My Wicked Racist Brother
More of the ongoing drama of the Covington Saga. Folks, I'm sorry, but as dubious in relevance as this is, I'm practically screaming with hysterical laughter, and I just have to inject this in here. Bear with me.
My middle brother in North Carolina, who seems to have lately been converted to neoconservatism, has his own blog. I won't give the URL because I don't want anyone going over there and messing with his head. (That's my job, and believe me, I have a lot to work with.)
Anyway, I checked his blog out today and he's ranting against Obongo, near as dammit accusing our illustrious Maximal Monkoid of being a secret Muslim, which last I heard was officially regarded as "right-wing conspiracy theory" by our Lords and Masters. Then he refers to Muslims as "ragheads."
"Ragheads?" But, wait a minute now! I thought I was some kind of sui generis crazy racist person in a whole family of wonderful Southern liberals who just love anything black and brown and Jewish to death? At least, that was my youngest brother's rap back when he was running his mouth to the media a few months ago.
Okay, granted, neoconservatism isn't White Nationalism or National Socialism, not by a long shot. But with a lot of people it's a start, just like back in my day a lot of people got started on the correct path via the John Birch Society.
Our father wasn't a National Socialist or a true Nationalist either, and I've never claimed he was. But for all his many, many faults (many faults) Daddy knew what was what when it came to the Jews and race, and he definitely passed some of that on to us. My other brother can do flips like an organ-grinder's monkey trying to deny it, but it ain't gonna fly, Bunge. He knows the truth and he knows that I remember better than him.
Let me say something for the record here: the problems in my family have nothing to do with anything political or racial, although I understand my career choices have given my late father and my brothers a tailor-made excuse for their decades of unconscionable behavior toward myself and my children. Concedo, I walked right into it.
But there is not one single basic tenet of National Socialism that I did not hear expounded in a mutated, Americanized form by my father at the dinner table. For those of you who, for whatever reason, are interested, make no mistake--it's all personal. It's always been personal. The fact that my brother is calling dark-skinned people he doesn't like "ragheads" in public indicates that I wasn't the only one affected. Harold is not some kind of unique freak accident caused by smoking rabbit tobacco at a young age, or whatever my brothers' ridiculous version du jour is.
And boy, does the Bunge have egg dripping all down his face, right into his beard.
HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW!!! ROTFLMAO!!