News from the Plains: All this RED can make you BLUE
Your Saturday Nooner
by Barry Friedman
I am officially an addict
Is it Noonan or is Not
"Let the dogs, the wolves, those liberal attack vermin come at me with all their vitriol and wit and references. I shall continue—like Reagan at the Berlin Wall, I will scream, 'Tear down this IRS, Mr. Obama.' My dear friends, yes, conservatives were, hear it, treated differently, targeted. They always are. Yes, yes, and yes. I say, yes. And I am not afraid to rip my bodice to call attention to the capriciousness of it all, even if I am mocked and ridiculed and exposed. And it makes me wonder why? And I have come up with an answer that my heart, presently breaking, doesn’t like, and my head, presently pounding, must endure. It is that which drives all Democrats, both small D and Large—and his name is, well, isn’t it always?—Ronald Reag—sorry, I am trying, dear sweet weeping friends, but I can’t. He cast such a shadow. He held the country with the gentility of Geppetto holding Pinnochio in the studio—all of us: you, me, the IRS, the horse on his ranch... we were ALL in that studio on a shelf, waiting to be held, caressed, handled. And like the rider he was—and who can forget those long, sleek calves, accentuated by the rugged black leather on his boots, the pants tucked in just right. (I gasp at the thought), RR held the reigns, the strings. RR didn’t pull too hard, nor too gently. But this man--this Obama, this creature of Harvard and Columbia and dashikis in Indonesia and basketball with black friends-- races when he should trot, trots when he should show the whip. We hear of IRS investigations “languishing”— a funny word that. Reagan didn’t languish—not with the horse, not with Nancy, not with the country, not with Patco, not with me. I smile at the thought. I weep, as well. I gasp even now"--P. Noonan