Posted on 03/29/2017 7:34:09 PM PDT by conservative98
OK that’s weird.Show it all,take it off.
NatalieWood as Gypsy Rose Lee Gypsy
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TGHtz9DKqk8
No doubt, and recall also the Bushes and the Clintons are all longtime pals,
As an elitist Globalist Crime family, the NWO Bush cabal make the corrupt vulgar Clinton’s look like amateurs when counted in $$,
Well, he certainly wasn’t what many of us convinced ourselves that he was, but looking at the alternative I’m not going to say I regret voting for him. I did go off the plantation pretty quickly after his 2nd term began, amnesty. The scales fell off my eyes pretty quickly.
If Dubya had criticized Obama, even a little bit, in the previous 8 years then Trump would be fair game.
But he never spoke out against Obama in spite his horrible, egregious, unethical, criminal and unconstitutional actions - far beyond any other president in our entire history.
So now it’s time for Dubya to keep his mouth shut for another 8 years.
Fake News
I agree. One of the last times I visited my dad in Chicago, the news was scrolling text of names of young men who died in Iraq and Afghanistan. Many of them went to my high school.
And seriously, for what?
At the time I thought we were fighting the good fight but now in hindsight I really think was a mistake.
Although I’m not a military analyst.
If he wants to weigh in on the public discourse, why doesn’t he make a case for the wars he got us into, the young lives that were lost, and the trillions of dollars of debt?
Publish it in some newspaper where people who don’t have access to the internet can read it. And of course online.
Mr. President, I’ve just offered you a challenge.
Well, W, in retrospect your presidency was some weird s#*t. Stupid too!
Not to mention extremely expensive to the treasury and to liberty.
Now THAT is some weird sh-t.
Ah, that horse is out of the barn.
What George W. Bush Really Thought of Donald Trump’s Inauguration
By Yashar Ali March 29, 2017 http://nymag.com/daily/intelligencer/2017/03/what-george-w-bush-really-thought-of-trumps-inauguration.html
The inauguration of Donald Trump was a surreal experience for pretty much everyone who witnessed it, whether or not they were at the event and regardless of who they supported in the election. On the dais, the stoic presence of Hillary Clinton — whom candidate Trump had said he would send to prison if he took office — underlined the strangeness of the moment. George W. Bush, also savaged by Trump during the campaign, was there too. He gave the same reason for attending that Bill and Hillary Clinton did: to honor the peaceful transfer of power.
Bush’s endearing struggle with his poncho at the event quickly became a meme, prompting many Democrats on social media to admit that they already pined for the relative normalcy of his administration. Following Trump’s short and dire speech, Bush departed the scene and never offered public comment on the ceremony. But, according to three people who were present, Bush gave a brief assessment of Trump’s inaugural after leaving the dais: “That was some weird shit.” All three heard him say it.
A spokesman for Bush declined to comment.
Follow Yashar Ali on Twitter: @Yashar
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OTHER CRAP by Yashar Ali:
11/17/2016 at 11:05 a.m.
Get a Rare Look at Hillary Clinton As a Grandmother in Action
11/6/2016 at 1:05 a.m.
With His Father’s Campaign in Chaos, Eric Trump Was Looking to Trade Guns on the Internet
A user with a name that appears to belong to the presidential candidate’s son posted on a hunting site looking to exchange firearms.
10/13/2016 at 9:52 p.m.
This Muslim Former Employee of Trump Casino Wants to Make Sure His Old Boss Isn’t Elected
He’s out of work but has made dozens of small donations to Hillary Clinton.
2/13/2017 at 12:21 p.m.
Here’s a Video of Trump Crashing a Wedding Right After Giving His North Korea Statement
The groom was the son of a major donor to pro-Trump super-PACs.
1/3/2017 at 2:01 p.m.
Bill and Hillary Clinton Will Attend the Trump Inauguration
They will do so out of a sense of duty, say two well-placed sources.
I thought it “was some weird sh-t” when Bush let a Marxist usurper become president. In 2008, when we saw the evidence of Obama’s first forged birth certificate, the problems with all his identification documents, the lies he’d told us about his birth story, and the Bush administration said and did nothing to expose him and stop him from illegally taking office, that was when I realized they really were all in on it.
Ya—as if the skull and bones sodomite isn’t a weird, evil, POS, dancing around the He/She Goat god altar, where orgies with the pretty little boys are the norm. Bush and his daddy and granddaddy should be tried for crimes against humanity.
Get back to painting George and don’t talk, OK?
I loved his speech. It was the most honest speech I have ever heard. I don’t need soaring lies.. I want the truth.
My suspicions are correct. He’s a retard.
Too bad his dad couldn’t figure out how to use one back in ‘45.
War Is a Racket is the title of two works, a speech and a 1935 short book, by Smedley D. Butler, a retired United States Marine Corps Major General and two-time Medal of Honor recipient. Based on his career military experience, Butler frankly discusses how business interests commercially benefit (including war profiteering) from warfare.
Full text of “War Is A Racket”
https://archive.org/stream/WarIsARacket/WarIsARacket_djvu.txt
The source of this unsourced crap is Iranian homosexual Yashar Ali
Losing My Identity: Only Gay When I’m Not Iranian
October 23, 2011 by Yashar Ali
https://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/losing-my-identity-only-gay-when-im-not-iranian/
Yashar Ali sees himself as equal parts Iranian and gay. But when forced to compartmentalize his sexuality, Yashar found his whole identity falling apart.
I came out to my parents nine years ago, when I was twenty-two. Before I told them about my sexuality, I managed to create a scenario in my mind where they would respond negatively, which is why I came out to them last. I was dead wrong about their initial reaction.
A few days after I told them (via e-mail, of course), my father sent me a email that read, “As you can imagine, this is difficult news for your Iranian parents. Nevertheless, you are our son and we love and respect you.”
I was shocked. Could this be easier than I expected? While that email was something out of a dream for me, I soon learned about the conditions attached to their respect.
The morning after my father sent his letter, my mother called and told me that under no circumstances could I ever reveal my sexual orientation to any Iranian friends living in the U.S. or any of our relatives in Iran. Her tone wasn’t one of concern, she was angry—as if revealing my sexuality to our Iranian family and community would lead to some catastrophic event.
Initially, her demand didn’t bother me much. I was just happy to have my immediate family and friends know about my sexuality. But soon, I began to feel as if the walls were closing in around me. Because of the restrictions imposed by my parents, I slowly began to lose my identity.
A year and a half later, at my sister’s wedding, my relatives and Iranian friends bombarded me with questions about my dating life. Did I have girlfriend? Would I be getting married soon? “No,” I said, “I’m too busy, I haven’t met anyone I like.”
My scripted response became progressively more defensive throughout the night as I felt myself slipping away.
At the wedding, I saw my cousin (who was the first person I came out to). Her presence reminded me of how we used to imagine our own wedding celebrations. We both fantasized about having two ceremonies, one in America and one in Iran. The bond I shared with my cousin about Iranian weddings, the tradition, the pomp—pieces that felt distinctly part of my identity—was something I had to pretend never existed. My parents had succeeded in getting me to deny my sexuality, and thus, my identity, to the very people who had helped to shape it.
A few years after my sister’s wedding, I let my guard down at a dinner party in Los Angeles and corrected an Iranian family friend who asked if I had a girlfriend. I told her that I didn’t and that I was gay. The next morning, I received an angry phone call from my parents, who demanded to know why I told this friend the truth. My mother said, “Heterosexuals don’t advertise their sexuality, why do you have to?”
I have gay friends who live two separate lives, one with their friends, who eventually become a surrogate family and one with their biological family. With friends, they are openly gay and proud. With their biological family, they create a shadow life that borders on asexuality. I always thought I was different from these friends, at least my family knew, at least I could go home without having to pretend to be someone I wasn’t. But I realized that I was living a double life of my own, a life of selective isolation thrust upon me by my mother and father.
Many of my friends face the same fate. While not Iranian, they are from families that are socially conservative. Their immediate families know about their sexual orientation, but their parents have also restricted them from sharing that part of their identity with other family members and people in their communities. I have countless friends, even from very liberal families, who have been told, “Don’t say anything to Grandma, she’s too old to handle it.”
My mother always behaved as if this imposed denial of my sexuality from our circle of family and friends was for my own protection. She claimed that she didn’t want me to be hurt and didn’t want my disclosure to prevent me from visiting my relatives in Iran. I realize now that she wasn’t protecting me, she and my father were only protecting themselves from the shame they felt.
The next morning, I received an angry phone call from my parents, who demanded to know why I told this friend the truth. My mother said, “Heterosexuals don’t advertise their sexuality, why do you have to?”
What has been so confusing about the conditions my parents set up about my sexuality is that growing up, my mother had one for rule for me: that I should always tell her the truth. Lying was the worst thing I could do. She and my dad never pretended to be anybody they weren’t. They were never interested in keeping up with the Joneses. But when it comes to a fundamental part of who I am as a person, I am suppose to lie and hide.
My mom’s distaste for lying is no exception to the lessons many of us learn growing up. Our parents always teach us, as kids, to tell the truth. They teach us to be ourselves. But as kids, we aren’t usually conscious of who we are—our identities haven’t fully formed. The problem arises when we begin to have a clear sense of ourselves and we start to apply the same lessons about telling the truth as adults, that we learned as kids. At this point, our desire to tell the truth becomes an inconvenience for our parents. Those lessons are expected to go right out the window and we are encouraged to be people we are not.
When I think about my identity, I see myself as equal parts Iranian and gay. I grew up in a time and place where I was asked to call myself “Josh” or some other easy-to-say American name when someone couldn’t pronounce my Iranian name. I always refused—I was proud of my name, proud of being Iranian. My parents were always so proud that I, their son, was proud of my ethnicity. Their shame about my sexuality stripped me of my identity in many ways.
When I told people about being gay and Iranian, I didn’t feel an attachment to either. I had forgotten who I was.
My parents aren’t monsters. I recognize that living with one mindset for over sixty years can lead to irrational behavior when presented with a direct alternative. I also understand that as immigrants, and like so many people of their generation, their decision-making is based on fear. They are consumed with sadness about my sexuality because they associate it with AIDS and a life of social hardship. This fear explains a lot of their questions and concerns. But their demand that I deny my sexuality around other Iranians is based on their shame and nothing else.
Growing up in Chicago, I faced a great deal of bullying from my elementary school classmates because of my ethnicity. They bullied me after hearing about the Iran-contra scandal and the Salman Rushdie fatwa, news that trickled down to them through their parents. I will never forget that my mom, knowing I would never admit to what I was going through, would pick me up for lunch almost everyday. She did it to give me a break. She did her best to protect me.
What has been most painful about my coming out experience is that my parents’ behavior towards my sexuality has reminded me of the pain I felt in elementary school: the shame, the isolation, the knot in my stomach as I walked to school, and me wanting nothing more than to run out and free myself.
Last January, I decided I had enough of living an inauthentic life—on more levels than one. I left my job in the Bay Area and moved back to Los Angeles. I didn’t know exactly what was wrong, but I just didn’t feel like myself. I felt more lost than ever.
It wasn’t until this past May, when I logged onto Facebook on a weekday morning, that I realized what my problem was. My friend Jamie had posted pictures from his sister’s wedding on his Facebook page. His photos reminded me of my own unhappiness at my sister’s wedding. Jamie’s photos showed him happy, smiling, enjoying the moment. He went to the wedding with his boyfriend. There was no shame—just a normal family.
The contrast saddened me. Why didn’t I have the same freedom with my family? The few times I looked at the photos from my sister’s wedding, I cringed. In those pictures, my smile is not my own, I was confused and sad. Jamie’s photographs of his sister’s wedding made it clear to me the pain brought on by this split identity and my parents’ shame about my sexuality had spread like a virus through my life. It has impacted me in ways both big and small.
I decided that it was no longer up to my mother and father to control whether I live authentically. At age thirty-one, I need to take responsibility for my own life, despite their attempts to place me in a box—one created to fit their needs of what they see as acceptable for their son.
I told them that I would be writing about my sexuality and other topics that they would probably deem as private. Their response, to say the least, was not pleasant. They said, “We just don’t want to be hurt.”
It was so frustrating for me to see those words across my computer screen. They didn’t want to be hurt? Even though it was unintentional, the pain caused by their demand was overwhelming. And they were concerned about being hurt? I had enough.
I made it clear to them that the option of denying my identity to protect their shame can no longer be the case—I will gladly not have them in my life if they refuse to support me. The idea that I should suffer because I share genetic material with someone was absurd to me.
A few days passed by and I received an email from my mother. She wrote, “Sometimes courage skips a generation.”
But I don’t see my decision to re-claim my identity as an act of courage. After all, I’m just doing what my mother always asked me to do: I’m telling the truth.
—
This post first appeared on The Current Conscience
Didn’t say jackshit during 8 years of the Kenyan running roughshod.......... Now he opens his pie hole?
Where’s Jesse when we really need him?
Stay out da bushs!!!!
These people must have something very serious to fear in their background because nothing else explains the strange behavior of the rinos and dems on Trump.
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