September 19, 2008
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Obama: Lucifer Is My Homeboy
On the House floor last week, Democratic Rep. Steve Cohen of Tennessee compared Palin to Pontius Pilate — and Obama to Jesus. Cohen said: “Barack Obama was a community organizer like Jesus, who our minister prayed about. Pontius Pilate was a governor.”
Yes, who can forget the Biblical account of how Jesus got the homeless Samaritan to register as a Democrat in exchange for a carton of smokes!
Rep. Cohen would be well-advised to stay away from New Testament references.
As anyone familiar with the New Testament can confirm for him, there are no parables about Jesus passing out cigarettes for votes, lobbying the Romans for less restrictive workfare rules or filing for grants under the Community Redevelopment Act. No time for soul-saving now! First, we lobby Fannie Mae to ease off those lending standards and demand a windfall profits tax on the money-changers in the temple.
David Freddoso’s magnificent new book, The Case Against Barack Obama describes the forefather to “community organizers” like Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton — the famed Saul Alinsky.
Alinsky is sort of the George Washington of “community organizers.” If there were an America-hater’s Mount Rushmore, Saul Alinsky would be on it…. later, those who had trained with Alinsky did hire Obama as a community organizer.
In Freddoso’s book , he quotes from the dedication in the first edition of Alinsky’s seminal book, “Rules for Radicals,” where Alinsky wrote:
“Lest we forget at least an over-the-shoulder acknowledgment to the very first radical: From all our legends, mythology and history (and who is to know where mythology leaves off and history begins — or which is which), the first radical known to man who rebelled against the establishment and did it so effectively that he at least won his own kingdom — Lucifer.”
Even liberals eventually figured out that they shouldn’t be praising Satan in public, so the Lucifer-as-inspiration paragraph was cut from later editions of Alinsky’s book. (But on the bright side, MSNBC adopted as its motto: “Who is to know where mythology leaves off and history begins — or which is which.”)
Someone else once said Hussein called it perfectly beautiful.
Perfectly beautiful? Funny we chose the same word, perfect, to describe two completely different reactions to the wailings of a mosque. And although the quick story below is of the most extreme nature, I honest to God don’t know how a Westerner can quit hear what he hears without also hearing, eerie, spooky, menacing, intimidating (as it’s actually designed to be for even its adherents)….even in Kuwait where there was more peace than in my bedroom in Los Angeles, the first time they opened up (and in big cities you have to imagine the effect of overlay when several of them are going at once) in the darkness I’ll never forget it, it was litrally 100% the most truly old-school definition of psychedelic I’d ever heard. You could just tell there were some serious forces of God-only-knew-what coming out of the call to prayer. And angrily. The imams would yell what I was later told by a local was the equivalent of him calling his flock pieces of and threatening them to get inside. Honestly, all politics and war aside, I haven’t experienced anything that fits the universal definition of comforting in any of my direct contacts with that religion, which included seeing what an entire nation under its thumb looked like. And believe me, Sadaam’s “secularism” or not, Islam was hardly on the wane in Iraq, even amongst its academics, its “progressive”, upper class, professional “sophisticates”.
Hooker sent me a new version of the YA theme for final application and it opens with some mosque stuff I hadn’t heard in a while and had a strong reaction to. So I write him a couple lines about the song, but start my email with this:
“I absolutely got the chills and kind of got upset, like flashback upset, at the beginning. Normally I get a lot more mental preparation and a plane ticket before being thrown right back into the middle of that .”
Feeling that was a little cryptic I sent him another email with one example of what I was talking about:
“They had this game in Ramadi for when it got black dark. Less than 2% of the city had electricity so night was night as night without man. You needed a barely lit flashlight to get around your own compound. The moon generally doesn’t shed any light till midnight in the fall and winter; it’s very weird. If Al Qaeda was pissed off about something, they’d wait until nobody could see more than a foot in front of their faces, and then all the mosques of the city would start, one by one, with the wailing and chanting and singing, until they were all going, and then one by one each imam would come on screaming something indecipherable but sounding exactly like Adolph Hitler possessed by His Satanic Majesty – the guttural languages of both peoples sound exactly the same when screamed – and it would just build and build and then swirl like a psychotic stew as some were hurling the devil’s invective while others were blaring his music. But in a weird way it was all a flawlessly coordinated mixture of sound – if you wanted to perfectly create the creepy-growing-into-paranoid feeling – - and as the sound sustains it’s peak – - absolutely terrifying certainty that suddenly the world as you knew it was no more and you were standing on the edge of time as the earth was being assaulted by the unleashed legions of hell, and you were now surrounded by demons and ghosts, and your home had suddenly become a sprung trap, a cage, a physical manifestation of insanity itself, and you’re darting from window to window in your living room, clutching your shotgun, unable to see a damn thing inside or out, waiting for the onslaught, and then suddenly boom, boom, boom, boom, boom as mortars slam around you into the Government Center compound and if you don’t have it already you’ve boom! got to take cover, and if you’re on post – half of which are on the boom! roof and all of which are rickety, wooden and exposed – you aren’t too happy. And then you boom! just ride it out, the moments in between explosions always worse than explosions because if you hear an explosion but don’t feel any pain you’ve done good and are one step closer to the end. And when the last terrible silence lasts more than three minutes you know you’re more than likely going to see morning. And as long as you aren’t heading out the gate on foot at 3 A.M. into the ink and hulking, jutting, rubbled ruins of Ramadi to snatch a sleeping demon or ghost, or to search for their secret lairs, you probably will see the sun rise east again. But right then it was time to find out who was hit.
What it was all about was that when they wanted to launch large nighttime mortar attacks on all the city’s bases, Al Qaeda would notify or round up Ramadi’s imams and make them go into the mosques at the appointed time, and they would literally start screaming nonsense, just random verses from the Koran, flipping pages and just screaming the verses, singing and wailing in between, and this non-sensical raging of the devil’s word was the signal to all the individual, often self-appointed and rarely coordinated mortar teams in the city, to just drop everything, grab their , and run out into the streets and just start unloading on all the bases for as long as they could get away with it.
That’s one of the reasons why whenever I hear like at the beginning of this it’s like getting instantly morbidly drunk, mainlined full of meth, and at the outer limits of an acid trip at about the first two seconds in. ”
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