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Last updated on March 6th, 2018 at 12:30 am
Poles for posters and banners are banned, as are giant papier-mache effigies.
Gigantor puppets are a vital component of modern dumb protesting. They’ll be missed during the inauguration. Rob continues: “And the fascist bastards have only allowed one protest group to actually set up seats and loudspeakers on the route of the parade. I mean, dude, that’s like totally repressive.”
The parade is expensive, too, as Ann Coulter reports:
The spokesman for Clinton’s 1993 Inaugural Committee said the inaugural events would cost about $25 million—largesse exceeded only by the $50 million Ken Starr was forced to spend when “Clintonland” turned out to be populated with felons. Think of all the starving children in Angola, Somalia, Bosnia and elsewhere that $25 million could have fed! And don’t even get me started on Michael Moore’s “on location” food budget!
I wouldn’t mention it, except for the Times’ recent editorial snippily remarking that the amount of foreign aid to tsunami victims offered by the United States within the first few days of the disaster was “less than half of what Republicans plan to spend on the Bush inaugural festivities.” By that logic, why hold the Golden Globes, the Academy Awards, or spend money on restaurants and theater productions praised in The New York Times? That money could go to tsunami victims!
Speaking of victims, America’s ABC has lately been hunting for some to sex up its inauguration coverage:
For a possible Inauguration Day story on ABC News, we are trying to find out if there any military funerals for Iraq war casualties scheduled for Thursday, Jan. 20.
If you know of a funeral and whether the family might be willing to talk to ABC News, please fill out the form below.
Nice. That request has since vanished from the ABC site, but is captured here. David Von Drehle remains on the loose in red people territory, however, despite E.J. Dionne’s desperate attempts to track him down:
Mile after mile of stubbly winter cornfields elapsed past the condensed steam on the Land Rover’s side windows as we worked our way west, like the cheek of a gigantic albino George Clooney infested with tiny parasitic holsteins. The asphalt ribbon lead us through Grinnell, Des Moines, then Urbandale. I was now farther west than I had ever been.
Read the entire, brilliant piece. Iowahawk is currently functioning at hypercomic level.