It’s the King B Free Association Hour, sponsored by H.R. VanHinkle’s Mind-Bending FlacID-Acid

Boom.

This Plinky thing is already getting out of control. For reasons I will never understand, I already have 1 follower whose name is a Cardinal Virtue.

I think.

Plinky (read my Plinky posts cross-posted at The GOC) is sort of like Twitter, except with much more potential and much less growth. It’s recommended by WordPress as a way to generate ideas for something to write about, but instead has devolved for me – in less than a week – as a way to channel that part of me that wises I was a salt-the-burned-earth kind of guy.

Plinky is one of my Don’t Break the Chain events.

Why the Punic Wars are popping up in my writing lately, I have no idea.

I think it’s inspired by the Wikileaks, er, leaks. As a nation, we are witnessing what happens when we have people in charge of important things who are:

  1. Unqualified
  2. Of average intelligence
  3. Clueless
  4. Gutless
  5. Liberals

HRC and Fred-6 have not earned their spots, not by damn sight. They have  no more qualifications to do the jobs they have than anyone readings this – that they are Constitutionally eligible is their only recommendable quality, but by that logic, I am Constitutionally qualified to be a SCOTUS justice.

Which, admittedly, would be the ultimate intergalactic dope show.

Let me remind you, dear reader, that HRC failed the DC Bar Exam, that we don’t know Fred-6’s grades from college, and – so far as I can tell – we’re unsure if either of them know left from right.

Watching HRC babble on (and on and on and on) today about the State Department’s response to all this was chilling, and not in the sense that HRC is evil, because she’s not, just really not very bright. Worse still, like Fred-6, she seems to think the rest of the world responds to the Liberal pseudo-psychobabble as though they are sitting in a Womyn’s Studies class, when in fact the rest of the world isn’t taking back the night, they’re taking back the power in broad fucking daylight.

The American in me – the critical-thinking student of history, the tactical obsessive, the unrefined and unrepentant rough-edged polymathic Promethean, the man of deep humility (heh) –  wants to send them Robert Greene’s books so they can learn what the fuck we mean when we say “Smart Power,” but in reality, I’m not sure HRC or Fred-6 can read beyond a post-graduate level, which makes them about as qualified to respond to anything of importance as a monkey fucking a football.

Whoa – three eff-bombs and one really funny cliche – I’ll try to tone it down.

But seriously, this White House and its State Department could use some Fitty in their lives.

Seriously.

Or, if country music is your thing, you must know the following:

  • When to hold your cards
  • When to fold your cards
  • When to walk away
  • When to run
  • Don’t count your money at the table
  • There is time enough for counting said money when the dealing is complete and the game is over

Some other wisdom from the great unwashed masses:

  • Never play pool with a man named after a state
  • Never eat at a place called ‘Mom’s’
  • Never play cards with a man named ‘Doc’
  • Always Mind the Gap

And finally, regarding good advice: no matter how hard Fred-6 tries, you cannot under any law or circumstance, divide by zero.


Also, “Wear sunscreen.”

There are times when I look at the vacant, confused, shrinking face of Fred-6 and want to remind him that no matter what he thinks of his own intelligence, it’s not nearly as fabulous as his disciples would have you believe. I can see a younger Fred-6, so full of himself, telling a lesser intellect that ‘when you’re not sure who the smartest person in the room is, you’re not the smartest person in the room.’ After watching international reactions to so many of his clueless pronouncements, pontifications, and his overall office – so vitiated by his own smug ignorance – one wants to remind him when everyone is laughing and you’re not, um, the joke’s on you.

Fred-6 strikes me as akin to the compulsive masturbator who brags about his endurance to his friends (wait, is that projection?). So full of himself is he that he’s placidly, blissfully, completely unaware that those not under his spell are laughing at him.

Yes, we’re laughing.

Sadly, the joke is on us, the American people, and not just the ones who saw through this empty suit while our peers were getting HOPE tattooed on their stretched out anuses.

As I leaf through the breezy Gulag Archipelago I’m reminded why we ever now and then must remember what Statists do when they get power – they turn that power not on those wishing to destroy us and our way of life, but on their own people. It’s sooooo much easier, no?

Some Nazi somewhere once supposedly said that if the Jews didn’t exist, the National Socialists would have to have invented them. I think if Fred-6 did not exist, we the people would have found it necessary to create him, which is sort of what the Davids Plouffe and Axelrod did anyway.

Save us Jeebus, save us!

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About godsowncrunk
I'm King B, the originator of the Jellywhite lyrical style and god's own crunk.

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