I now remember why I love Colorado. Sure there may be a three foot blizzard with twenty foot deep drifts. It might be twenty below zero and the wind howling above one hundred miles per hour. But, when it quiets down, all is peaceful and quiet. The air is so clear, you can see one hundred miles. The night stars are so bright and shiny; the cold popping out ice crystals which shimmer and gleam in the moonlight as they float in the sharp air.
Right now I am looking at a destroyed canopy, broken and filled with snow, blocking my path to the wood pile. The snow looking like soggy white blankets covering and smothering all that is nature and man made in the backyard. Out front, the American flag is wrapped on its pole, choked in white, twisted in agony from its struggle to stay flying in the winter hell.
There is only one good thing in the air, more Hillary and emails, and the magic word has appeared to save her from the Republican onslaught – Benghazi. Oh the name evokes such visceral emotions (on one side of the aisle only). Such a name. Poor Benghazi, it has been placed into Republican infamy. America has Pearl Harbor and 9-11. Republicans have Benghazi.
As soon as I saw that the Republicans went to the Benghazi attack, I knew HRC was on the mend. It is like the fool who has one hand on the bird, but hears another in the bush. The fool lets the one in hand fly away and can’t grab the one in the bush due to a shield of Benghazi wrapping her delicate feathers in steel.
Benghazi, a wonderful script, written without understanding how stupid it makes the screamer. When will the deaf hear the screams of “you are an idiot”? How will they ever see the script ends with our heroine standing on the worms of the losers. Are they zombies, stuck on one thought? Oh, but for Benghazi, our ‘not a candidate’ candidate would be lost, leaving us with men to contemplate for the power seat.
Give me a home where the Benghazi roam. Nah, too weighted with irony.
Imagine 80 year old Saint Ronnie, on the top of the Jefferson Memorial, over looking the Potomac, in his loin cloth, feet planted well. with one near the edge of the dome. His arms rising slowly while his unwashed followers (okay maybe they wash in the shower too much) stare intently, waiting for the signal. Reagan carefully makes a megaphone of his hands around his mouth. His eyes dull from just awakening from his morning nap. Desperate for the sound, his followers breathe slowly. Then you hear it. “BENGHAZIIIIIII” A roar erupts and shakes the Mall as those believers stamp their spears and shout back “HILLARY”.
Eh, It makes great visuals.
– Blue Bronc is a Trail Mix Contributor