Except the asshats behind her are way worse.


Rashida Tlaib – Moron
Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez – Moron
Ayanna Pressley – Moron
Ilhan Omar – Moron

These people disgust me.

WHO GIVES A FUCK?

Once upon a time, my Uncle Deannie was my hero.

Once upon a time, my Uncle loved his family.

Once upon a time, my Uncle was a human being.

Alas, now, he has become a Blue Uniform. Nothing matters more to him than the “family” from which he retired. Nothing matters more to him than the Thin Blue Line.

The Thin Blue Line is a Cult.

When a Man who spent years protecting his nieces and nephews from his own brother can turn his back on that family because they question the ethics and ethos of Law Enforcement, that man has become part of a Cult.

That Cult that deems itself the arbiter of Life and Death. That Cult that deems itself Judge, Jury and Executioner.

The Cult that says Comply or Die. Comply or we have the Right to Kill you. The Right to End Your Life because you did not obey the State. Representatives of the State, we are.

The Cult that acts out in contradiction to the Constitution and Bill of Rights of these United States of America.

Some time, about a decade and a half ago, my Uncle, the Cop, disowned everyone in his family who did not blindly accept every action of the State as represented by the Police. By the Enforcers of the Law.

If you did not obey Law Enforcement, he judged your life forfeit. Damn your rights as a Citizen.

Worse, yet, he has recently decided that those who call him on the decisions of his personal life such as his children forfeit all rights to understanding, compassion and love from him. His Wife, I am perplexed to say, has rode shotgun on this wretched inexcusable outlook on life.

This Uncle cheated on his wife. This Uncle had a child out of wedlock. This Uncle lied about it for 30 years. This Uncle put himself out as a beacon of morality. When he was called on his infidelity, he blamed the daughter who, in part, called him on his duplicity and hypocrisy.

This Uncle has decided that he shall disown his own daughter because she acts as he raised her. Because she called him, along with her brother, on his hypocrisy.

The Aunt. The Mother. Simply refused to acknowledge anything. Preferring instead to slam her head in the sand and aim her judgment and anger at the daughter.

Odd. This is. I’d not think to blame others for my poor decisions or the outcomes of those poor decisions. I suppose to have a scapegoat is convenient.

This Uncle is an odd sort.

Strange still is that he has forgotten all of the reasons that made him my hero in my youth. Apparently, now, I, and my siblings, are to blame for all of the imperfections and sins of our Father. We should simply forgive him. Even as he still commits perfidious acts against us time and time again.

Strange thing is family.

Strange and odd.

It is. It is.

A great deal of the time, silence is people looking at you whilst talking themselves out of murdering you over your ignorance and arrogance.

Sometimes, we see the train coming. We see you leaning out towards the tracks.

And it takes every ounce of self discipline to keep from helping you fall in front of that speeding train.

That’s why many of us are silent.

Aaron Burr was right. A good bit of violence can set some things right.

I bought a bird feeder. I hung it on my back porch and filled it
with seed. What a beauty of a bird feeder it was, as I filled it
lovingly  with seed.

Within a week we had hundreds of birds taking advantage of the
continuous flow of free and easily accessible food.

But then the birds started building nests in the boards
of the patio, above the table, and next to the barbecue.

Then came the shit. It was everywhere: on the patio tile,
the chairs, the table … everywhere!

Then some of the birds turned mean. They would
dive bomb me and try to peck me even though I had
fed them out of my own pocket.

And others birds were boisterous and loud. They
sat on the feeder and squawked and screamed at
all hours of the day and night and demanded that I fill it
when it got low on food.

After a while, I couldn’t even sit on my own back porch
anymore.

So I took down the bird feeder and in three days the birds were gone. I cleaned up their mess and took down the many nests they had built all over the patio.

Soon, the back yard was like it used to be … quiet, serene…
and no one demanding their rights to a free meal.

Our government gives out free food, subsidized housing,
free medical care and free education, and allows anyone
born here to be an automatic citizen. 

Then the illegals came by the tens of thousands. Suddenly
our taxes went up to pay for free services; small apartments
are housing 5 families; you have to wait 6 hours to be seen
by an emergency room doctor; Your child’s second grade class is
behind other schools because over half the class doesn’t speak
English.

Corn Flakes now come in a bilingual box; I have to
‘press one’ to hear my bank talk to me in English, and
people waving flags other than ours are squawking and screaming in the streets, demanding more rights and free liberties.

Maybe it’s time for the government to take down the bird feeder. 

Do Not Do Unto Others That Which You Would Not Have Done Unto You.

Europeans purchased Africans who were already enslaved by Africans.

Europeans purchased enslaved Africans from their African Owners.

Europeans then transported those Africans slaves whom they had purchased from Africans Slavers to the Americas.

If the Original Sin of America is Slavery, it originated in Africa with Africans.

Black Lives Matter doesn’t want to touch that one.

Neither do many Black Leaders or Leftist Leaders in America.

Brown People Invented Slavery. People of Color invented Slavery.

There would have been no Atlantic Slave Trade without the WILLING and HAPPY participation of West African Nations, Kingdoms and Tribes.

Stop lying to yourself and everyone else.

Africans profited immensely from the sale of enslaved Africans to Europeans and Arabs amongst others.

My parents’ home, in Umujieze, Nigeria, stands on a hilly plot that has been in our family for more than a hundred years. Traditionally, the Igbo people bury their dead among the living, and the ideal resting place for a man and his wives is on the premises of their home. My grandfather Erasmus, the first black manager of a Bata shoe factory in Aba, is buried under what is now the visitors’ living room. My grandmother Helen, who helped establish a local church, is buried near the study. My umbilical cord is buried on the grounds, as are those of my four siblings. My eldest brother, Nnamdi, was born while my parents were studying in England, in the early nineteen-seventies; my father, Chukwuma, preserved the dried umbilical cord and, eighteen months later, brought it home to bury it by the front gate. Down the hill, near the river, in an area now overrun by bush, is the grave of my most celebrated ancestor: my great-grandfather Nwaubani Ogogo Oriaku. Nwaubani Ogogo was a slave trader who gained power and wealth by selling other Africans across the Atlantic. “He was a renowned trader,” my father told me proudly. “He dealt in palm produce and human beings.”