In a rare display of humor, Republicans have reappointed Our Belle, Michele Bachmann, to the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence.
Ms. Bachmann is the wacky woman whose handbag is filled with a long list of conspiracy theories, and witch-hunting tools. She thinks Barack Obama is trying to impose Sharia law on the U.S., and that Congress itself is filled with Un-American types plotting to overthrow our government, the first step of which is to insist that she show some indication of common sense.
I do not know what drives me to think of this, but every time Our Belle says something loony, I wonder what it is about True Religion that drives politicians to say wacky things.
It is not that I so much fear for the intelligence of the House Committee on Intelligence. After all, Ms. Bachmann graced the Committee during her last, stellar service on that committee. I fear most for Brent Mussberger, and the future of football in America: not foot-football, such as they play in Sharialand, but pointy-football, such as it is played in Alabama; you know, touch it with your hands, throw it, pick it up and run with it.
Mr. Mussberger nearly lost his . . . nearly lost it when he caught sight of Miss. Alabama: "Oh, Lordy, Lordy! Ooh-ooh, ahh-ahh!", and all that kind of thing. (I am trying to be oblique, here.) What if Brent catches sight of Our Belle, in full fulmination against every form of un-Americanism?
This might be the beginning of The Second Coming: Brent's.
We live in perilous times!
Ms. Bachmann is the wacky woman whose handbag is filled with a long list of conspiracy theories, and witch-hunting tools. She thinks Barack Obama is trying to impose Sharia law on the U.S., and that Congress itself is filled with Un-American types plotting to overthrow our government, the first step of which is to insist that she show some indication of common sense.
I do not know what drives me to think of this, but every time Our Belle says something loony, I wonder what it is about True Religion that drives politicians to say wacky things.
It is not that I so much fear for the intelligence of the House Committee on Intelligence. After all, Ms. Bachmann graced the Committee during her last, stellar service on that committee. I fear most for Brent Mussberger, and the future of football in America: not foot-football, such as they play in Sharialand, but pointy-football, such as it is played in Alabama; you know, touch it with your hands, throw it, pick it up and run with it.
Mr. Mussberger nearly lost his . . . nearly lost it when he caught sight of Miss. Alabama: "Oh, Lordy, Lordy! Ooh-ooh, ahh-ahh!", and all that kind of thing. (I am trying to be oblique, here.) What if Brent catches sight of Our Belle, in full fulmination against every form of un-Americanism?
This might be the beginning of The Second Coming: Brent's.
We live in perilous times!
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