Kamala's Olympic Wokism - But Will It Play In Peoria? The Happy Talk Bus Hits The Road And No One Is Listening

Many Americans were outraged at the opening ceremony of the Olympics - an uber-woke display of over-the-top gayness in the Holy Trinity. 'Jesus was gay, for God's sake' said one of the organizers of the event, interpolating, inferring, and transposing cross-historical memes.  'What do you think Jesus and his apostles did when they weren't preaching the Gospel?  Come on, folks'. 

It was an event to be remembered for its inclusivity, its diversity, and its bold statement of alternate sexuality.  'This is not your grandfathers' France’, proclaimed Emmanuel Macron, 'the land of baguettes, berets, and Les Folies Bergères.  We are La Coupole after midnight! he said, referring to the after hours late night show at the top of Montmartre where le tout Paris comes to see and be seen at the hippest place in the City of Lights, whips and chains, harnesses, muzzles, and leather straitjackets, sucking and fucking until dawn.  

It didn't exactly play in Peoria but Peoria was never intended. Peoria or la France profonde, the deepest, most resistant, most determinedly conservative places on earth were where the opposition resided, battlegrounds for secular evangelicals, the gay brigade, the transgender opera divas; and if it took a bit of épater le bourgeois to shake up the died-in-the-wool farmers of France or the American Midwest, so be it. 

Kamala and her new tag along white boy, Vice Presidential candidate Tim Walz from Minnesota, were on their way, missionaries with good news.  Never since St. Paul and the Apostles left Jerusalem on their evangelizing mission was such a committed tandem of true believers underway. 

Paul and the Early Church Fathers found surprising opposition to the Word of God.  Gnosticism and every other brand of heresy was about - ignorant cabals of anti-Christ resistance were everywhere and Paul and his colleagues had their work cut out for them.  From the Holy Land through Anatolia to Rome, Paul set the record straight.  There was only one God, and Jesus Christ, his only begotten son, was the savior of the world. 

 

'The world needs us', said Kamala to her running mate.  'Our time is now', but to be absolutely frank, she could care less about this white boy put on the ticket to engage white working class males, by and large a dumb lot, but electorally important.  This was her time, a woman's time, a black woman's time; and although she was of mixed race heritage with the black half as white as could be, her father a white wannabee Stanford professor with statutory ambitions, she proudly flew the flag of Black Lives Matter, the Black Panthers, and the Islamic herald of Elijah Muhammed and Malcolm X.  In other words, 'Get lost, white boy.  I'll call you when I need you'. 

 

Tim Walz, the whitest white boy that ever existed - Nebraska farm raised, church-going, never divorced faithful husband and father of two lovely children - took his place, second place, behind the train of Kamala,  La Grande Dame, regent of the new American republic.  'Say a few words', his captain said to him, and Timmy went on about his proud 25 year service in the National Guard, a veteran defending American shores, two weeks a year at Lejeune and the rest at Starbucks, all made possible by 'this great country of ours'. 

At first they appeared together, a team, a woke team embracing the same commitment to the poor, the marginalized, the black, the Hispanic, the women, and the transgendered; but then they took different busses.  His was to Whiteland, machine shops, factory floors, cornfields, Walmart, and daycare.

‘Bring 'em home', said his boss as he boarded the Walz Express, his own Greyhound Stratocruiser. Abortion for all from the moment of conception, he announced.  No woman would ever have to bring to term some clot of YY phlegm left there by some white prick who only wanted to get off. 

Free education, free health care, free milk and cookies at school, debt relief, asylum for all the poor, starving refugees from Venezuela.  'Hit 'em hard', said Kamala, 'and hit 'em often', so the tag team bowdlerized their way from Chillicothe to White Sulfur Springs. 

Kamala's thing was race, gender, and ethnicity; and despite her paltry credentials - she had never set foot in Anacostia, Washington's deep ghetto inner city neighborhood and was laughed out of Brentwood, a foul, drug-infested neighborhood with a 'Whatchoo want up in here, bitch?' and sent packing without even setting more than a foot in the trash, puke, and syringes of the street - she kept on comin'. 

 

So the tandem, the duo, the tag team of Harris and Walz never got farther than the adoring crowds of familiar neighborhoods.  From the socialist Samuel Gompers kosher neighborhoods of the Upper West Side to the gay pride capital of America, San Francisco's Castro to the Ohio River farms, they were welcomed, while the rest of America, sick and tired of four years of progressive cant, transgender nonsense, and redistributive socialist Utopianism, simply never showed up. 

'We're for the little man', said Tim Walz on a visit to rural Nebraska, his home land to a middlin' corn farmer in an interview staged among the corn silk and stalks.  'Fuck you', said the farmer. Fortunately for Walz the media were elsewhere, and the clip never got play but it was videoed by a Trump supporter and went viral. 

'CORNHOLING GONE WOKE' trumpeted Breitbart, playing on the double-entendre of cracker buggering and shuffleboard gamesmanship; and the damage was done.  Time to regroup, said Walz's claque, and circle the wagons. 

So the Harris-Walz circus act went on the road big time, hitting ghetto after ghetto, assembly line after assembly line until both were fagged, done in by their enthusiasm and the diffidence of the crowds. 'What aren't we doing?', asked the Grand Dame, miffed and nonplussed at the desultory public support after so much effort. 

'Tomorrow's another day', counselled La Grand Dame's running mate who grew up in a can-do, anything-is-possible Midwestern ethos; but Kamala sensed that this woke overreach - this hammering badgering about gay everything - was not working,  Perhaps it was time to reset the clock back to the principled, Christian, devout Jimmy Carter.  'OMG, not him', said an aide, and Kamala went back to her grab bag and pulled out some lollapaloozas.