Yes, I know I'm beginning to sound like a broken record, I don't have much for you today. I didn't make it into the ward of unfinished fiction. As long as I keep mentioning it, it might stay on my mind.
How much has the landscape of the GOP presidential race changed in these two months? Evangelical Louisiana governor Bobby Jindal has called it quits today. Not that he was ever in the race. Carson is still an idiot, struggling with trying to be smarter than a bag of rocks. It's time we retired the "Its not brain surgery" idiom. Sarah Palin says, if asked she would run for VP. Religious, right wing fervor is trying to close our borders to refugees fleeing from the atrocities in Syria and Iraq. Several Red state Governors are claiming to refuse to accept any refugees at all. Fear runs rampant through the ranks of the Tea party. Blame continues to fall on the current administration and not on the previous one. Trump names Cruz as a potential Veep.
When did Americans become such ignorant assholes?
"The New Colossus"
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
~Emma Lazarus~
See you tomorrow...
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