Might as well bring up an old quote describing some churchgoers. It comes to mind after the shameful reporting from a northern Virginia assemblage where some public hackles popped up when The President of The United States dropped in for prayer.
Tragedies continue. Seemingly uncontrollable shootings and killings grab the heartstrings and news coverages as they should. Where are the answers? Better yet, why can’t they be found?
With belated thanks, appreciation and praise is due the co-inventors of the mute button. The far-seeing men followed up some 60 years ago what began in the midst of the fifth century A.D., (Anno Domini for Latin readers).
Whew! Consider once more – Description – Alexis Charles Henri Clérel. Why in the world bring up this fellow’s name? Few pupils in today’s grammar schools have ever gotten the chance to discover him.
Consider this for a moment. Hanging around with New York City’s bumbling mayor may have unintended consequences. Quite possibly some of the leading haters of current political events may have received a clear and present message along with their renegades.
Heading into the revered Memorial Day Weekend is the perfect time to consider authentic threats to the traditional basic tenets of the original 13 colonies and now the 50 states.
How else to start the day than by working the crossword puzzle in the daily newspaper? Instead of a Number Two pencil, the instrument was a faithful Parker fountain pen filled with Quink, black ink.
Time to rehash an old gag that a sitting president should have the right, by law, to hang one of two opponents. How appropriate for these churlish days.
Now the question was, “We have had three African American female mayors in a row. They were all passionate public servants. Two resigned, though. Isn't it a signal that a different kind of leadership is needed to move Baltimore City forward?"
The comedy hour, subtly speaking of course, continues. Chatter from within The House can now be described as lugubrious and Machiavellian. (Perfectly good sesquipedalian — long words). Details follow with some enlightenment.
There was a time in days of yore when Sundays were observed as days of rest by most states. Lots of us old fogeys can recall them with various degrees of happiness.
Yes, the proof is in the pudding. The ongoing feeding frenzy out of the nation’s capital is rather simple. The old boys, along with the girls, just hate the president because he accurately proved they are the swamp.
Driving through some Maryland backroads the other afternoon, I couldn’t help but notice many churches and synagogues. The faithful old Map Quest directed me through the lush communities instead of the speedier interstate.
There is no reason to regurgitate the continuing nonsense from the old socialist actually in his last hurrah. Why not? No intention to wish him physical harm, but he appears to be going off the rails. I know, he flies around spouting tripe.
At the ripe old youthful age of 10, I hurriedly walked eight blocks from Walter Reed Elementary School to my home on 33rd Street in Newport News, Virginia. My fourth grade classmates were so sweet and polite our beautiful teacher Mrs. Burton was always smiling in excusing us moments before the bell rang. We always walked rain, snow, in sunshine.
Looking for some grins and giggles on this day as the swampers and swampettes breathlessly await the “Mueller Musings,” I picked up a fountain pen to scribble. I knew the ambrosia, the food of the gods, might not appear. I can hope.
I have been yucking it up watching the Nancy Pelosi acolytes giving a public pass to the Somalian insulting the nation again, this time about the 9/11 terrorist event. I recall the attacks where 3,000 real Americans were murdered, killed, and more injured.
There is some good news escaping from the mess of feather merchants holding forth within the Halls of Congress. Let me explain, trying to avoid any name-calling.
The age of personal destruction is alive and well. In no way are things cooling down. What once were giggles all over everywhere, gloatings are the joy of every day.
It is the day after. The explanation at this very moment is: there are only a few leftovers from April Fool’s Day. And the jokes and pranks seemed to take a back seat this year. Old hat for certain.
On the premise earth is doomed in a decade plus two years as predicted by the political leftists, we of skin and bones have 4,385 days to live it up.
All right. So now, we’ve heard all the nonsense about so-called misogynists running wild to and fro out of control everywhere, especially in the public arena.
Wayward wannabes are clamoring to penalize people in small states of this Union by declaring them second and third rate citizens. In other words, they will officially be classed as nobodies without voices in presidential elections.
There is no reason to keep beating around the bush. Political leftists in all forms are knocking themselves out to blatantly and dishonestly destroy the USA.
Well, I was glued to the telly, probably like others in punditry, not able to resist the urge to see payday Wednesday for the former lawyer-lobbyist of international renown.
The plan here for today’s shrewd and intelligent readers was to offer some scoops and have an interlude from the maleficent spite still raging, especially among political misfits.
A callous nature of what is known as life and death continues to strike an ominous chord. The sounds are discomfiting at best and are growing louder and louder.
Let’s take a break from all the pettifoggers, losers to be accurate, who keep trying to convince the nation and world that crises are bounding without end.
With all due respect, I had a dream. Since I met The Man, MLKjr once, he won’t mind. I want to report from what might appear as a realistic fantasy.