February 10, 2016

I was at the Sistine Chapel. I saw David at the Uffizi. I’ve flown the Concorde. I was in a gun fight in a court room. I saved the life of a police officer who was shot there. He danced at my daughter’s wedding 2 years later. I gave my wife a blue Jaguar wrapped up in a red bow one Mother’s Day. I lost unanimously in the Supreme Court. I have 2 versions of my bio. The short one says that I fought the IRS and lost. The long one says that I fought the IRS and lost…everything. I have 3 titanium joints. I have a scleral buckle around my left eye. I have scar on the back of my head that strangers think was caused by finishing 3^rd in an axe fight. I have a depression at my occipital bone so deep that you can rest a shot glass in it. I have been operated on for breast cancer. I tried to get an energy tax credit for my pacemaker. I revel in the name my Texas Lady granddaughters gave me. Just call me Bumps, partner.

But enough about me. It’s time to get going on my bucket list.

I want to do what the pols did in 1800 and 1828. The thing I can never overcome is that they did it without electricity.

This morning I saw the front pages of a newspaper and an electronic media outlet.

The New York Daily News had a picture of Donald Trump on Page 1 as the Joker from the Batman movie. It was so scary – not for me ‘cuz I’m from Bayonne –that my cat Sharpton dove under the bed at dawn and hasn’t been out since.

The Huffington Post Page 1 said that Trump and his supporters in New Hampshire were “racist, sexist, xenophobic, agoraphobic, claustrophobic, and phobiaphobic”.

Pay back can be a bitch so buckle up. It’s going to be a bumpy ride, courtesy of Bumps.

I think it was smart of Hillary Clinton to have had Madeline Albright on the stage with her. Compared to Ms. Albright, Hillary’s ass, though still an axe handle and a half wide, becomes more viewable. Ms. Albright’s mighty keister, if fileted by a pro, could provide cooking oil for half of Haiti for their next Ton-Ton Macoute Zombie raree, compliments of the Clinton Crime Family.

Also, will someone give her the number of VP Curley Biden’s Chia Hair implant dude? Obamacare covers that, no?

A balding, fat-assed harridan issues a Dante-like threat against any chick voting against Hillary? This can only get better.

How about a picture of them doing some serious twerking with twerker and twerkee changing positions often? No hogging those steatyagonous loins, you know what I’m saying? The background music will be “Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow”.

How about a picture of them at a pie eating contest?

One good thing that would happen for the school kids should Hillary win is that crème brulee will now replace kale and tofu at lunch.

Also, if you are serious about weight loss forget about Pilates and stair climbers. Just run around them in the bottom of the 9^th inning of their twerking best of 7 series. The music will be “The Children Are Our Future”. A mutual eructation from these Amazons would require 7 League Boots to avoid the undertow. No pain, no gain. 

The Adams, pere et fils, and Andrew Jackson set a very high bar. I hope I haven’t let the side down. 

Bernie’s time in the barrel is upon us. 

Bernie had breakfast with Al Sharpton in Harlem this morning. Before he went to the University of Chicago where, doubtless, the Homeric weight bearing beams of statism and Socialism were hewn and fitted, he was a nice Jewish boy from Brooklyn.

One thing I know that wasn’t discussed was the murder of Yankel Rosenbloom. Rosenbloom was serious Jew both in appearance and garb. He was murdered by a feral Black man, if not by the hand of Al Sharpton, then by a wink, a nod, a Thomas Becket moment, a “silence gives consent” penumbra, maybe even an emanation from Al. 

I’ll bet Sharpton ordered bacon and sausage for his guest this morning. 

Bernie’s first Executive Order will be to replace the “Star Spangled Banner” with “Imagine”.

This is no time for half-assed billingsgate. Whatever names you can call me “pussy” won’t be one of them. 

I am at my Muse’s beck and call. 

I’ll be back

No more Mr. Nice Guy. No prisoners.

The fire next time.

KEVIN SMITH

WARRIORBARDIT@BELLWSOUTH.NET