We unquenchable, thrill-seeking Americans never tire of allowing ourselves to be hornswoggled.
Unfailingly, we sophisticated types allow a man in funny clothes driving a medicine wagon and, wink, wink, selling miracle juices, to dip his sticky fingers into our slender wallets and extract just a little money in exchange for cures we never knew existed.
Because they don’t.
We are being had again, dear readers.
The underworked feel-goodies of our society, the Goofy Mothers and Daffy Cousins for Peace, Inc., have been out marching, fasting, “praying” and protesting the last few days, hoping to prevent tonight’s scheduled execution of killer Troy Davis. He gunned down a young off-duty cop in Savannah, Ga, back in the ‘80s.
Twenty-two years ago — before a single one of the millions of high school students across America was born — Mr. Davis was sentenced to death.
Twenty-two years he has been watching Archie Bunker, football games, Dancing with Stars and Oprah while his 27-year-old victim lies cold in the ground.
But picky, picky.
Until a few days ago, except for the crackpot Angry Left sympathy machine, none of us knew Troy Davis from Troy, Al.
According to all but one television network, NPR and many major newspapers, we should interrupt our own lives and plead with God and a parole board in Georgia to prevent a killer from being punished for slaying a cop.
The insincerely weepy Los Angeles Titanic crumbled to its dishonest knees this morning. Pouring water over its head to create the effect of tears, the Titanic begged in its lead editorial to spare Mr. Davis’s life.
Why? That was insignificant.
“We have no idea whether or not Davis is innocent,” the Titanic brilliantly trumpeted.
But they could not think of a single valid reason for blocking his punishment, even with 22 years to dream up one.
The Angry Left must be growing soft.
