Moderate terrorists? Obama and Boehner calling a dog’s tail a leg in Syria

Abe Lincoln once said, “How many legs does a dog have if you call the tail a leg? Four. Calling a tail a leg doesn’t make it a leg.” In order to avoid actually doing something about ISIS a terrorist group whose goals he probably endorses, Barack Obama has enlisted John Boehner in calling the Free Syrian Army (FSA) moderates. They are no more moderates than a dog’s tail is a leg regardless of what they are called in Washington.

People on the ground, those who are not constrained by cowardice, have a different view of the FSA. The “Friends of Syria” (FoS) have watched the FSA savages commit gang rapes murder innocent people by beheading them (a Catholic priest among them) and target Christians and other religions they don’t like exactly the same way ISIS does.

FoS says it is Obama who is the terrorist in Syria, not Bashar Al Assad. They point out that Obama knows the charges against Al Assad are false and the proof is the fact that his people have largely stood with him. They know the truth.

When the stupid and naïve John McCain and Joe Biden traveled to Syria they met with “local freedom fighters.” These “freedom fighters” told them lies and these fools believed them. They presented themselves as FSA but now have unmasked themselves and declared they are ISIS and al-qaeda.

Despite the truth about them, the FSA which was funded by Hillary Clinton’s State Department, will be getting hundreds of millions of dollars to finish off Al Assad and take over the modern army, navy, and air force he has. From there they will turn their attentions toward marching across Northern Africa and eventually destroying Israel.

Where is the shameless EXEMPT Congress?

The "rebels" (al Qaeda), have more vetting than the EXEMPT's Impostor King,
with whom they dare use US taxpayer money for rape, terrorism, genocide and slavery.

He was a homely, freckled, sandy-haired young fellow, with an intelligent blue eye that had frankness and comradeship in it and a covert twinkle of a pleasant sort. But for an unfortunate remark of his, he would no doubt have entered at once upon a successful career at Dawson’s Landing. But he made his fatal remark the first day he spent in the village, and it “gaged” him. He had just made the acquaintance of a group of citizens when an invisible dog began to yelp and snarl and howl and make himself very comprehensively disagreeable, whereupon young Wilson said, much as one who is thinking aloud:
“I wish I owned half of that dog.”
“Why?” somebody asked.
“Because I would kill my half.”
The group searched his face with curiosity, with anxiety even, but found no light there, no expression that they could read. They fell away from him as from something uncanny, and went into privacy to discuss him. One said:
“’Pears to be a fool.”
“’Pears?” said another. “Is, I reckon you better say.”
“Said he wished he owned half of the dog, the idiot,” said a third. “What did he reckon would become of the other half if he killed his half? Do you reckon he thought it would live?”
“Why, he must have thought it, unless he IS the downrightest fool in the world; because if he hadn’t thought it, he would have wanted to own the whole dog, knowing that if he killed his half and the other half died, he would be responsible for that half just the same as if he had killed that half instead of his own. Don’t it look that way to you, gents?”
“Yes, it does. If he owned one half of the general dog, it would be so; if he owned one end of the dog and another person owned the other end, it would be so, just the same; particularly in the first case, because if you kill one half of a general dog, there ain’t any man that can tell whose half it was; but if he owned one end of the dog, maybe he could kill his end of it and—”
“No, he couldn’t either; he couldn’t and not be responsible if the other end died, which it would. In my opinion that man ain’t in his right mind.”
“In my opinion he hain’t got any mind.”
No. 3 said: “Well, he’s a lummox, anyway.”
“That’s what he is;” said No. 4. “He’s a labrick—just a Simon-pure labrick, if there was one.”
“Yes, sir, he’s a dam fool. That’s the way I put him up,” said No. 5. “Anybody can think different that wants to, but those are my sentiments.”
“I’m with you, gentlemen,” said No. 6. “Perfect jackass—yes, and it ain’t going too far to say he is a pudd’nhead. If he ain’t a pudd’nhead, I ain’t no judge, that’s all.”
Mr. Wilson stood elected. The incident was told all over the town, and gravely discussed by everybody. Within a week he had lost his first name; Pudd’nhead took its place. In time he came to be liked, and well liked too; but by that time the nickname had got well stuck on, and it stayed. That first day’s verdict made him a fool, and he was not able to get it set aside, or even modified. The nickname soon ceased to carry any harsh or unfriendly feeling with it, but it held its place, and was to continue to hold its place for twenty long years.
THE TRAGEDY OF
PUDD’NHEAD WILSON
By Mark Twain

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