Afrocity succumbs to racial brainwashing at times.

When all was debated in my head and done, I did not buy the lobster tails and had stuffed chicken breasts for dinner.

Not as appetizing as surf and turf but with the recession, I could not justify paying so much for a meal for lil’ ol me.

We all need to start making some changes to how our families eat. Now, everyone loves a good Sunday dinner. Me included. And there’s nothing wrong with that. The problem is when we eat Sunday dinner Monday through Saturday.

–Michelle Obama

Yes my thermostat was set to 75 degrees and Barry Obama would not like that either.

We can’t drive our SUVs and, you know, eat as much as we want and keep our homes on, you know, 72 degrees at all times, whether we’re living in the desert or we’re living in the tundra, and then just expect every other country is going to say OK, you know, you guys go ahead keep on using 25 percent of the world’s energy, even though you only account for 3 percent of the population, and we’ll be fine. Don’t worry about us. That’s not leadership.

~~ Barack Obama

So I did not give up my piece of the pie.  I am selfish but turning my back on the lobster tails was a start…wasn’t it?

Anyway, this humorous video by RightChange explains why you should never give your piece of the pie or a cookie to a Democrat.

Autographed Letter Signed,



I have a Scream- Howard Dean, Patron Saint of Campaign Financing October 18, 2010

Democrats are seldom explicit about the origins of cash flow into their own campaigns.   Howard Dean (D-VT) was the pioneer of internet donations and grassroots campaign fundraising. Thirty- five dollars from the African American grandmother of twelve.  One hundred dollars from the divorced dad who’s pissed off at his Republican congressman for toughing up on child support deadbeats.   Twenty bucks from the young college student who is about to get dropped from his parent’s health insurance.  Throw in millions of other stories and you get a pretty huge contribution to your campaign.

Saint Dean was doing pretty well in 2004 until his “I Have a Scream” speech during the Iowa caucus.   YEAH!!!!

Even before that fateful night, Afrocity had an inkling that Dean was a tad on the strange side.   My very liberal friend was really into him and already sent the governor from Vermont over $500 in campaign contributions.   That was a lot of money to donate considering what we did for a living and even more surprising when you consider…well…where we were living- Manhattan.  New York $2,400 a month to  rent a shoebox city.     Admittedly,  I was not following the Democratic primary – at all.  Somehow my heart was not into politics that year. I had just finished my masters degree and healing from the shock of September 11th.   We were attacked on home soil-the country was vulnerable.  If history was doomed to repeat itself, most presidents remain in office if a country has been under attack or at war.   Bush was going to be re-elected- I could feel it.   I was resigned to just sit and wait another four years for someone fantastic to come along.  I would let the election hoopla go by.  Rarely however, did my friend let a moment go by without attempting to manipulate someone to her point of view.

“Howard Dean is the man!” she exclaimed. “He is the real deal and from Vermont -you know how they are all environmental in that state and they believe in co-ops…”

Vermont was a favorite vacation destination for me. Each summer, I would make the trip to Manchester for some outlet shopping, then on to Shelburne and Stowe.  The green mountains were unlike anything I ever experienced in Illinois. Environmentalists ruled the “Green Mountain State” and it showed. Fresh milk, maple syrup- the air was clean.  At night I could actually see the stars.   So Howard Dean was the governor huh?  Perhaps there was something to the guy…Most Democrats in my circle where wild about Harry maybe I should give the jolly green mountain man a chance.  He was a doctor and I was tired of lawyers in office.  Dean’s wife was a working women who was independent.

Keep in mind that this was all before the idea of my switching parties came into play. But it is an early indication of my sleepwalking through the Democratic Party.  Pull the ‘D” lever no matter what.   Accordingly, I watched every Howard Dean interview that I could stand.

And I was not impressed.

I never heard much about what exactly Howard Dean wanted to do to “get our country back”.  I did not like the usage of Martin Luther King’s words which seemed disingenuous.  I knew instantly that he Dean train was not for me.  He seemed to struggle somewhere between manic and maniacal.   Little did I know that four years later, the Frankenstein DNC machine would produce an even better more powerful 2008 monster- crafted from spare parts of liberal ideology, hope and change.

My, my my if Howard Dean only knew then what he does now.  And the 2008 model would make it past the Iowa Caucus test run.  The 2008 model would perfect Howard Dean’s “50 state” campaign strategy.  He would use the fundraising prowess of the internet even better than Howard Dean.

Now in conspiratorial fashion, Howard Dean is doing another scream speech. Again in favor of the Democrats but this time it is not for his own political campaign but against the Republicans.

To curtail a Republican landslide on November 2nd, which now seems almost inevitable, Saint Dean is preaching again and wearing  the moral compass robe of campaign financing.

Good thing Liz Cheney was there to dump holy reality water on Dean’s plan.

Here is a tip Saint Dean, confess your own campaign financing sins first before you shake your rosary beads at others.

Certainly intelligent voters know that this whole the Republicans are taking money under the table thing is a ruse to sway people to the Democrat’s side of the election.  Even if it is true, you should remember that if the voters did nto really care where Obama’s money came from in 2008, chances are they will not care where the Republican’s money come from now.  No voter seemed to find John McCain any more president worthy when he opted to stick to his campaign promise to remain within the public financing system for the general election.

It was Obama who went back on his promise to accept only public financing.

If that empty suit breach of morals was good enough for the Church of Kool Aid Mountain independents for Obama to elect then, why would those independents now against the Democrats care now?

Sorry Howie.  If you guys stop taking contributions from unions maybe you would have a leg to stand on when it comes to attacking corporate campaign contributions because guys like this one (below) would like to see that change.

Autographed Letter Signed,



Centrist House Rock: The Liberals Have Left The Building October 16, 2010

The outcome of recent polling has brought some remarkable transformations to the Democratic Party

If you pay any attention to political advertisements, especially those in my own state of Illinois, you will see that the Democrats are beginning to sound a lot more like Republicans.

Let’s pretend for a moment that we do not know that Illinois senatorial candidate Alexi Giannoulias (D-IL) is not a Democrat.

Aside from the insertion of class warfare, you probably would not know from his criticism of Washington spending that Giannoulias is one of Barack Obama’s best mobster past checkered friends- and a liberal.

Liberal policies of tax and spend are not popular. The polls tell us that.

No Democrat wants to be associated with Obamacare or the stimulus.  So what do you do when you are losing in the polls and need to gain more votes?

You continue your usual proclivity for leftist dishonesty and make like a GOP elephant.

Who cares if you don’t mean what you say?  Who cares if you have to deny your liberal values and hold your nose while saying ” Washington is being irresponsible”?  As long as it gets votes, the Democrats will say what they need to say to win.

I call it the “Centrist House Rock”.

Waning in the political doghouse, Democrats brainstorm for a new song and dance- something that will sell to formerly adoring voters.

Their jobs depend on the popularity of its rockstar’s policies.

If they lose their political seats, they might have to go back to their respective states and actually work for a living.

Harry Reid (D-NV) actually dealing with his constituents on the daily basis is his worse nightmare. What if they speak Negro dialect? How will he cope?

Barbara Boxer (D-CA)  might actually be called Ma’am by someone.

These guys are in danger of losing that which they hold most precious- a cushy job where they get paid to spend tax payers money on worthless legislation  and not actually deal with the problems of the very people they claim to care about.

Obama- THE KING, stands at the top of the jailhouse observation deck, he must come up with a plan- not to save Americans, but to save his own jackass.

From the outset, it was clear to most Americans that Barack Obama is far left.  Because the hope and change dance is no longer working its magic, Democrats are running away from the toxic Kool Aid Man.

With little time left, they only have history to turn to.

Dusting off the relics of successful Democrats past, they will pull out the original “First Black President,”  William Jefferson Clinton.

Imagine the donkeys dancing around their jail cells,  asses gyrating to soulful rock music.  Lyrics of centrism  begin to circulate. Can a jackass change its stripes?

You betcha.

“We can do anything the Republicans can do better”…”We can do conservative better than YOU.”

“No you can’t”

“Yes WE CAN”

“You said that in 2008”



Hmmm, it seems that no matter how many rehearsals are held for the Centrist House Rock,  there is no adequate protection against the red war paint smudging off and exposing a blue liberal face.  Elephants never forget.

Jackasses often do – especially when it comes to their past record on oh let’s say spending and criminal acts.

Oh, come on Alexi just pull an Obama circa 2007-” So yeah,  I bought my home from Tony Rezko- a mobster”, and say “It was bone-headed”.  Do as Obama says  since you all do what he do.

Opinions on this differ.  Liberal pundits say that Obama was centrist all along.  The reason why Democrats are disillusioned by his behavior,  is because he is not liberal enough.  He promised to be left of left of center.  Share the wealth, do not extend the Bush tax cuts, prosecute Bush and Cheney.  But the changes have not come fast enough for Obama supporters.   The troops are still in Afghanistan, Gitmo is still open, there is not a pony on everyone’s doorstep.

Obama was entrusted with the object of hope and he let his party down.

All was forsaken to elect the master of change- a cult of personality.

And what happens when the cult members wise up?

The personality changes, especially when it’s hide is on the line.

Stripes are changed, lies are told. You play the blame game and regurgitate liberal talking points.

Admittedly some are better than others.

But who said that rock songs ever have to be good?

They just have to catch on.

Autographed Letter Signed,



Conservative Women: Waiting to Exhale October 13, 2010

When it comes to women, Democrats leave.

When it comes to Democrats, women stay.

Which makes feminism a battered wife in an abusive relationship.

Looking back on what so- called feminists allowed to happen to Sarah Palin and Hillary Clinton prove that.

It is not speaking out against women whose political ideas you don’t believe in that bothers me.  It is the use of words such as “cunt” and “whore” to describe women and liberal feminists acceptance of it as endorsement worthy behavior  that does.

I would not vote for Nancy Pelosi and she is a woman.  I can speak out against her policies but still support women in politics.  If Rush Limbaugh called her a whore, I would speak out against it and I have told conservative friends when they are getting out of hand. You do not have to support Meg Whitman or Sarah Palin but you should not support the use of profane, vile insults hurled at them or any other woman during a campaign.

So far we have on the Republican side of the story -a cunt (Sarah Palin, R-AK), a witch (Christine O’Donnell, R-DE) and a whore (Meg Whitman R-CA).  Now all we need to do is hold open auditions for a bitch and a slut and that pretty much completes our cast for the new play “Adventures in Misogyny Land: But it’s okay because these women are Republicans”.

With the uncovering of Jerry Brown’s audio tape where one of his staff members calls his gubernatorial challenger a “whore”, conservatives held their collective breath waiting for the feminist mother ship NOW to speak out.  Sorry conservatives, it did not work when you tried it on your mothers in the toy department and it won’t t work now.  Blue is not a very good color on you so you might as well exhale.

Hmmm, wonder if he thinks the “whore” is articulate and does not speak Negro dialect?

Gee, that was dismissive. Sure whore, sorry whore.  He also thinks that whores should not have mammograms.

Yes a mammogram does hurt, but as a Republican woman AKA “whore,” I think I am entitled to one.

Autographed Letter Signed,



Jerry Brown Camp Calls Meg Whitman a “Whore” October 8, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — afrocity @ 9:40 PM
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As usual, the political party that claims to be all for women proves that it is NOT.

Democrats…No class…all ass.