Barack Obama’s banishment of a Churchill bust from the Oval Office was a signature moment in his presidency, the disrespecting of our special relationship with Britain and source of endless mock conservative head-scratching, who wondered why anyone might be cool towards the beloved Winnie.
Rather then own up to their imperial blusterer banishment, the Obama White House tried to be cute, and got caught. Two Churchill busts by the same sculpture have had a spot in the White House, one remains, and the Bush related one lives at the British embassy.
So Obama hadn’t taken a stand against imperialism, delivered a rebuke to Tony Blair’s Bush Poodle-ism, or spared the nation from Churchillian blowhard-ism.
Just as America tries to work up enthusiasm for the 2nd generation of Romney office holders comes word from Massachusetts: someone still believes in Camelot.
Or what a marketable name and a possibly fractured field can do in a primary.
The open seat created by Barney Frank’s retirement has brought forth a Kennedy, preloaded with pap for the rubes. Joseph P. Kennedy III has let it be known he feels a call to service, and he’s aghast at the nation’s bickering pols.
Vowing to rise above, young “3rd,” as no one calls him, has boldly called out “partisan gridlock” [against it!].
With luck, we might enjoy a round of Hugo Chavez Baiting because of Kennedy’s father’s ties to the cancerous Comandante.
Last go round the nation was spared the indignity of Nixon offspring holding office from Long Island. Now it falls to the voters of Massachusetts’ 4th to save the republic once again.
Now tragically withdrawn, the bill still serves a host of uses, reminding the faithful that Obama can’t really talk good without mechanical assistance, that unlike his rough-hewn predecessor Obama is a fancy boy fraud.
Extracted from Craig Shirley’s new Ronald Reagan homage, a tale of bawdy fun in the twilight struggle against Communism.
Such was the depth of Ronald Reagan’s Anti-Communist passion we are told, that, after being safely re-elected, Reagan felt secure enough in office to change the Soviet Union’s diplomatic licence plates to begin with “FC.”
Perhaps more plausible is the version attributing these hi-jinks to America’s now surfing-ist congressman, Dana Rohrabacher, shown here with mue, mue
authentico “Nw Reagan” Mitt Romney. Rohrabacher was a Reagan speechwriter in days of yore.
Such is the state of presidential anecdotage that stories alreadyendlesslyretold live again as colorful tales of a bygone era, in this case more of the bottomless pit of Reagan-Or-Those-Around-Him-Which-Is-Close-Enough really couldn’t stand the Stalinists.