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Prioleau Alexander: Boatloads Of Badasses

“We the people” have a lot to live up to …

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7 comments

Observer (the real one) September 1, 2023 at 6:02 pm

Badasses?

You’re talking about religious extremists who were so horrible and annoying that they were run out of England and forced to sail to a far off colony like criminals.

Don’t worry, their horribleness and annoying personal traits live on in today’s Republican bloggers.

Reply
Psych 101 September 1, 2023 at 6:10 pm

The author is clearly struggling with their sexuality, while suffering the results of multiple concussions or other brain injury.

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Dunning-Krueger September 1, 2023 at 9:31 pm

This goof is gonna be sad when someone points out that he literally just wrote an entire blog post in admiration and support of illegal immigration.

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The Colonel Top fan September 2, 2023 at 12:18 am

Wow, started you “Labor Daze” weekend drinking a little early did you?

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VERITAS Top fan September 2, 2023 at 3:44 am

I propose we replace Critical Race Theory with today’s history lesson, which is a LOT closer to Truth. Enjoyed every word. Thanks.

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Sock Puppetry September 3, 2023 at 12:02 am

I love how Drunkle gets absolutely trashed by all sorts of folks from different sides of the aisle but still manages to find a look who praises him and is totally not him wearing a shoddy disguise. Funny coincidence there.

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Jack Hinson September 6, 2023 at 11:38 am

I am not sure I follow what you are saying here or what elements of fiction you have woven into our history; but if your point is that American exceptionalism sprouts from our welcoming all who yearn to breathe free, I agree.

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

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