But it won’t matter.

They will simply say that the snippets that EXPLICITLY oppose The Moron’s policy that is designed to tear down our country are quoted out of context. And since 99% of Obamabots won’t go look at the context, that will negate the issue. If some “journalist” has the temerity to follow-up, they will simply cut the fool off.

And he’s an expert on “moral bearings” since when (???). How many campaign regulations and laws did he break? How many promises has he kept? How truthful has he been, or will be? Etc, etc, etc, ….

“Words. Just words” …. yup!

LD wakes up and yawns……Man, that was some dream!!

Holy C-level middle school orator. Between the “umm’s and ohh’s” – he sounded like a child, clearly not understanding or grasping the concepts, but instead took a page from the ole” “hope, change, future, American morality, blah, blah”

It was pathetic.

He insinuated, several times – that they didn’t need to “fear retribution or worry about their efforts”, all the while knowing the shoe was going to drop 1 day later with “ok’ing” probes, with the caveat “no CIA official will be held responsible”

It was another pep rally cry from our darling cheerleader. Pom poms and all.

“Al-Qaeda is not constrained by a Constitution ”

So there you have it, the Constitution isn’t the framework for our country, it’s not the compass for government, it’s not a work of genius that has enabled the creation of the greatest nation ever, it’s not the most fundamental law we have….

It’s a constraint on Obama……..and insofar as he pays lip service to it, it’s slowing him down. Just look at what his bud Hugo can get down in HIS country since he isn’t tied down by a bunch of rules that Obama would abolish in an instant if he could.

excerpt Dreams from my Father (end of 2nd chapter)
author Barack Obama

“Don’t you think he’s a little young?”

Lolo shrugged and looked down at me. “The boy should know where his dinner is coming from. What do you think, Barry?” I looked at my mother, then turned back to face the man holding the chicken. Lolo nodded again, and I watched the man set the bird down, pinning it gently under one knee and pulling its neck out across a narrow gutter. For a moment the bird struggled, beating its wings hard against the ground, a few feathers dancing up with the wind. Then it grew completely still. The man pulled the blade across the bird’s neck in a single smooth motion. Blood shot out in a long, crimson ribbon. The man stood up, holding the bird far away from his body, and suddenly tossed it high into the air. It landed with a thud, then struggled to its feet, its head lolling grotesquely against its side, its legs pumping wildly in a wide, wobbly circle. I watched as the circle grew smaller, the blood trickling down to a gurgle, until finally the bird collapsed, lifeless on the grass.

Lolo rubbed his hand across my head and told me and my mother to go wash up before dinner. The three of us ate quietly under a dim yellow bulb-chicken stew and rice, and then a dessert of red, hairy-skinned fruit so sweet at the center that only a stomachache could make me stop. Later, lying alone beneath a mosquito net canopy, I listened to the crickets chirp under the moonlight and remembered the last twitch of life that I’d witnessed a few hours before. I could barely believe my good fortune.