Barack Obama’s Auntie Zeituni is Not the Poster Child for Comprehensive Immigration Reform

If an entomologist were given the following characteristics–diverse in appearance, attaches to a host, easily overlooked, thousands of different species, benefits at the expense of the host, reduces the well-being of the host, exploits the host for food, habitat, and profit–then asked to classify the organism, the term “parasite” would be his/her immediate answer. But unbeknownst to the entomologist, the characteristics given to analyze were the characteristics of Barack Obama’s Auntie Zeituni, parasite, or in non-entomological terms, a welfare queen.

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Bartonville, Texas: the Little Village that Could

The village of Barton–Bartonville–is a cosmopolitan jurisdiction constrained within the polygon boundaries of the Golden Triangle, with Denton, Ft. Worth, and Dallas representing each of the three junctures. It offers the discriminating emptor a broad selection of congruously pseudo grand estates priced in the millions to low end track domiciles built upon fruitful land that was, until recently, serving the community with gratifying productivity rather than as a final resting place for thousands of square feet of asphyxiating concrete. This little village believes it has a divine requisition, a requisition to become a sophisticated and urbane metropolis, presenting to the genteel world a palatable paradise with a wide range of cuisine ranging from Dairy Queen’s BeltBuster to Sonic’s drive-in, where discriminating diners can enjoy a foot long Cheese Coney if they so choose. But, as with small villages that become afflicted with delusions of grandeur, Bartonville presently has nothing to offer its citizens, much less the genteel world. But just around the bend in the town of Argyle, one can sup at the Cowboy Cafe or the Snooty Pig Cafe.

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Could Barack Obama be Insane? Plus, a Quiz!

If you are, as I am, a perusing cogitator of the Democratic Party’s purveying of balderdash, then you most certainly have been left scratching your head in a state of bewilderment as to how a brain, or collective brains, larger than a walnut, could produce such poppycock outside an asylum for the maniacal. It’s as if the entire collective Democratic Party and our dear President Obama have gnawed their way out of restraints, moved to Washington, DC, and set up shop. At last, relief appears to be cresting the horizon. All in possession of gumption, intelligence, and old fashioned horse-sense may soon be able to cease head scratching, enjoy respite from hazes of bafflement, and rejuvenate from the cessation of perpetual insomnia from attempting to break the invincible code of ignorance that shrouds Barack Obama and the Democratic Party like a titanium cocoon.

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