I put M&M’s on your face to tasty-up the white milkiness of your skin. You are my girl but at the moment I am interested in politics. The Ides of March are relevant to Caesar but I am not Caesar. Obama is the emperor of death. He drudges around like Darth Vader, killing the independent spirit and the hand-me- down feeling of Emersonian self-reliance. All the frogs in the pond were fooled by him. They hiccup, jump and vote for the impossibility of ideology in a backfiring booth. Obama is getting warts on his face like Franklin Marshall Davis. I used to play tennis with the son of the president of the American Communist Party—Ben Gitlow. Even he had turned against the stupidity of a deductive society that was dependent on concepts instead of love. You can’t create a country by ideas. It’s the ideas that result from the greatness of a country. Individualism is not a government. It is a place in the heart. I love my wife and America. They make me feel like my digestion is good. I swallow tradition because it tastes better than change. Obama is acid reflux. If only I could find the medicine to get rid of his divisive bitterness. I would chew on peppermints till the end of time.
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