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Independence Day 2022

Hellzapoppin’


If you’re not used to the games and gimmicks of the Phoney Ruling Class by now, you’d better get used to them.


This afternoon, I received a voicemail about applying for my 2022 Student Loan Forgiveness Plan.


Where do I begin with this one?


Decades ago, I paid off my National Direct Student Loan — in full. I still have the promissory note and the thank you note from the grateful Federal Bureaucrat.


Those were the days!


The Taking Coalition has always been with us, We the People; but the Takers are presently cannibalizing. I intend to remain on the sidelines during this incestuous feast, with my stockpile of popcorn from Bob’s Red Mill. I mix the yellow and the white, and the results are quite tasty.

I haven’t met Bob, although from the ambiance of his website, he seems a curmudgeon to me. Never happy with plenitude, always grumbling about The Moment That Is, rarely able to enjoy that moment.


Maybe he grew up during the Great Depression. I believe he’ll be joined by a newer generation of groaners during The Wonderful Depression that’s coming our way.


It’s all in the marketing.


My ringtone got changed a few months back, from By the Seaside to a hilarious impersonation by Captain Deplorable. I gotta say, though, that I did not receive a single call about My Car Warranty until I loaded the comic genius onto the me-device, made in Chi-nah. Since that day, at least a dozen requests to renew my car warranty have come to my under-appreciated phone number!

I do not gloat about the losses that others have self-righteously brought to themselves. The 1970s were the era of my taking flight from the nest (which was a nest of vipers).  I saw too much self-destruction to gloat about such things. I do nonetheless comprehend, on a profound level, the balancing of the natural order that is taking place.


It’s all in God’s hands.


The sleazy, shrieking, vodka-soaked Harridan of The House cannot gavel her way to Communion (or to Heaven) with a reprobate pope at the Vatican. There’s a pair to draw to.


Globalists, boosting cheap labor to pour across the Border into the Fruited Plain, still can’t force patriotic Americans to buy their lousy crappy products.


Both sides of the power-broker aisle leaving out America and its citizenry cause consequences that shall — none too soon — eliminate those power brokers.

Here, in the US of A, We the Patriots have gone from corporately-funded Occupiers to a corporately-funded Occupier of the White House.


Consequently, Hellzapoppin’ right now. It only gets more surreal for anyone expecting reality to show up in The Snews. If anyone has ever wondered what happens when 500 debauched people are running a corrupt clown show, the results are underway.


The song of that 1941 Hollywood film, entitled Pig Foot Pete, was nominated for the Oscar that year, but lost to “White Christmas”.

Boffola, that fake tinselly form of music, got passed over for the real tinsel of Christmas-time.


July is never too early to plan for the buying season of that sacred holiday which, in America, gets earlier and earlier every year.  This year, I bought all of my merchandise by June 30 for the December holly jolly gift-giving, just so I can really give it to the inflation-meisters.


It’s the thought that counts!