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10/07/08 - (2)
Tuesday-Night Presidential SmackDown
This rainy early-October Tuesday evening, Two hours, and counting, To the second national televised presidential debate, Between highly touted heavyweights (An aged Caucasoid cancer survivor and a Negroid upstart),
I sit in a neighborhood café, Swigging authentic domestic French three-buck chuck, At an outrageously marked-up $10.50 a bottle, As the American/worldwide financial crisis escalates, Threatens to bankrupt all but the superaffluent,
Imagining what more might befall the U.S. That hasn't already guillotined its national stature, Thanks to emasculated George W. Bush and Dick Cheney. All I can envision, on the horizon, is doom — People not voting their pocketbooks but prejudices,
Realizing that though Barack Obama, intellectually, Has the requisites to save us, from the abyss, Pigmentwise, he's still a "nigger," "spade," "coon," "darkie," While John McCain is a lily-white POW hero Of the only war the U.S. hasn't won,
No matter that he graduated from the Naval Academy Fifth from the bottom of his class of 899, in '58. Now that I'm three-bottles anesthetized, I pay my tab, Head home, to catch some of this second bout. When I turn the tube on, halfway through the match, I see folksy Pit-Bull Palin, having charged into the ring, Helping a bloody, staggering John McCain Fend off the scrappy, black That-One, Winking and adding her "you betcha!" sucker punches To the Original Maverick's "my friends" sleeper hold.
10/07/08 - (2)
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