Commander Crankypants and his Mirror, Mirror on the Wall~

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 Commander Crankypants and his Mirror, Mirror on the Wall~ Empty Commander Crankypants and his Mirror, Mirror on the Wall~

Post by grannyguerrilla on Fri May 24, 2013 6:07 pm

Once upon a time, the Prince of Hopenchange stomped angrily around the White Castle, jumped on the furniture, and kicked his golf bag so hard he snapped the shaft of his favorite putter.

Why was he so filled with rage?

Because he had been told “NO YOU CAN’T” for the very first time in his life. For months he had campaigned for tough new gun control laws. For months he had traveled hither and yon, toughing it out in five-star golf resorts, accompanied by teleprompters, a trunk of masks, valets, drama coaches, and food tasters.

At every venue, once the teleprompter was in place, the Prince would begin his three-act novella, wearing his care-and-concern mask. He’d open with “Oh dear! Oh dear! We must take away the really scary looking rifles and register every single gun, irregardless of its size or shape. And, we must act quickly, quickly, quickly, before another mass shooting occurs.”

In act two, the Prince would don his liar-liar-pants-on-fire mask and declare that 90% of the citizens really truly wanted all guns to be registered.

Then, in act three, he’d wear his great-and-powerful-all-knowing wizard mask and demand that every citizen do the right thing in order to prevent guns from ever again harming infants, children, teenagers, moms, dads, grandmothers, or grandfathers.
If his audience didn’t seem to be buying his propaganda, the prince would pull on his I-feel-your-pain-mask and beg them to help him keep the country safe.

(Secretly, he hoped the citizens/sheeple wouldn’t connect the dots from gun registration to gun confiscation to unopposed government control and riots led by hoodlums armed with un-registered illegal weapons. This might require the militia to
step in and . . . whoopsie! Never you mind, that’s a story for another day.)

But, oh drats! The stupids who clung to their guns and their God didn’t buy his sales pitch. They saw right through his masks and three-act presentation. Instead of bowing to his demands, they pressured their elected representatives to block gun registration.
After the vote went against the Prince’s agenda, the citizens celebrated. “You can’t erase our 2nd Amendment Rights. No way! No how! (This really pissed him off!)
Enraged over his political (and esteem) loss, the Prince of Hopenchange donned his Commander Crankypants mask and delivered a testy speech blaming the stupids for not caring if the children were protected or not. Then he stomped back inside the palace.

That night, the Prince crept into his padlocked study to consult the oracle. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, how can I persuade them all.”

The mirror replied, “Dust off your women’s-right-to-choose mask, dearie. But, beware. Conceal your actions from the time you were a spanking brand new politician. Your support of infanticide might be exposed during the Philadelphia abortion doctor's murder trial.

“And,” the mirror continued, “you'd best change the dialogue about Planned Parenthood. You can’t afford to remind the public about one million babies aborted in their clinics since you came into office.”
The Prince wrote MEMO TO SELF:

ONE. Assign my internet genies to disappear all references to former support of infanticide while in the Illinois State Senate.

TWO. Assign hard-core progressive journalists to plant articles, memos, and blogs about how I have always supported Planned Parenthood birth-control programs and health screenings for women.

The mirror spoke again. “Pay close attention here. At every waking moment of every day, wear your love-all-life mask to demonstrate how deeply you care about every single one of your beloved citizens. You don’t want them to tweet about your responses to the deaths caused by the BP oil explosion, Fort Hood shooting rampage, Benghazi attack, and your Fast and Furious debacle (pardon my French, but that was a friggin’ stupid program). So far, you’ve dodged those bullets, dearie.

The Prince wrote MEMO TO SELF.

Assign internet genies to disappear my “ho-hum” and “collateral damage” speeches, videos, and interviews.

The mirror said, “One more thing. It’s time for another diversion, dearie. While the controversy over gun control rages, invite key senators to a secret dinner. Prior to serving them their just deserts, slip on your Clint Eastwood, make-my-day mask and promise to destroy the political future of any one who sticks to his guns and supports the 2nd Amendment.

The Prince wrote MEMO TO SELF.

Leak a contrived story about an underground blog report that powerful senators
propose a vote to support national registration of pressure cookers.


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