Come the Revolution

The first sign of trouble came early Wednesday morning when the God-less Democrats filed into the Cathedral of St. Matthew the Apostle in Washington, D.C. The fact that they were accompanied by congressional leaders called Never Trumpers and RINOs—the two branches that remain of the embattled Republican Party—was only a clever ruse to mislead the American public. Even the whole St. Matthew thing is a bit suspect. A repentant tax collector, Matty somehow became the patron saint of civil servants, many of whom work for the IRS. Ha!

And then, on the Capitol steps where Proud Boys made their stand contesting the November election, there was a couple of hours of pomp and circumstance—a Shakespearean phrase meaning an “ostentatious display of ceremonial grandeur with oddly dressed pop singers and military bands.” Included were some prayers, songs, poems, and speeches—but very few dirty jokes. A utopian future was promised by all. Then the television cameras turned their focus onto a fleet of limousines filled with—you guessed it—liberals, most of whom live in the Hollywood Hills, Beverly Hills, or other hilly places in Southern California where property taxes tend to approach six figures and the swimming pools are filled with Perrier.

At the head of all this political folderol was Joe Biden, a commie-socialist pinko if ever there was one.

Sure, he looks harmless enough, hiding behind that blue tie and black topcoat, but did you happen to notice his squinty little eyes? Where were the aviator sunglasses he used to wear when he worked for the foreign-born B. Hussein O.?

After what seemed like a whole day of the ceremonial transfer of political power, Comrade Biden then signed what seemed like a ton of documents. He signed seventeen so-called “executive orders” with what appeared to be fountain pens rather than using the Sharpie left behind by T****  in the top drawer of the Resolute desk. He never held up any of the documents for the American people to see, which indicates one of two things: 1), he didn’t do well at Show & Tell in elementary school, or 2), he doesn’t want the American people to know what’s going on.

I think it’s the latter. Whatever happened to the promised transparency?

And of course you noticed that Bernie Sanders was there, sitting by himself with his back to the wall and wearing a down jacket and mittens so typical and emblematic of the proletariat class. He was clutching a manilla envelope with a suspicious-looking (as in foreign) postage stamp that was rumored to enclose a speech he wrote entitled, “Free at Last, Free at Last! Everything You’ll Want Is Free at Last!”

As the in-coming Chairman of the Senate Finance Committee, Bernie, whose inaugural image has become a meme (which I don’t even think is a legitimate word) has pretty much made most of the U.S. Government and all of Wall Street, including the janitors who sweep up the ticker tape at the end of each trading day, nervous as all hell. With the mere tap of his gavel, he’ll be able to turn himself into the congressional equivalent of Robin Hood—taking back trillions from the one percent to provide free school lunches for poor children and other things that really, really rich people hate.

It is Bernie who will control the purse strings of a government practically guaranteed to quadruple in size over the next four years as the private sector diminishes to a collection of dead-end service industries with minimum-wage jobs for those under-served by an educational system rendered useless by Betsy DeVos. Pretty soon, Bernie will help devise a national budget that will provide a shovel for every citizen on which to lean as we rebuild our roads, sewers, bridges, sports arenas, and drive-in movies, now that we’re going to have to social-distance for at least eight years.

While this new approach to operating government might sound like a bunch of free handouts, the truth is that each citizen will actually have to show up at the job site to lean against a shovel for eight hours each day.

Mind you, this is no handout.

President Biden, late Wednesday night, removed the portrait of Andrew Jackson from whom his predecessor drew great inspiration. Instead of the expansionist author of the Indian Removal Act whose legacy was the Trail of Tears, a portrait of a fat guy who believed in science, enjoyed flying kites and establishing democracies now hangs in the Oval Office. (For the record, Joltin’ Joe bruised his thumb hammering the picture hanger into the wall.) From a certain angle, Benjamin Franklin, an American revolutionary who founded a retail five-and-dime store franchise and was the first to suggest that his portrait appear on the $100-bill, looks a tad like Friedrich Engels, the socialist revolutionary who partnered with Groucho to write a comedy manifesto, minus the beard.

In other interior news, Biden has selected busts of such leftist radicals as Cesar Chavez (not the Argentinian), Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., Robert F. Kennedy, Rosa Parks and Eleanor Roosevelt—each renowned for their championing the causes of fairness and justice—to adorn the nooks and crannies of his office.

Damn commies.

He’s also taken down the gold-weaved symbols of the T**** bourgeoisie that celebrated the ruling of the eighteenth century.

Also, there are now portraits of the anti-American Franklin D. Roosevelt (socialist), Abraham Lincoln (abolitionist), George Washington (naturalist who saved a cherry tree), Thomas Jefferson (anti-Federalist and wine enthusiast) and Alexander Hamilton (the hip-hop star of a Broadway show to which admission to a balcony seat costs about 80 of the bills on which he’s depicted).

Many of the above were also Freemasons, which suggests a really sinister government reality shrouded in secrecy with oddly bizarre handshakes, rituals involving goats, and funny hats and aprons that suggest an allegiance to Ukraine, Belarus and the south Jersey shore.

Biden is not a Mason. He is a member of the Trilateral Commission, a non-governmental, non-partisan discussion group founded by David Rockefeller in July of 1973 to foster closer cooperation between Japan, Western Europe, and North America. They meet annually at the Bohemian Club near San Francisco to walk around naked and urinate against giant redwoods.

I tried to warn you. This Joe guy is a vicious, blood-thirsty commie who wants to take prayer out of the schools and make granola and broccoli America’s national foods. He does, however, wear a Rolex watch. He’s also a scratch golfer who has yet to play a single round in his Presidency.

And guess who’s helping advance his red-tinged agenda? The Carters, the Clintons, the Obamas, and George W. Bush.

Laura wants no part of it.

Photo manipulation of two old Jews and a dog by Courtney A. Liska

A Winter’s Meal

I’ve been making this onion tart for as long as I can remember. It is like my paternal grandmother’s, but I think I might have copped it from the NYT International Cookbook. Whatever, it’s delicious. I like to serve it with a cucumber salad and some warm rye bread.

Onion tart

2 Tbs. unsalted butter
4 medium onions, cut in half and diced
A sprinkling of granulated sugar
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
3 large eggs
1-1/4 cups heavy cream
A pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
1/3 cup finely grated Gruyère
1 partially baked tart shell in a 10-inch porcelain quiche pan or a 10-1/2- or 11-inch metal tart pan

Heat the oil and butter in a skillet. Add the onions and sugar, season with salt and pepper, and sauté over medium-high heat, stirring frequently, until lightly browned. Lower the heat and continue to cook the onions until soft and evenly browned, stirring frequently, another 30 to 40 minutes; you may need to add a little more oil. When the onions are done, transfer them to a strainer and drain.
Heat the oven to 375°F. In a bowl, whisk the eggs and cream. Season with 3/4 tsp. salt, a scant 1/2 tsp. pepper, and the nutmeg. Add the drained onions and half of the cheese and blend thoroughly. Fill the prepared tart shell with the onions and custard. Top with the remaining cheese and bake until the tip of a knife comes out clean and the top of the tart is puffed and brown, 40 to 45 minutes. Let cool for at least 15 to 20 minutes before serving.

Cucumber Salad

1 shallot, minced
1/4 cup sour cream
1 Tbs. white vinegar
1/2 tsp. dried dillweed
1 garlic clove, grated
1/2 tsp. kosher salt
Fresh ground black pepper
1 large English cucumbers

Mix dressing ingredients. Add sliced cucumbers.