Monday, February 22, 2016

1606 So Long Jeb

You turn on the kitchen light; the cockroaches scuttle into the woodwork. Under the sink. Under the stove.  At warp speed.

A roach is probably the most durable life form the earth has ever seen.  And the supply is endless. So it’s not likely that every Bush is back behind the wall.  But at least we’re rid of Jeb, that poor lumbering frat boy with the radio announcer voice, the relatively handsome face and the empty head.

Empty and thick. The message has been there all along: America is through with the Republican Party’s first family.  The only people who seemed not to get that was… uh… the Republican Party’s first family.

Here’s poor ancient Mama Barbara.  She’s not a genetic Bush, she’s a Bush by marriage and the only instantly recognizable member of this sorry clan to show some smarts.

First she said America has had enough Bushes.  Then that maternal instinct kicked in and the poor 90 year old lady went campaigning for Jeb.

First brother, Dubya, the guy who destabilized the Middle East and probably much of the rest of the world, also hits the campaign trail.  Now Jeb has withdrawn. Mission accomplished.

Daddy, HW is too infirm to campaign but in his waning days discovered that W was an imbecile and wrote scathingly about it.

As his mind circles the drain, HW feels new freedom to say what he really thinks.

And maybe even the room temperature IQ state of South Carolina saw the scuttle when the lights went on and rejected Jeb, finally.

Jeb always seemed to look puzzled.  “Why is this happening to me? I’m a Bush. It is my right to be president. Why don’t you see that?”

Sorry, pal. We don’t. What we see is yet another Blunder-Bush with a sense of entitlement who seems to think he can unite the country club.

He’s the kind of guy who shows pictures of his high tech gun inscribed “Governor Jeb…” and captioned “America.”

What was your reaction to that?  If it wasn’t it should have been “Jeb with a gun?  I better make sure I’m nowhere near him when he’s holding it.”

What’s the poor fellow to do, now that his dreams of glory have faded?  Probably, President Trump will name him ambassador to Suriname.  After all, he does speak Spanish.  

Their top guy is an elected president, who previously was an unelected dictator and a convicted drug dealer. The weather is Florida-in-August. Perfect Bush country.

Shrapnel:

--Your Wessays™ Pocket guide to Suriname.  It’s the smallest country in South America, population a little over half a million.  They drive on the left like the Brits, not on the right like the Dutch who once colonized them, so practice if you’re going there either as tourist or Ambassador… oh, and brush up on your Dutch language skills.

Quote of the day:  “He would go a month without mowing his lawn, but he was meticulous about his cars.”
-- A neighbor describing Uber driver Jason Dalton who toured Kalamazoo and, the police say, along the way shot and killed six people.

I’m Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®
Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com

© WJR 2016

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