Fox News Kow-Tows to Bilderberg Politics, Obstructs Evening Debate to Coronate “Jeb!”

We Shall Overcomb

I briefly glanced at E! Entertainment’s piece claiming Megyn Kelly the big winner of the Fox News debates.

And perhaps E! is right. After all, she provided the entertainment, which appeared as if a Rovian Inquisition. And the debate was waged based on who the little queen permitted to speak. She literally could have starred in “The Devil Wears Prada”. Because the night cap of August 6, 2015’s GOP debates made me, for the first time, a believer in Alex Jones.

What I watched last night was the Bilderberg edition of the Jerry Springer Show. I may picket outside with the InfoWars crowd next year. And why not? Given the decrepit Australian global media mogul Rupert Murdoch intends to employ Fox News to preserve his Trans-Pacific Partnership pipedream, he is prepared to destroy Donald Trump and stonewall Tea Party candidates in order to crown Jeb Bush or Hillary Clinton emperor.

The two-debate format by Fox News for Republican Party primary candidates was a tale of two cities in understanding which was Wall Street and the other, London. The Happy Hour program was a scant, yet distant 5,000 miles away. Viewers set sail across the pond to Britannia on an elegant Victorian schooner. Serene and pristine and never ceasing to sparkle, the elegant Atlantic waters gently rippled with no sign of gale-force winds. Once inside Westminster, there was fun had at Piccadilly Circus, its bright lights illuminating with sharp fluorescent and budding incandescent promise, ascertaining the importance of being earnest as the not-ready-for-prime time debaters performed at the appointed West End theatre. And though this debate, as with the night shift, was hosted by Quicken Loans Arena in Cleveland, Ohio, it appeared a much longer distance from home.

Carly Fiorina had the best evening of all, and there was not a close second. She was granted a fair shake, decisive in her answers, defended her manifesto with purpose, unapologetic boardroom swagger and directness. She may well be America’s fighting lady. Ms. Fiorina deserves a full article dedicated to her, having earned my unconditional admiration and respect. Her performance garnered the undeniable political capital she richly deserves.

As for last night’s epic derailment, I will let my very angry, contemptuous tweet to Megyn Kelly and Bret Baier articulate my discontent in exactly 140 characters.

I understand well Chris Wallace will always have the appearance of a damp rag and the charisma of this week’s geriatric Bingo champion at the local Lion’s Club. So I will not be disparaging of him by asserting his countenance reflects best his traditional pre-air dinner was a bowl of shoe-polished turds.

As for Bret Baier? He ain’t. He launched the inquisition of Donald Trump and Ted Cruz prior to Megyn Kelly cracking the whip as if dancing queen-dominatrix feminism provided her the ultimate platform to continue killing all men’s dignity.

Ms. Kelly, do please what conservative women despise so immensely and will mince no words in addressing — vote and apply your gender mandate as the most influential media giant on television. Apply your feminist poison, your anatomical allure giving you absolute power over any man in society, or in more blunt terms conservative women apply, just use your vagina as your mandate to crown a president. Hillary Clinton, after all, admitted she should be president just because she is a woman. And not one person who watched with me will dare lie by saying I did not chastise Rick Perry during the Happy Hour debate when he seemed to infer Carly Fiorina would negotiate more firmly with Iran over John Kerry as if being a woman entailed she is too weak otherwise. So Ms. Kelly, welcome to the Utopian world of feminism’s “war on men”, because the Chuck Schumer-titled battle cry has opened the gates wide for you to emcee its Nuremberg rallies hoisting a burning bra.

It is no wonder why men are so terrified of women. I however, oppose the rising matriarchy applying submission-and-domination politics to further perpetuate the cultural rape of men and masculinity. Ms. Kelly, the corporate cheap suit for Rupert Murdoch’s Committee of Public Safety, was the worst moderator I have ever seen.  She was the howling Siren attacking while gnashing her teeth at Donald Trump at every turn (and he called her on this too). She mistreated Sen. Ted Cruz like any astute condescending Chicago Machtpolitik power attorney whenever Her Majesty permitted him his token responses. And given her very disgusting exchange with Scott Walker on abortion, she might as well had him strapped to a bed post in bondage while ripping from him what makes him a man, given that is what she is after now. She appeared all the while giddy, a spoiled little high school cheerleader who, drunk with power, was ferried to a local chalet with her boyfriend, the captain of the football team, Jeb Bush, for a lost weekend they likely will neither forget nor recall the following morning. And “Jeb!”, I will add, hangs on tightly to every inch of Daddy and brother G-Dub’s politically-dissolute coattails. He would have no platform otherwise had he not been appointed heir to the House of Bush political empire, with dear, sweet Ms. Kelly, sitting by anxiously, having placed the crown atop his head upon exiting her DeLorean. 

Fox News’ moderators practically ignored Ben Carson. Yes, Dr. Carson may speak monotone and is very soft-spoken. But his reference to Hillary Clinton’s relationship with Saul Alinsky and the Cloward-Piven concept was the best commentary of both debates — a true stroke of brilliance. Had he or Sen. Cruz been permitted to speak, either might well have won handily this debate. And for Sen. Cruz and Gov. Walker to seemingly be attacked over their faith because of Kelly’s abortion powder keg is, to me, an ambush they at least would have expected of Chris Matthews or the tampon-attired Melissa Harris-Perry.

Chris Christie described his 12-point plan to rebuild America. Yet mired in his ambiguity, I struggled discerning whether it to be an actual stepladder to economic solvency or a 12-step program prying him from his local buffet line stretched across the George Washington Bridge. Rand Paul, undoubtedly the ugly red-headed step-sister of American politics, proved why he not only is the spoiled, petulant child of a true intellectual ideologue, but how he, as the son of a former OB/GYN, is one sample having fallen far from inside his old man’s used discarded biohazard Petri dishes. He is the obnoxious girl down the cul de sac playing with her dolls, growing pithy when no one arrives to play during afternoon tea times. The little boys are friendly, albeit mischievous.

Sen. Paul could well masquerade as Jennifer Gray in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. And while he is a licensed ophthalmologist, he is too myopic to be in national politics, or anything else.

The dark horse was in fact, John Kasich. I was very, very impressed with him, appearing to be an “80 percenter” with whom I am willing to conduct business. I can see him serving in either Trump or Cruz’s cabinet as Secretary of the Treasury given his record balancing the budgets during the late 1990’s to early 2000’s. His achievement is perhaps most amazing given it followed Richard Nixon’s ending the Bretton Woods’ gold standard exchange in 1970. And while he is a moderate, he willingly supported Donald Trump even as it was obvious Fox News intended to crush him.

In closing, while I still maintain Bret Baier to have been the third wheel to the troika on Rupert Murdoch’s inquisitor panel, he set the tone, demanding the candidates pledge not to run as a third party next year. The irony of course is he convinced me I am no longer a Republican, but a conservative. My vote is not for sale. But because I know what to expect from Bernie Sanders, life will be no worse under a second consecutive Democrat presidency. That party, which never minces words as to its agenda, is today far more transparent than the GOP.

The Happy Hour freshness was as jolly a-good time as a pint with my imaginary new Cockney mates on the East End. Yet wistfully, the brightest star was disregarded by the mainstream rags, which should replace Sears catalogs at the next GOP convention’s porta-potties. Somehow, the world fell deaf to the sweet nursery rhyme chimed by the great bell of Bow.

And I have long since lost my voice, entirely. Ho-hum. C’est la vie. Apparently, I am just an angry, WASP protestant male who is a raging racist, misogynist and a chauvinistic pig. 

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