“Should Obama Be Killed?”
Maybe because no one ever asked them of an Iraqi child who died with shrapnel in his chest.
Maybe because we don’t ask the question of our valiant soldiers’ lives, who signed up for wars they should never have had to fight.
Or maybe because we remember the pain of thousands dying on September 11th or one who died in Dealey Plaza.
Maybe because we care more about death panels than we do the death of our own President.
Maybe for none of these reasons.
But because of all of them, it hurts just the same.
There’s not much left to laugh about anymore. I shed a tear and wonder how Molly Ivins managed even a chuckle. But it was, indeed, a different time, when our President’s malapropisms were the bulk of our concerns, not his life being threatened by way of a Facebook poll. Social homicide. There’s a new term.
There’s nothing funny about swastikas, or slit-mouthed Jokers or effigies of hanging men's bodies. You grimace and look away, or snap a picture and wonder later why you did. “Take a picture – it’ll last longer." We’ve got a ways to go. The TV keeps flashing signs to remind us – hate on the eights. Weather on the tens.
An arsenal of security, a lot of luck and, I hope, a little Elvis might see Obama out of this. And if you believe in prayer, start praying.