While Gov. Bald Retread industriously was shampooing his naked pate this morning after breakfast — normal people brush their teeth — I still was chafing over the extraordinary incuriosity of California’s hard left.
The name of our most recent Republican governor eludes me.
But if $6.6 unexplained billion in unmarked bills had tumbled out of the sky during his term, Los Angeles would have emptied out faster than Maria Shriver.
Ten million lawyers and 20 million journalists would have flown to Sacramento on the first space ship. Puffing and huffing, they would have sprinted across town, in lockstep, to What’s-His-Name’s door and demanded a detailed, instantaneous accounting of the mystery dough’s sources slicker than a married man making an out-of-wedlock baby.
Child’s Play? Not Quite.
But since it is just another dumb liberal in the governor’s mansion — a gay blade who never would think of conceiving anyone’s child north or south of wedlock — the Los Angeles Titanic and other hard left journals dully stifle a yawn, pick both nostrils simultaneously and expectorate a wet wad of filthy tobacco. It is their nature.
Two of Gov. Retread’s most dependable choirboys, the Titanic’s Evan Halper and Anthony York, put together a better defense of the daffy governor in this morning’s lead story than bin Franklin Laden ever dreamed about. It was an ambitious exercise in misdirection and evasion, if not outright lying, the three principal pillars of the Retread administration.
If Arnold had been as faithful to his wife as the choirboys were to their coverup thesis, the world would have one less teenager this afternoon.
Where did the money come from and where is it going? That’s all I wanted to know, boys.
Let Me Guess About the Blame
After swiveling their rhetorical hips through the three-paragraph setup, Boob and Boob re-polished their Civil War-era cannons and boom, they fired, scoring a direct hit on their pet targets, the wallets of those filthy, greedy capitalists who have worked harder and earned more than you and me. Over on the sidelines, unemployed liberal victims of hardworking normal people, the backbone of ebbing Titanic readership, cackled like schoolboys, probably the last time they worked.
It’s the rich’s fault, wailed Boob and Boob, vaguely threading the nasty accusation through the story without supporting evidence, hoping the mere invocation of the dirty four-letter word “rich” would ignite and distract their liberal audience.
The headline says “Windfall not an answer to state’s woes,” and then the boys sat down to write a convoluted rationale that would only satisfy incurious liberals, not normal persons.
I am reminded of a young boy whose mother wants to know where he has been. “Mom, last night’s apple pie sure was the best you ever have made,” he says.
How outrageous is it for a money-starved state to suddenly, inexplicably find Six Point Six, its equivalent in gold, and then smugly tuck it into the governor’s off-limits breast pocket, in case it rains?
With the concentrated inspecificity of a drunk choosing from among 9 side-by-side escalators, Mr. Retread gargled and vaguely promised that “about $3 billion” would go to public schools.
The rest we won’t learn about unless his hair restorer works.
