Tea Party Bathroom Rules – (North
Carolina, Texas Etc.)
If yous all are a White Male – yous go
first. (period.)
.
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Showing posts with label North Carolina. Show all posts
Showing posts with label North Carolina. Show all posts
Saturday, May 14, 2016
Friday, March 11, 2016
Dog Whistlers Franklin Graham and Gov. McCrory Set to Deal with Trump 2016 Trainwreck to Protect Congress and State House Seats by speading usual GOP Evangelical Hate
Dog
Whistlers Franklin Graham and Gov. McCrory Set to Deal with Trump 2016 Trainwreck
to Protect Congress and State House Seats by speading usual GOP Evangelical
Hate
Greasy
inbred North Carolina Hillbilly Types HATE preacher Franklin Graham and Gov.
Pat.”I used to workd for the ‘Lectric Company” McCrory are setting off the dog
whistles to get the imbred idiots of the Osarks to vote agin transgengers and
such meaning the ‘Da Gays in an effort to get out the local vote for locals
offices now that the Trump bandwagon and or trainwreck to be of the GOP is set
to happen in November.
Because as
we all now know that (American Evangelicalism = the GOP Party = Hate =Segregation). Amen Mudder Fockers!
…GOP
Governor Pat McCrory wants state lawmakers to act quickly to repeal, revoke, or
rescind the City Of Charlotte’s recently-passed law that will protect LGBT
people. The ordinance would also allow transgender citizens the right to use
the public rest room that most closely conforms to their gender identity.
The North
Carolina governor has insisted even before the legislation passed that he would
find a way to invalidate it, and has asked state lawmakers to do just that.
The law goes
into effect April 1, and the state legislature’s short session does not begin
until April 25. GOP lawmakers are weighing an early special session just to act
on Charlotte’s nondiscrimination ordinance, but Gov. McCrory would like them to
wait, as that would cost taxpayers $42,000 per day.
But McCrory
will be satisfied either way.
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Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Monday, February 10, 2014
The Tea Party, Viagra and Tired Old White Massas in North Carolina - Art Pope, Pat McCrory and Company
While the
East coast establishment media were focusing on yellow water in Russian hotels,
there was a protest march in the tens of thousands on Saturday in Raleigh North Carolina in
protest of the Nostalia for Tired Old White Massas in the State Legislation that
want the past to come back, tobacco, cotton, Do Dah and all that.
I really
think that the Tea Party is fueled by Viagra by these by nature old and limp
dicked white men who in their minds want to be the massas that their granddaddies
were back in the stone age after the Civil War, Jim Crow and all that.
I can only
imagine that this delusional rule by old white men on Viagra will run its
course when all these heartless soulless Boomers die off in time.
In the meantime,
there is nothing but collateral damage to the rest of humanity as these eternal adolescents
from the high school locker room still joke about the real world and only have their
chemically supported hard ons to hold onto.
Whatever.
The day began cold and cloudy, a fitting metaphor for politics in North Carolina last year. Since taking over the legislature in 2010 and the governor’s mansion in 2012, controlling state government for the first time in over a century, North Carolina Republicans eliminated the earned-income tax credit for 900,000 North Carolinians; refused Medicaid coverage for 500,000; ended federal unemployment benefits for 170,000; cut pre-K for 30,000 kids while shifting $90 million from public education to voucher schools; slashed taxes for the top 5 percent while raising taxes on the bottom 95 percent; axed public financing of judicial races; prohibited death row inmates from challenging racially discriminatory verdicts; passed one of the country’s most draconian anti-choice laws; and enacted the country’s worst voter suppression law, which mandates strict voter ID, cuts early voting and eliminates same-day registration, among other things.
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Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Shutdown Mark Meadows of North Carolina and All His Klan Buddies - We Don't Need No Tea Party Racists Here!
We won't have these redneck Tea Party racists shutting down our Country!
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Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Governor McCrory’s Actions Makes North Carolina a Safe Haven For the Planet’s Criminals – So called anti-Sharia Law HB522 Will Give Big Boost to North Carolina’s Underground Economy
Pay McCrory, Art Pope’s stooge, and rumored not to be able to read,
let HB522 become law. The so-called anti-Sharia law states that North Carolina
does not recognize any foreign law outside the United States.
As such, criminals, murderers, child traffickers, human traffickers,
drug dealers and terrorists already living in North Carolina are now immune
from prosecution of dumb foreign laws and they are immune from extradition to
the countries where these alleged crimes were committed.
Once word gets out,
North Carolina can expect a wave of criminal immigration, legal and illegal,
from every rat’s nest on the planet.
Somebody really should enroll Governor McCrory in some sort of
reading class. Lol
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Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Monday, August 12, 2013
Gov. Pay McCrory Wants National I.D.Card to Facilitate Voting In North Carolina
The GOP abandoned the Idea of a National ID Card for Americans as
one step away from the New World Order of the Federal Reserve Bank or the Koch
Brothers, Art Pope Charity Rackets Inc. etc.
No blacks helicopters today as Pay McCrory signed the voter I.D. law in Raleigh to prevent massive voter fraud by the handfuls.
GOP big government is Good Government.
I.D. Cards with fingerprints, DNA samples, forced organ donor status and
certification of chip implants required to vote in North Carolina in the near
future???
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Friday, August 9, 2013
Pat McCrory = Clueless in North Carolina - Stop Making Stupid People Famous - Art Pope's Puppet on a String
Pat McCrory - Clueless in North Carolina - Stop Making Stupid People Famous - Art Pope's Puppet on a String
A college education is a terrible thing wasted on some.
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What Religion is Governor Pay McCrory of North Carolina?
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His religion, like that of Art Pope and the Koch Brothers seems to be a mystery?
What god does he believe in besides money and power?
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Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Todd Poole – Art Pope Tool – made Head of GOP Party in NC – Former DUI Kiss Ass Right Hand Man of Rep. Virginia Foxx - Lunatics at Large in Nort Caralina
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| Tood Poole (Mug Shot) - Art Pope's New Tool |
U.S. Rep. Virginia Foxx’s former chief of staff is taking the helm at the N.C. Republican Party.
Todd Poole will serve as executive director, managing the day-to-day party activities and staff for GOP Chairman Claude Pope.
Poole is a Hickory native who recently opened his own political consulting firm, Red Dome Group.
Most recently, he served on Foxx’s staff and previously worked as an aide to then-Rep. Richard Burr. He also worked in North Carolina on the Bush-Cheney campaign in 2004.
“We are excited to welcome Todd as the new executive director of the North Carolina Republican Party,” Pope said in a statement Monday.
“Todd’s experience, knowledge of the state and political instincts will serve our party well as we work to elect Republicans at all levels of government with a keen eye on defeating Senator Kay Hagan in 2014.”
Todd's Former Boss Below: (Her Shit Don't Stink - Yeah Right.)
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Monday, August 5, 2013
What Religion is Art Pope in North Carolina – the First American Christian Sharia State?
North Carolina’s New Sharia Pope – Art Pope – is dismantling a
diverse democratic state.
It was bound to happen sooner or later – the race to
establish an official state religion first in North Carolina and then later, throughout
the old incestuous inbred Old Confederacy with this mental disease and lastly to take down the
U.S. Constitution.
The Second Amendment murdering the First Amendment. Cain
Kills Abel so to speak.
Like many of these nebbish mystery think tank billionaires trying to
reestablish human slavery in America for the corporations, I cannot find a
religion listed anywhere for “Pope” Art Pope, the new Boss Tweed of Religious
politics in North Carolina.
Art like the
Koch Brothers is not an atheist? His "god" is probably just money and power.
Eleven Republicans, including the state’s House Majority Leader (Edgar V. Starnes), backed a resolution proclaiming that the Constitution “does not grant the federal government and does not grant the federal courts the power to determine what is or is not constitutional,” and then decreeing that North Carolina could establish its own state religion. On the bright side, state house Speaker Thom Tillis announced that he would not advance this resolution after it was widely panned.
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Monday, July 29, 2013
North Carolina Governor Pat McCrory Proud to Sign Voter Suppression Bill That He Ain’t Bodered Yit 2 Reed – Rednick Illiberate Gubanor?
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WARNING! – I Tried to
Vote In North Carolina without Proper I.D.
|
At a press conference on Friday, North Carolina Governor Pat McCrory (R) revealed that he was not entirely familiar with certain details of the controversial voter ID bill that he plans to sign into law.
When questioned about the bill’s provision that would prohibit pre-registration of underage voters, McCrory replied, “I don’t know enough…I’m sorry, I haven’t seen that part of the bill.”
Saturday, July 27, 2013
God Punishes Vagina Hater Sen Buck Newton’s District with Floods – anti/woman, anti/gay, anti/background checks/guns – Flood Flood Flood – Rath of a Just GOD!
As of 3 p.m., authorities in Catawba County -- in North Carolina's Piedmont region and including the cities of Newton and Hickory -- had done 10 swift-water rescues for residents needing help getting out of their homes and vehicles, said Mark Pettit, an emergency official in the county.
Some 52 roads in the inland county had been closed at that point, six of which might not see any traffic for as long as three months, according to Pettit. The flooding prompted county officials to declare a state of emergency.
Even without rain falling mid-Saturday afternoon, the National Weather Service has issued a flood warning through midnight Sunday.
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Thursday, May 10, 2012
Sunday, December 20, 2009
O. Henry - The Gift of the Magi
William Sydney Porter was born in North Carolina, lived some time in Austin Texas, Central America, Ohio (Penitentiary) and of course New York City.
Among many other careers as a Pharmacist, Draftsman, Bank Teller and Journalist, his career in writing was a sideline that he developed and refined later in life.
While in prison in Ohio for embezzlement, working as a Pharmacist on the prison hospital’s night shift, he found the time to write. He started to send items to a friend who would pass them along to magazines in New York. According to one popular legend the penname of O.Henry comes from OHio pENitentiRY.
After prison he went to New York and churned out hundreds of short stories more like small sketches or vignettes of everyday street life and common people living in the Big Apple of that turn of the twentieth century era. It was enough to pay the rent and imbibe whiskey which probably was a direct cause of late in life illnesses and his death.
He definitely is part of the fabric of American literature. He was somewhat forgotten for decades until some of his short stories became staples of movies and even remakes of the same movies over time. The Soviets issued a postage stamp on the hundredth anniversary of his birth much to the embarrassment of the American literacy scene.
The short story of “The Gift of the Magi” has been made and remade many times as the basis of television and movie story lines. It is a short poignant tale of young love and sacrifice for the sake of giving. No doubt the part of the young wife is reflective of the author’s first wife before her early death.
He is buried in North Carolina with his one child, a daughter.
The Gift of the Magi
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."
The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?"
At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
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