Foolproof Strategies for the Next GOP Candidate

Because losing elections isn’t just for liberals anymore.

 

Dear Newest Republican Primary Candidate,

Welcome. Whether you’re a Christian conservative, compassionate conservative, tea-partier, birther, moderate republican, or any other shade of the GOP rainbow, your party needs you.

Despite what you’ve been hearing from the dildo and butt plug fear-mongers on CNN, the Republican party is doing fantastic, and you too have a fair chance in winning the 2016 Presidential Election, just so long as you stay the course and continue to follow the same time-tested strategies that have been serving the GOP so well since Reagan was in office.

Welcome to the Flock, Candidate. You Totally Have a Shot in Hell.

First things first. Put on a navy blue suit, slap on a flag lapel pin, stand in front of a mirror, and take a serious personal inventory. Are you incompetent to steer the United States through a crisis? Are you foreign born? Can you count to three? Is your name synonymous with frothy anal sex residue? Are you already a national punchline? Will your presence in this election embarrass the GOP and tarnish your party’s image?

The answers to these questions don’t really matter, because fuck it! You’re gonna run anyway.

Now is the time to make your message known, even if you’re up against 14 (and counting) other candidates. The more, the merrier. Heck, to demonstrate your confidence and loyalty to the party, you should convince reticent Republicans to throw their hats into the ring too. The GOP needs to be taken more seriously, and the best way to accomplish this is to replace the “we shall overcome” strategy with a “we shall overwhelm” approach.

To really clarify your position, and to give all your fellow presidential hopefuls a good forum (one could be your future running mate), push for one great big debate among ALL the GOP contenders. This is a very rough Microsoft Paint image of what I imagine for the “Great Debate.”

Not only will you be able to show off the superiority of your platform, you will also prove your ability to stand upright for 16 hours – a crucial skill to have when filibustering. Be sure to stretch your legs if you want to outlast Ted Cruz or Rand Paul during the final rounds of questioning.

Draw a Sharp Contrast to the Happiness Apparent in All That “Love Wins” Crap

Americans are so tired of watching gay couples hug, kiss, and weep tears of joy over this whole marriage equality thing. All that constant elation being shown on television and social media can be very taxing.

Sure, some of the stories being shared are pretty harrowing, such as those geriatric couples who’ve waited for decades to be married, or those heartbreaking stories of gay widows being denied hospital visits or death benefits, but don’t believe the hype. Clearly these millions of people are all just spreading their sinful agenda of dirty, filthy sex. The whole thing is just a thinly veiled appeal to lesbian grandma porn fetishists.

Stand out among the sea of rainbows by being dull, gray, and cranky. While most Americans are all warm and gooey with feelings of compassion and liberty, break out into an angry tirade about your personal definition of marriage and why it should lord over the lives and destinies of others.

Rant about the unfairness of judicial actions and propose completely meaningless solutions that will never stop the runaway train. Suggest amending the constitution – not in a way to refine the checks and balances established by our founding fathers, but in a way that prevents all Americans from getting gay married. Such an amendment would be easy to pass, since the LGBT community will surely want their marriages to be annulled after they’ve tried it long enough (if your name happens to be Newt Gingrich, then you know what I’m talking about).

If you choose to rally against marriage equality under the banner of Christianity, by all means, try to make your God and the Bible sound as mean, hateful, boring, and irrational as possible. It’s so terrifically inspiring to those who are not quite Christian, but could possibly be swayed. If you wish to put the fear of God into your constituents, just remind them about the time when Jesus sent a tornado to your hotel room when you committed adultery, or that time Jesus descended upon New York City and started burning down buildings with his magical fire breath when you divorced your second spouse. Or what about that angel who flew into your office and bitch-slapped you for working on the Sabbath? You have stories. Share them.

Ideally, you want to strive to be the very last person in the United States to accept gay marriage. History always looks favorably on the hold-outs.

Simplify Illegal Immigration: Stereotypes are Your Friend

Immigration is a tricky and sensitive issue about balancing resources, protecting our borders, allowing people from different countries to experience the American dream, and our nation’s never-ending dependency on cheap labor. Unfortunately, Americans don’t have time for nuance, details, or facts.

I mean, who wants to hear about how most immigrants arrive in this country legally and then let their paperwork expire? That’s not exciting. What’s exciting is sweaty people getting here on surfboards and jumping tall fences with machetes and rifles strapped to their back. A bunch of dudes who look like Danny Trejo killing every patrol guard in their paths for the privilege of raping American women and selling drugs to their children.

If you want to sound tough on border protection, it’s imperative that you demonize immigrants. The best way to do that is to paint them with a broad brush and assume they’re all criminals without offering up tangible evidence to support your accusations. If they are brown, call them Mexican. Sure, millions of illegal immigrants come from El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, Ecuador, and Brazil every year, but let’s face it, if they’re brown, they’re Mexican.

And while we’re at it, what about all those Asian illegals giving you manicures? They’re mostly brunette. Screw it, they’re all Mexican too. Especially the Filipinos. Indians are totally Mexican, as are any illegal immigrants from the magical land of Caucasia. As long as they can catch a tan, they’re Mexican. In fact, any person darker than your sweat-shop made Gap khakis is a Mexican. And you know who else is totally Mexican? Native Americans.

(Note: If accused of being racist by the liberal media, simply remind the public that racism no longer exists in this country, and that if it does, it’s only because Obama perpetuates it.)

Okay. So now you’ve assumed all immigrants are Mexican. Good. More importantly, you’ve assumed that the vast majority of Mexicans are drug mules, rapists, and other types of criminals. Check. Now all you have to do is drive that message home with the charm of a, let’s say Donald Trump, remembering not to be a total dick about it. It’s good to say things like “Some (Mexicans), I assume, are good people.” You see? Some Mexicans are good. Change your phrasing to appear more original, but keep it classy.

Do you know any brown people who are born in this country who oppose your conservative views? Guess what? You can label them immigrants too, just like Anne Coulter did with Nikki Haley, the American-born Governor of South Carolina, or how birthers still inexplicably label Obama a Kenyan.

Generalizing these populations is smart because illegal immigrants can’t vote, but those who fear them can. It’s not like anybody who can rightfully vote in this country has ever known, loved, been related to, hired, befriended, or worked with an illegal immigrant before. I mean, pretty much anyone who’s ever been in contact with an illegal immigrant (Mexican) has obviously been raped or robbed by them, right?

So perhaps the most intelligent way you can win the next presidency is to scare the living shit out of ignorant white folks rather than having a mature cost/benefit analysis of immigration, enabling more tax-paying immigrants to live here legally, or enforcing ethical labor practices. I mean, all that discussion sounds pretty dull. Heck, I’m falling asleep just typing this. Somebody please shout rape to wake me up.

Vow to Repeal Obamacare

Too bad Obamacare hasn’t bankrupted the country or caused the losses of millions of jobs as predicted. Sadly, 11 million people who weren’t insured before now have access to affordable healthcare, 30+ million Americans are now insured through the Affordable Care Act, and the whole thing cost taxpayers $209 billion less than projected.

It’s still a dismal failure because it’s not absolutely perfect, and it should be fully repealed, even if it causes 30 million of your future constituents to lose all their health insurance benefits. Don’t concern yourself with making the existing system better or fixing inherent shortcomings. And whatever you do, don’t propose a new plan that will inspire the country to follow a better healthcare model.

Just keep trying to convince the American people that the old way was better. Be subtle, not stupid, in your approach. Don’t try to sell the merits of pre-existing conditions or denying asthmatic children adequate healthcare. Instead, vaguely assert how great the old system was because it’s easier to revert back than to construct a better alternative.

Keep going back to the courts and try repealing Obamacare as more and more Americans sign up for its benefits. Don’t play offense and come up with a new idea. Play defense and try to keep bringing people back into the past.

But by all means, enroll in Obamacare yourself. After all, you can’t let your spouse stay employed during your campaign, so your family will need to rely on government-provided healthcare. You are forced to use this system because you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. It’s only an entitlement when other Americans use it.

Aggressively Deny Global Climate Change

Who cares if 90% of the global population and world scientists are on board with that silly “global climate change” fairytale? Stand out from the rest of humanity and show the world just how open-minded Americans can be by continuing to debate easily observable science. Hire conflict-of-interest scientists from lobby groups and energy companies to make your points sound even more legitimate.

Make your appearances in the raising water levels of Miami, on a brown golf course in California, or in a hurricane-torn New York State, and remind people that because it still snows in your neighborhood, global climate change is just baseless hysteria. Punch an empty beehive and laugh at how great it is to have fewer flying bugs in the world that can sting you. Joke about how much warmer you wish it was in January. Make absolutely no plans to deal with future population displacement, like the ones currently being experienced in Bangladesh due to ever-rising sea levels.

If you’re a Christian GOP hopeful and generally push for social laws to be based on biblical teachings, you’ll want to use this platform to show off your reasonable secular side. This is when you should finally “render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s.” I’m sure God is totally cool with you trashing the Earth He made, just so long as you don’t let people with matching genitals obtain legal benefits associated with relationship contracts.

This is also a good opportunity to finally tell-off that Pope guy. I mean, what does he know about science, what with his chemistry background, and all?

Let’s face it: This is your best chance to prove you’re not a religious nut job – just a candidate who strategically uses religion as a tool to win elections. Smile smugly and calmly discuss the value of jobs. You know, jobs? Jobs are those things you’re going to immediately jettison whenever one of your corporate sponsors wants to outsource their labor or modernize their facilities. Just keep repeating “jobs, jobs, jobs” until people see how rational you are.

Then all you have to do is make a joke about Al Gore, take your check from the Koch brothers, step into your Hummer, and drive away like a boss.

Because America loves leaders, dammit. Not crying, tree-hugging hippies.

When All Else Fails, Just Remember:

• Appeal to a dying base. Don’t try to energize the younger generation.
• If you’re young, brag about it, but don’t come up with any fresh new ideas.
• Follow Reagan’s blueprint for everything, including cyberterrorism defense tactics.
• Don’t focus on positive change. Focus on fear and outrage.
• Make every press conference an “open carry” press conference.
• Benghazi.

Please Stop Demeaning Poor People

I’m so sick of my middle class friends posting on Facebook about how all states should require mandatory drug testing for those collecting social welfare or sharing memes about if you can afford to buy booze, cigarettes, or such n’ such, that you don’t need food stamps. The worst is when basic bitch soccer moms in their North Face jackets scrutinize the purchases of shoppers paying for groceries with food stamps.

People, seriously. Get over yourselves.

Mandatory drug tests are a terrible idea because they are an added taxpayer expense that doesn’t really solve a problem. It’s no longer the 80’s people. Addiction is not the significant contributor to poverty it once was. Many welfare recipients are gainfully employed and the vast majority are sober. In fact, it’s estimated less than 2% of welfare goes to fraudulent cases and that only an average of $35 per tax payer is spent on social welfare annually anyway.

Most of the benefactors of social welfare are children. So ideas like this make children suffer even more because of their parents’ choices. Do you really want some children to go to bed hungry tonight because their mother tested positive for smoking a little dope? Don’t you think those kids have it hard enough? Or is your $35 a year so friggin’ precious?

The thing I hate most about these laws, suggestions, and memes is that it holds poor people to an unrealistic standard of excellence that nobody else is required to adhere to. Are all of your purchases perfectly sensible and disciplined? Have you no vices? Are only the most pure and sober of people worthy of your help?

As I write this today, 46.2 million Americans live in poverty. That is one in every six people in this country. Most of these are children. The average age of a homeless person is seven. Is this because Americans (particularly children) just woke up one day and decided to become lazy or drunk? No. It’s because we’re shipping good jobs overseas, replacing employees with computers, and not opening enough domestic jobs with new initiatives such as, oh I don’t know, rebuilding our crumbling infrastructures.

Most people now living in poverty aren’t just sitting around at home all day playing video games. Most have a job, even several jobs, bouncing between slave-wage gigs that cut them off at 30 hours a week to avoid paying benefits. The working poor spend their time balancing multiple jobs while raising their children. People who are thoroughly exhausted and defeated, and who pray every day that a minor car or medical issue doesn’t make them completely homeless. They’re becoming drained of long-term hope. The only pleasure they get in life are the very small things they can enjoy quickly. A drink. A cigarette. An Oreo cookie. But no, let’s be stingy and look down our noses at the less fortunate because we have it better.

Granted, I think everyone needs to be responsible for their own actions, we all need to be mindful of where we put our dollars and how we treat our bodies. I believe I deserve every dollar I have because I work very hard. But I also volunteer at homeless shelters, and I can tell you a lot of those people work a whole lot harder than I do and are more sober than I am. Most poor people I’ve met can do far more with a dollar than I’ve ever imagined.

Those in poverty have an extremely tough struggle. Every. Single. Day. Judging them does not make you superior to them, so maybe find ways to help.

And if you haven’t already, you should read this amazing essay: Poverty Thoughts

Men are not capable of understanding ‘Forrest Gump’

“Forrest Gump” is the ultimate female fantasy film, according to asshole Uncouth Marie.

The first time I saw “Forrest Gump,” on a rented Blockbuster videotape in 1995, I was in a daze as the final credits rolled. If I had been a cartoon character, I would have had stars dancing around my head like Wile E. Coyote. I turned to my boyfriend and said, “What’d you think?”

“Chick flick,” he declared — and I knew our relationship was doomed.

Just kidding. (We split up because I was a jerk who thought owning a vagina could prevent a person from comprehending a universally beloved classic, like, let’s say “GoodFellas.”) But men don’t get “Forrest Gump.” It’s not really a prison drama, like “The Shawshank Redemption.” It’s more of a female fantasy picture — “Sex and the City” with leg braces instead of Manolo Blahniks, the “Princess Bride” minus rodents of unusual size.

“Forrest Gump,” which enjoyed its 20th anniversary last year, takes place in a world women dream about. Way down deep in the kitten brain, Forrest Gump (Tom Hanks), Jenny Curran (Robin Wright) and Sally Field (Mrs. Gump) play out the dream scenario every woman wants: To be endlessly pursued by a dimwitted rich guy with a dead mother. Men sense that they are basically moronic utilities in this fantasy, and it bothers them.

Jenny takes off with a hotter guy to fuck until Forrest gets rich, which is part of the movie’s enduring appeal to women.

For most of the movie, Jenny never really has to work (save for the one fun job she has where she gets to play guitar naked), which frees her up to spend the days and nights doing what gals love above all else: snorting cocaine, fucking random dudes, wearing sexy outfits, and keeping your admirer trapped in the friend zone.

Keeping your admirer trapped in the friend zone means acting cheerfully around a guy you don’t intend on sleeping with while they solve all your problems, preferably by punching your abusive boyfriend or tearing down a house of bad memories. (Jenny always had Forrest in the friend zone. In “Friends,” Rachel Green made Gunther fetch her coffee.) Men (except obedient doormats) cannot be present for friend-zoning because men are the get-your-buddies-laid police: They get butt-hurt and protest that someone’s not being fair. They can’t appreciate the fun of getting a man to buy your drinks and then blowing him off all night. In the female fantasy, all of this whining is unforgivable — too serious, too boring. Look at my titties in frustration, buy me another another drink.

To a man, Jenny is a psychologically-damaged cock tease. To women, she’s exquisite, she’s a hero. She rules the roost. From a young age, Jenny always has a friend on the bus and a guy to carry her school books. She doesn’t have to earn a living because she’s beautiful and can always find a ride. As she puts it, “Run, Forrest, Runnnn!!!!! To the jewelry store and buy me a necklace.” Unfortunately, that last part of the quote was edited out in post production. The fact that she eventually moves into his lovely estate — and that, at any moment, Forrest could die from his own stupidity — just makes the stakes higher, the fantasy more exciting.

When the “Entourage” boys sit around and play their video games, they’re a tightly knit clique — but their rule is to always be complete self-absorbed douche drizzles, usually to the endless parade of women they stick their dicks into.

As “Forrest Gump” shows us, men can actually be pretty easily ruled by women. It’s spotlights the painful truth to all men: At any moment, you can fall helplessly in love with just one woman who will bang a bunch of other dudes, move into your house, and possibly give you AIDs.

At its core, “Forrest Gump” is a story of friend-zoning behavior, which we see in this classic scene where Forrest protects Jenny from being disrespected while naked on stage. He defends her honor and keeps his eyes away from her lady bits. For all his chivalry, Jenny blows him off and gets into a stranger’s truck, not even giving Forrest a pity kiss goodbye as he heads to Vietnam.

The rule is, be sexy, ignore his feelings, and always keep the party going.

Wesley (the unfortunate fellow who gets beat down by Forrest), interrupts Jenny’s friend zoning ways despite the fact that he is uglier, and possibly even dumber than Forrest. He has nothing to offer Jenny, save for the taste of the back of his hand. Yet, he’s the one that leaves with the girl. A valuable reminder to all men that good deeds do not go unpunished. The bad boy will always nab your girl.

Even when it looks like Jenny is going to stay with nouveau riche Forrest and be his girlfriend, she doesn’t actually talk to him. She just lets him prattle on about ping-pong and then hyper-focuses on the original bad boy in her life, her father. Luckily, hero Forrest is there to tear down her painful walls.

But still, he begs her for requited love. It’s only once he’s shut the door on her does she feel compelled to even consider having sex with him. After he puts more flowers in her free bedroom, anyway.

What would “Forrest Gump” be like if it were told by a man? I mean, a REAL man, not that pantywaist Robert Zemeckis.

Meet a total doormat called Forrest Gump. Blue-balled to near death by a hot hippie blonde, Forrest spends his whole friggin’ life trying to get his dick wet. And what does he do to make that happen? He teaches Elvis Presley to dance. He becomes an All-American football champion. He shakes hands with Kennedy and gets a Medal of Honor from President Johnson for being a war hero in Vietnam. He saves lives, breaks Watergate clean open, and helps a disabled vet. He builds a successful shrimping boat empire, makes millions of dollars, helps up-start Apple, and wins international Ping Pong championships. After doing all this stuff, the girl has sex with him only one fucking time and then leaves him. At least the bitch had the decency to die of AIDs.

And who would want to watch that movie?

I’ve Officially Reached My Tolerance Limit

As people age, they inevitably face a moment in their lives where they say “Ahh, fuck it” and refuse to accept any more bullshit. Normally, this occurs with new technology or music, which is why you don’t see too many octogenarians standing in line for the newest iPhone, eager to download the latest hit from One Direction.

I always wondered what would finally tip me over the edge. What infuriating technology or tripe pop album would finally do me in? I had always assumed my breaking point would happen well past my retirement.

Nope. Today is the day. I logged onto my Facebook page and saw all the different posts about Rachel Dolezal, an extremely white lady with even whiter biological parents calling herself black and running the NAACP in Spokane, Washington. She’s an adjunct professor of African studies at Eastern Washington University. She chairs the police oversight committee to ensure black people are given fair treatment by the cops. She claims to be a victim of anti-black hate crimes. And she’s white. Really, really, white.

So now we have a new word to add to the vocabulary: Transracial.

No.

No.

Motherfuckin’ no.

Look, I consider myself to be an open-minded sort. I love all races and have many gay and transgendered friends. And no, you can’t really compare being transracial to being transgendered. Most transgendered people identify with their gender in early childhood and struggle their whole lives to make the outside match the inside.

I doubt Ms. Dolezal was genuinely confused about her race. Ever.

I’m roughly about as white as she is (I also get sunburned in the moonlight), and would never confuse myself with, say, a Native American. I would never be insensitive enough to wear a headdress full-time and gripe about how I, and all my Navajo brethren, have been ripped apart by the white man.

I would, however, step into her role at the NAACP if she ever gets fired, if only to fulfill an ironic hipster fantasy. I would walk past the office doors of various executives to give them pop quizzes. I would point to myself and ask “Am I black or white?” If they guessed right, I would swing by later with my hair in some braids and ask again. You gotta spot check these things.

Let’s be clear: Putting on a spray tan and bemoaning the struggles of “your people” when you have the choice of simply being the white, Swiss Miss lookin’ chick you were born to be, is bullshit. It’s black face.

And hey, if you enjoy African culture and want to wear your hair any way, go for it. Good for you. Hell, whenever I’m alone in my car and play my rap music, I totally morph into Jay-Z. So I get it. Cultural or societal expectations be damned, I’m gonna have my fun.

But when I get out of my car, I don’t continue to pretend to be Jay-Z and tell people about my history of being a drug-dealin’ hustla from Brooklyn. At best, such a thing would make me look like an idiot. At worst, the very real struggles of Brooklyn’s drug-dealin’ hustlas would not be taken seriously by those who could affect positive change.

(What I look like in my car)

Now obviously, this woman clearly has profound psychological issues. I mean, watch the below interview. It’s not a deeply personal question to ask if those boys who live with you are your sons or brothers. And yes, you may not give two shits about what your biological parents have to say about you, but the one thing they are an authority on is your racial and genetic makeup.

http://www.krem.com/videos/news/2015/06/11/rachel-dolezal-says-she-doesnt-acknowledge-her-biological-parents-/71105320/http://

So thank you, TransRachel, for making me reach my tolerance limit at least two decades too early. I’m sure the NAACP appreciates you turning their organization into a laughing stock.

Color My World With Propoganda

Coloring Books Designed to Influence Children

A friend once told me a disturbing story about confiscating a coloring book from his children, which depicted people burning in hell for their sins. Apparently, this was a gift from their grandparent’s Pentecostal church.

Which got me thinking… It’s been a long time since I colored anything. I should totally color a picture of people burning in hell and mount it on my fridge.

Try as I might, I was unable to find any such coloring pages online. However, I did see many articles and blogs from people complaining about having to color graphic hell scenes while attending Catholic school, so I know this is a thing. Heck, it’s my new Holy Grail.

In my quest I have encountered far more perplexing coloring books, all with the goal of getting young children to buy into various religious, political, or bigoted ideologies.

Colors of Religion

I live pretty close to the Creation Museum, which features painstakingly produced exhibits and explanations for the Earth being roughly 6,000 years old. They’re even building a replica Noah’s Ark just a few miles from my home, which I imagine will be a pretty smelly indoor petting zoo. It’s not surprising that they offer activity books from Answers Magazine depicting dinosaurs and man living together, or animal marches into the ark. However, I find myself quite fascinated by this one, where the grown-up brachiosauruses sacrifice their lives for the good of their children and future existence. Why did this only happen with brachiosauruses? Wouldn’t it have been easier for Noah to transport all of the animals as babies?

For those of you who have never ventured to the Creation Museum, the dinosaur story goes like this: All animals existed in Eden, including dinosaurs. In Eden, all animals were herbivores. A T. rex would delicately nibble on grass until the day Adam sinned and ate the forbidden fruit. After Adam’s sin, the T. rex developed an appetite for Adam. Eventually, Noah managed to get a T. rex and his girlfriend onto his ark without getting digested, and the dinosaurs were saved along with all other animals. But the world was vastly different after the flood, and T. rex perished in the new climate.

This next one helps children stay safe from lecherous child predators – namely Catholic priests. The New York Archdiocese of the Roman Catholic Church designed this coloring book with helpful anti-molestation safety tips. I appreciate the concern for children, but this was a terrible PR move. They even made the priest in the picture look creepy. And what does the boy have his arms in? Whatever it is, they should have made it more clear in the drawing. When I look at this, I see a nervous boy being forced to massage the feet of an archbishop while a priest lies to an angel about what is transpiring.

If you hate heresy, you’ll love this coloring page. That space between Buddha and the tree would be a perfect place to draw a little Buddy Christ.

What sucks about this next one is that every image I find on the inter-webs has it fairly colored already. I would have LOVED to color this little gem from a Hasidic grade school. The text translates to: “All the wild animals came to Egypt, and they devoured the Egyptians. Even from the houses the animals schlepped out the Egyptians and devoured them.”

This one is great on so many levels. I mean how cool would it be if a giraffe poked it’s head through your upstairs window, tossed your body into the street, and ate you alive while a Hasidic Jewish kid pet it peacefully as you suffered? Pretty rad if you ask me. Though it might be cooler to duke it out with that little mini Godzilla. Or whatever that green thing is supposed to be.

Of course, when talking about religious agendas, you can’t leave out those clever Satanists, who distributed The Satanic Children’s Big Book of Activities to Florida Public Schools in retaliation after a Christian group received permission to distribute Bibles and other religious materials to public school students. Only in Florida.

Color Blind Racism

I would love to say that this is merely a reflection of America’s troubled past, but given all the recent riots and police-caused deaths of unarmed black people, The Black Panther Coloring Book, and the story behind it, is more relevant than ever.

This coloring book was originally presented to the Black Panthers by an undercover FBI representative requesting an opportunity to publish the book on their behalf. The Black Panthers found the book to be completely disgusting and did not want any part of it. Unfazed by the rejection, the FBI, pretending to be the Black Panthers, added even more offensive drawings and mass mailed the coloring book across the United States. This freaked out white people, and convinced many of them to ignore legitimate issues affecting the black population.

On the plus side, it’s a coloring book, so you can color all the people and pigs any color you like.

Fun with Terrorism

Thanks to Really Big Coloring Books, the brain trust behind controversial works like We Shall Never Forget 9/11: The Kids’ Book of Freedom and The True Faces of Evil – Terror, your child can be constantly tormented with the fear of radical jihadists.

Luckily, your kid can make the smoke coming out of the World Trade Center bright pink. It’s fun 🙂

Just think of the silly hues your kid can use to color this sobbing boy’s hair. Grief can be whimsical if you just tap into the power of imagination.

Look at all the great burqa space being sported by that human shield. Your kid can totally design a cool print for a gal who’s forced to cover up her entire body, even in the privacy of her own bedroom.

And what kid doesn’t like to color a public execution scene. Am I right?

Of course, no coloring book is complete without a little humor and dismemberment. Just get a load of these hilarious fish.

Political Coloring Books

Thankfully, the only politician I found that made a coloring book designed to genuinely appeal to children is Ted Cruz.

Oops. Wait. I have that wrong. Per ColoringBook.com and their disclaimers, this is not a coloring book designed to endorse Ted Cruz. No, this book is an educational tool based on a fair and objective review of a positive role model and a real-life superhero. Who happens to be Ted Cruz.

Check out this awesome coloring page where he wrestles the twin snakes of Obamacare and illegal immigration. This is gonna be my next arm tattoo.

And this will be my next tramp stamp.

The Gay Agenda

Last but not least, I present the coloring page that turned so many of my friends gay in the 1980s.

Shame on you, California Raisins.

Shame on you.