| It’s Not the Economy, Stupid Posted By Mary Grabar On November 10, 2012 @ 11:39 pm In Education,Elections 2012,US News | 17 Comments Sadly, racial identity politics, originated as a divide-and-conquer propaganda campaign by the Soviets in the 1920s, and then picked up again in earnest in the 1960s by those like communist history professor Howard Zinn, determined the election. (( &c. &c. )) |
Mme. la baronne de Grabar appears to be auditionin for admission to the stables of Simon Pajama, hopin (I presume) to add a dash of Slavonic goulash, an gypsy charm, an general nie-wiem-dokladnie-co.
All very well, and of course it would be utter impertinence to attempt to dictate to the Squire -- to ¡The World's Foremost YaleoDrama™ist! -- which nags to snap up an which NAGS [*] to pass by. To benignly neglect.
However, this keyboard cannot help reflecting that the pajamaclad kiddies are alredy servviced by His Effulgently Freemightiness, of Radoszcz, formerly Comrade Ronnie of the VIIth (or ¿was it the XVIIth?) International. A little bit of zwischeneuropäische localcolourblindness goes a long, long way in the feverswamps of central North America, where the best way to move food products is (as Eye and Paddy have been told ) to label them 'bland'.
Indeed, the Squire has saddled himself with a hochwohlgeboren von Spakowski (sp?) already, over an above Radish Man. I presume his freelordship does not want the broad an sunny manorial expanses of Simon Pajama to start lookin like an Asylum for Decayed Eurogentles.
Moreover, I fear her freeladyship scribbles nothin here that Radish Man would not have scribbled better. Enough self-gossip drips adventitiously into the neovenom to make pretty clear that Mme. la baronne was never PERSONALLY acquainted with Dr. Marx. No even in the (rather hand-me-down) sense in which one could accuse R X. Radosh of havin been.
In short, Radish Man can do it better. Moreover, Radish Man is probably already doin too much of it for the market at Pajama Junction NJ. Perhaps his freemightiness could not recite quite so well on the late Comrade Zinn, unless given five or ten minutes to prepare, but (A) it seems improbable that even Mme. la baronne de Grabar seriously believes in a Zinnocentric universe. More inportant, (B) betcha the selfservative kiddies will not be persuaded to give much of a hoot about the fiend Zinn no matter which Party neocomrade presides over the eleoquent an shockin exposé.
Hjertets Renhed er at ville eet, they wisely say in Mezzo-Europa. Some of them.
To achieve hard-hittin results, results badly needed under present circumstances, your whightist agitpropper would do well to concentrate her fire an not disperse it at miscellaneous unheard-of Zinns, no matter how annoyin this or that individual freelord- or ladyship may find em. Mme. la baronne drops the name "Bill Ayres" in passin. Now Wally Wombschool an Cindy from Wasilla will almost certainly have heard the name, though ’tis near as certain the name is about all the kiddiecons will have heard for sure.
It seems to Paddy that Dr. Ayres is about all America's Otherparty really requires in the way of a sinister alien trouble-makin theorist. I quite appreciate why Mme. la baronne, an His Effulgently Freemightiness, an also (sorry, I forgot the BTBK above) the Bow-Tied Bum Kicker, Perfesser Kimball, would prefer that their poster child for sinister alien theoretical agitation bear a surname like, say, Rigoberta Menchú Tum. Other things equal, that exotic clang is far, far more suitable than the Wunnerbread(®) blandness of "William Charles Ayres." However other things are far from equal. Especially unequal is the time it would take gettin the pajamaclad dupes an marks up to speed on who the fiendess Menchú is as compared to creatin a really pretty picture of the Abhominable Ayres in the dittopans of the Tee Putty.
True, the Daughters of Virtue & Sons of Wisdom (L.L.C.) have at the moment 1,426 (I think it is) days in hand for agitproppin purposes. Master Wally an Mizz Cindy won't be (maybe) heavin their obesities up off the potatoe coaches to go (maybe) vote for nearly two whole years, apart from the odd parochial race for dog-catcher. That's plenty of time, in theory, to get the Howard Zinn Antifan Club up an runnin, "over seven hundred outlets nationwide" &c. &c. Could ALL the resources of Hooverville an Rio Limbaugh / Port Ste. Lucie an Pajama Junction be focused on Howie-hatin, I daresay Howie-hatin would do almost as well as Bill-bashin. Pretty well any ONE sinister alien theoretical fiend would do, as long as there is only the one and it is not the sort of SATF that reminds Wally an Cindy too much of Icky School. As Dr. Marx would certainly do, an Comrade Alinsky very probably.
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[*] That is a (minor, or minimal) Rio Limbaugh / Port Ste. Lucie joke. ¡Hammabîn yabîn!, as we used to transliterate at Pinsk-by-the-Bog back when Paddy was a sprout.
