If case you haven’t heard, Barack Hussein Obama made a doozie of a mistake yesterday when he said the following about the good people of Pennsylvania. The ones who are going to be voting in the Democratic primary soon.
You go into these small towns in Pennsylvania and, like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing’s replaced them… And it’s not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.
Well, spurred onward because of Obama’s obvious concern for these people, Transterrestrial Musings decided to go out and get first-hand the stories of the frustration that has driven the poor people of Pennsylvania towards obsessive gun hording, a religious fanaticism not seen since The Crusades, unrestrained beer guzzling, and a rabid hatred of immigrants and free-traders so they could be shared with the rest of America. This is one man’s story of his slow descent into hell.
“By cracky, it’s like the man sees into my very soul!
“Thirty years ago, I had a good job in the mill in Pittsburgh. I was bringing in a good income, going to jazz clubs, discussing Proust over white wine and brie, with my gay friends of all colors. I was all for free trade, so that we could sell the steel overseas, and I never bothered to go to church, let alone actually believe in God.
“But then, the plant closed down, and I couldn’t get another job. I went on unemployment, and found odd jobs here and there, but they barely paid the rent on the loft, and the payment on the Bimmer. I couldn’t afford the wine and brie any more, and had to shift over to beer and brats.
“Of course, as a result, I started hanging out with the wrong crowd–the beer drinkers.
“And it wasn’t just the beer. Some of them actually went out in the woods in the fall, and shot animals. And kilt ‘em. With real guns!
“I was shocked, of course. For all their diversity, none of my gay friends would have ever thought of doing anything like that. But with my job loss, and lack of money for pedicures and pommade, they didn’t want to hang with me any more. So I borried a twelve gauge over’n'under, and went out with my new beer-drinking animal-killing friends in the woods. And I’ll tell you what, when I shot down that eight-pointer, I felt a sense of power over the helpless in a way that I hadn’t since I’d been looking down on the rednecks when I had that good job in Pittsburgh, driving around town in my 528i.
“But somehow the killing, and hating those two-timing nancy boys wasn’t enough. I was still in despair. I started to search for answers, and I thought that I found them in Jesus. It started small, just church on Sunday, with prayers and a lecture from the preacher.
“But it didn’t stop there. Soon I was attending Wednesday night revivals, and huzzahing and hossanahing, and babbling with the best of them. After a few months I’d graduated to juggling garter snakes, then rattlers.
“But it wasn’t enough. Despite all the gun caressing, and animal killing, and hatred of people who weren’t like me, and anger at the Colombians who were…doing something to me–I’m not entirely sure what, and the tongue speaking and snake handling, I still couldn’t find a job.
“My social life continued to deteriorate. Not only was I no longer interested in those sensitive swishes, or literature, but I was starting to look with lust at my sister. And not just look, I’ll tell you what. She’d been out of work, too, and was getting mighty interested, if you know what I mean.
“I have hit rock bottom.
“Please, help me, O Bama. Forgive me, O Bama. O Bama, my Bama, rescue me from this living hell in which Reagan, and Bush, and Clinton, and Bush, have consigned me. Restore unto me my loft and my teutonic status symbol. Give me back my poofter friends, and my pinot grigio and my baked gruyere, and lattes. Save me from the killing and the beer, and most of all, from Jesus. Save me, O my Bama, and I will commit my vote unto you.
It’s heartbreaking. I swear I teared-up while reading it. It’s a story that must be told. Perhaps on Oprah. With Doctor Phil and Obama sitting on either side providing support. A ratings bonanza I tell ya.
BTW, I just recently posted about this here and here, in case you missed them.
But to recap. Obama screwed-up here. He insulted a trifecta of potential middle-class, blue-collar Democratic voters: Beer drinkers, church goers, and gun owners (and he meant it too). Sure there’s some overlap, but he made sure he called each one out individually. Now that’s good politics.
UPDATE:
Found this over at Michelle Malkin. It so fits.
UPDATE:
A visual essay on Obama.
None of this changes one feeling of his cultist followers supporters, but it will kill him with middle-America.
UPDATE:
I’ve posted about this so many times now I am getting confused . . . not surprising I suppose considering I am one of the dumb-ass redneck gun-toting, church-going (not so much), beer-drinking people Obama is talking about. Anyway, I guess they are right - Obama, liberals, and the guys defending him in the comments of my posts - I am just too fricken stupid to understand the underlying truth behind what he said.
God help me, I don’t know how I manage to zip-up my pants in the morning.
From Ace.
