Michelle Obama has invited rapper “Common†to the White House to participate in a poetry event. Perhaps Mr. “Common†will perform his piece called “A Song for Assata,†which glorifies Joanne Chesimard a/k/a “Assata Shakur,†the piece of shit who was convicted of murdering New Jersey State Trooper, Werner Foerster in 1973. She escaped from prison where she was serving a life sentence and fled to Cuba, where she resides as a fugitive today.
Of course, the Administration thinks the invitation of this crud to the White House is just fine, thank you.
The thought that this guy will perform in the White House positively sickens me.
You can hear “A Song for Assata,†here, if you have the stomach for it.
This is something I wrote about my mother in 2004, which, I believe, captures her essence. I suspect that many of have already read it, but perhaps a few have not.
When I was a kid, I was heavily steeped into the adventures of Superman. Hell, I not only bought every Superman comic I could get my hands on, but I was also a regular reader of Superboy and Supergirl (Hell, I even kept abreast of the doings with “Krypto,†the Superdog.)
I sure hope that what I’m reading about Superman these days turns out to be the result of a spell cast by Mr. Mxyzptlk or an exposure to some red kryptonite, but if not, The Man of Steel is dead to me.
The big news, of course, is the killing of Osama bin Laden by American shooters.
I only hope that in his last few minutes of life he felt even one-half of the terror experienced on September 11th by the people on those three planes and those killed in the World Trade Center and Pentagon during their final minutes of life. In fact, it’s a shame we can’t wake the son-of-a-bitch up and kill him every day for three-thousand days.
