|This explains why they don't want us seeing into their backpacks.|
But we had to laugh at Bob's assertion that the young students who recently participated in school walkouts are nascent geniuses whose moral strength and spontaneous wisdom will eventually create a better America at the voting booth.
Most telling is De Niro's phrase, "they're the ones that feel the way we do" - the "we" in this case referring to hardcore Leftists. But note that he doesn't say these kids think the way his Hollywood pals do, just that they feel the same way. Because Progressivism is always about feeling rather than thinking.
Which is just as well, because kids are idiots these days. Exhibit A is the current "condom snorting challenge" sweeping social media. The kids take videos of themselves snorting a condom up one nostril, sucking it back until it's dangling down the back of their throat, then grabbing the end (while trying, sometimes unsuccessfully, not to puke) so the whole pre-lubed mucus-coated shebang can be dragged through their nasal passages and yanked out of their mouth. After which they post the appalling video online to make sure that they will never be hired by any potential employer who has access to a computer.
But eventually these Trojenz-tooting dolts will make it to the polls. We can only hope that sometime between now and then, the "become an informed voter challenge" turns into an online craze.
PERSONAL: THE KEY TO UNHAPPINESS
|We know exactly how he feels|
Or more accurately, not driving me mad (or anywhere else) because it's my car key. Not the kind you can go to a hardware store and copy for a buck. NooOOooo, this is one of those fancy high-tech keys which will cost hundreds of dollars to replace if it can't be found. And it's the ONLY key missing from my key ring, which is kept in my pocket at all times (can you feel the Agatha Christie-style mystery building?).
Owing to my barnacle-like lifestyle and the fact that the key must have been lost at home (how else could I have driven there?), there are very few places to look...and I've looked in all of them. Repeatedly. Crawling on my belly like a reptile (or a Swiffer, considering the dirt and dog hair I collected) to look under, well, everything.
This is made all the more distressing by the fact that I have just a wee touch of obsessive-compulsive disorder (who else would do a thousand cartoons about a sick kid using the same art?). Mind you, I don't have OCD to the extent that I wash my hands (or any other part of my anatomy) hundreds of times a day, but I've got it bad enough to rearrange the shopping carts in a parking lot if the smaller ones have become mixed in with the bigger ones. But hey, we all do that, right? Right...?!
Anyway, for the sake of my sanity I'm hoping that damnable key will turn up soon. I'd say more, but I'm off to Amazon.com to buy a metal detector.
The key has been found! And I'm rather proud of the Holmes-ian process I used to locate it. I asked myself what I had done differently than usual yesterday and, sadly, it was exactly one thing: upon returning home from a power lunch at Wendy's, I pulled out the car key and then reached into the back seat with the same hand to grab a sweatshirt.
I returned to the scene of the crime, flashlight in hand, searched the car unsuccessfully for awhile... then spotted the key neatly tucked between the two front seats in a spot as thoroughly hidden and inaccessible as Barack Obama's college records.
I realize that this makes all the preamble above fairly pointless, but I wasn't about to erase this much perfectly serviceable writing (grin). -Stilton