Jim Goad’s very superficial review of 14 Dem prez seekers

Have you seen my brain anywhere???

Okay you people, if you haven’t yet enjoyed the guilty pleasures of Takimag.com, I am not sure you deserve the side-splitting guffaws that Jim Goad brings on a regular basis. He’s the “Don Rickles” of insult politics, or even the “Triumph the Insult Dog.” (Yes, there is such a creature.) Nevertheless, your reading my blog entitles you to some special consideration, so here is Jim explaining:

My “analysis” of their performances is based not on their policies, because I doubt that even they understand their policies, if they in fact have them. Instead, I will focus on what actually decides elections—physiognomy and gut reactions.

This duplicitous, shape-shifting cactus is drying up in front of our eyes. If he survives the primaries and is the Democratic nominee, his body will contain all the moisture of a tumbleweed on Election Eve, and a dehydrated president is not what this nation needs right now. Even though he’s a white man, he wants everyone to know he’s not cool with it, and he went out of his way to call Trump a racist and a supporter of white supremacists. It didn’t help, though—the mulatto mud-puppy Kamala Harris ate him alive on some alleged “racism” in his past, but Joe knew it would be political suicide to get salty with an ex-Negress. And there’s no way his teeth are real.

This bullet-headed, haunted-eyed faygelahsurrounds himself with hostile-looking black women and claims that people on his block are getting shot all the time, and somehow he expects this to be his pathway to electoral victory? Apparently both of his parents were black, but not by much, as he’d have trouble passing the paper-bag test. During the debate he claimed, without a hint of irony, that “we” don’t talk nearly enough about black trannies. This, combined with his terrifying eyes and pronounced frown lines, suggests to me that he may be the first gay mulatto serial killer to run for president of a major American political party. His name should be Scary Booker. Keep him away from your children; he’s far too frightening.

Should any president have a husband, much less a male president? Mayor Pete’s upper lip has a five o’clock shadow that is borderline Nixonian, and as he spoke in his disingenuously earnest way, I kept wondering: How many male buttholes has he sniffed? It may not seem relevant to you, but it’s intensely relevant to me: I’m not saying we should have a woman president, but if we did, we should assume that at one point or another during her various sexual escapades she’s caught a whiff of a male anus. But the fact that Pete Buttigieg has undoubtedly sniffed at least one male butthole is a deal-breaker. Sorry, but you can’t ever walk that back.

Greasy and reptilian, this half-pint race-hustler eats beans and remembers the Alamo. He kept breaking into some weird language that I assume was Spanish but couldn’t be bothered to check. His entire campaign seems to be based on the fact that he’s Hispanic. But so was Richard “The Night Stalker” Ramirez. I can tell he hates gringos with every drop of grease that drips from his ample forehead. Plus, he refuses to pronounce the “J” in “Julian.”

The worst hook nose and teeth of any presidential candidate I’ve ever seen. Being very tall doesn’t compensate for these glaring physical deficiencies. He made a point of mentioning that his son is black and that, by proxy, he has experienced anti-black racism. His biggest accomplishment in life is dragging a black lesbian back onto Team Hetero—impressive, but hardly presidential.

The only sensible antiwar voice in the whole campaign on either side and quite possibly the only surfer, too. She is not only Samoan, but she isn’t fat. And if she’s going to be religious, she might as well be a Hindu, because at least they have the best food. Surrounded as she is by other female candidates who couldn’t get laid at a bar in Fairbanks in mid-January at 2AM surrounded by horny lumberjacks, she is possibly the most attractive female who has ever run for president. She is also the most “presidential” in mien. She is the only candidate toward whom I had a positive reaction. I’m finding it difficult to say anything negative about her, and it’s pissing me off.

Blinking multiple times per second, Ms. Kirsten wants everyone to know that she’s a woman, but we knew that already because she can’t shut up. Everything is women women women women, and I’d like to stand before the world to announce it’s not an accomplishment to be born with a vagina, especially one I suspect is icy-cold and bears the faint aroma of clam juice and boiled cabbage. She kept interrupting everyone like the rude bitch she obviously is. If she actually meant half of what she said, she would have had a live abortion onstage during the debate.

For someone who was obviously named after a famous pro wrestler—whose surname was alsoHarris—she grossly disrespects her heritage by insisting on mispronouncing her uniquely enchanting first name. Although she is half-black and half-Tamil Indian, I’ve never heard her say “I am a Tamil Indian and I am proud of it,” but just this year she said the same thing about being black, even though her cup of java has at least three scoops of Coffee Mate in it. She clearly hates white people and all they’ve accomplished and has made it her goal to turn the First World into the Third World while pretending it represents “progress.”

A bit of a blockhead, he looks like a high school football coach who has spent most of his adult life immersed in a world of jockstraps and butt-slaps. He’s kind of the most “presidential-looking” of all the Democratic candidates in classical terms, but he’s not running in a classically oriented party. Being a normal-looking white male will be his death blow, and unless he transitions into a woman over the next 90 days, he needs to pack his duffel bag and get the heck out of here.

Despite her unfortunate face and name, she smiles so much she seems drunk—and she may indeed be snockered simply to take the edge off what is a legendary temper. She has a self-satisfied smile that makes up for an appalling lack of beauty. She kept staring at Tulsi Gabbard as if she wanted to have sex with her. Still, I couldn’t find it within me to hate her, which is miraculous.

Like some people are famous for being famous, he’s best known for being a candidate who thinks he should be a candidate. With a candy-corn nose on a Howdy Doody face, he redefines the term “lightweight.” A measure of weight lighter than a milligram should be called a “beto.” He appeared chastened by the fact that no one thinks he should be president more than he does. Like at least three other candidates—only one of whom was Hispanic—he made a point of speaking in Spanish. Why, it’s almost as if all the wetbacks in southern Texas don’t see him as a gringo no matter how hard he aims to please.

The passage of four years has done nothing to make him happier; if anything, he’s more crotchety than ever, which I assumed was biologically impossible. Always shvitzing and kvetching and on the verge of popping a blood vessel, he is the angriest person in politics. Did you not hear him the first seven hundred times when he said, “We’re doomed”? I did, and I stopped listening after a while.

What a tightly wound ball of twine this wannabe squaw is. She kept shaking her head so hard I feared it would fly off. She was so uncomfortably intense it seemed as if her ovaries were going to explode. She reminded me of grade-school nuns who’d beat you bloody with a yardstick if she so much as suspected you were even thinking of masturbating.

It is quite evident that this woman’s vagina cries actual tears. She criticized the other candidates for having these dumb and superficial “plans” while insisting what is really needed is to come up with a slogan as empty as “Make America Great Again.” She said that the great struggle in this campaign season is between love and hate, and she represents love, and she’s actually stupid enough to think that Americans are dumb enough to vote for love, but if they are, she’s a genius.

I–Uncle Curmudgeon–left out Bennet, Delaney, Hickenlooper, Ryan and Swalwell because no one knows who they are, and Yang, just because this post is already long enough and he’s boring.

Can you be Christian and a patriot in such an imperfect nation?

This is from an email by Denny Burk, reprinted in almost entirety.

G.K. Chesterton, in “The Flag of the World” contends that love of one’s homeland is not like house-hunting—an experience in which you weigh the pros and cons of a place and choose accordingly. He writes: “A man belongs to this world before he begins to ask if it is nice to belong to it. He has fought for the flag, and often won heroic victories for the flag long before he has ever enlisted. To put shortly what seems the essential matter, he has a loyalty long before he has any admiration.”
We do not choose our homeland. It is something that we are born into. Thus our acceptance of our home is not like a house that we can leave when we tire of it. It is like the love we have for our family: “It is the fortress of our family, with the flag flying on the turret, and the more miserable it is the less we should leave it. The point is not that this world is too sad to love or too glad not to love; the point is that when you do love a thing, its gladness is a reason for loving it, and its sadness a reason for loving it more.

True patriotism motivates reform and improvement because it is realistic about the nation’s shortcomings. A man may love his mother unconditionally, but that love does not mean that he is indifferent to her if she is a drunk. His love moves him to seek her welfare and improvement. His love does not simply affirm her sad condition. In the same way, the patriot loves his home not because she is perfect. He knows that she isn’t. The patriot’s love moves him to work for her welfare and improvement.

If Christian patriots love America as mothers love children, arbitrarily, because it is theirs, America may yet become fairer than Florence. Why? Because that kind of love seeks the nation’s perfection. In Chesterton’s words: “People first paid honor to a spot and afterwards gained glory for it. Men did not love Rome because she was great. She was great because they had loved her.”
This kind of patriotism does not close its eyes to the sins that bedevil the nation. One cannot excuse evil simply because it is being committed by the nation that we love and are loyal to. Chesterton says that it is evil to “defend the indefensible.” Such is the anti-patriot, and “he will not wash the world, but whitewash the world.” The real challenge for the patriot is the same challenge that the Christian faces in his relationship to the world writ large: “One must somehow find a way of loving the world without trusting it; somehow one must love the world without being worldly.”

This analogy is instructive, and it reveals an irony that may lead us toward the best kind of patriotism. After all, the Bible tells us that God loves the world while telling us not to. “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life” John 3:16.
“Do not love the world, nor the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him” 1 John 2:15.
How can these two expressions be reconciled? They reveal a love for the world that is good and a love for the world that is bad. The evil love is the kind that loves the world for its vices. The good love is that kind that seeks the world’s welfare and transformation.

Likewise, the good love of the world produces the best kind of patriotism—a love for the nation that works for its good and welfare. It’s a love that seeks the nation’s good and transformation even when the nation is wayward—in fact, precisely because she is wayward.

I think patriotism for the Christian will become more difficult in the days ahead. Our nation is wayward in so many ways. In many ways it is becoming more hostile to Christians. For that reason, our calling will be to love a nation that may very well not love us back. Our children may be called to love a nation that makes itself an enemy to the true faith. Nevertheless, the call to love the nation and not its vices endures for us and our children.

This is what Chesterton calls the “mystic patriotism”—the love for nation that is undeserved. It requires a love that is supernatural. Who is adequate for these things? “Not that we are adequate in ourselves to consider anything as coming from ourselves, but our adequacy is from God, who also made us adequate as servants of a new covenant, not of the letter, but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life” 2 Cor. 3:5-6
This is the love that has been shed abroad in the hearts of God’s people, and we have been called for such a time as this.