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When Barack Obama and his … wife …. Bought an ocean front property at Martha’s Vineyard, the world went a bit crazy. After all, it was the Barry /Barack/Obama/Soetero guy who announced back about 10 years ago that the oceans were rising and we had to do something to stop this inevitable disaster that was about to turn us into the second coming of Noah.

 

It seems that Mr Obama has forgotten his speech when he told us all that we were buggered. That we were about to be swamped by rising ocean levels – clearly, things have changed and now it is just peachy bloody dandy to spend $15 million on a waterfront property.

The first thing I have to ask is how on earth did he get $15 million to buy a place ? When he entered the White House, he was worth $1.3 million. He got paid $400k a year for 8 years – so those book deals and public appearances have been rather lucrative to say the least.

It is estimated that he is on track to being worth over $242 million

Not a bad gig by all accounts.

Obama has bought an ocean front property despite the oceans rising and that will be a bloody flood plain in 10 years time.

Is he an idiot, a liar or both? Well, I know my feelings on that matter and the word BOTH springs to mind.

Now, I know that we have read so much about this particular issue over the past weeks and days.  The lefties are surprisingly silent and the commonsense deplorables like me are astonished at his hypocrisy, his audacity and his arrogance.

No matter what he spouts or spouted from his pulpits of moral outrage, climate change and black condemnation of all things white – this bloke has the bare faced shame to rub our noses in his deceit and laugh in our poor faces. After all, going from $1.5 million to a mega bucket load of cash in 8 years is a damned good gig. 

I have worked for 20 years in the same job. And, no, I didn’t live in a big bloody white house, give zillions away to Iran and other islamic Nations, make big speeches or betray my country. Nope. No way. Never.

I am worth pretty much what I was when I started working. Except I own my own home. And I am damned proud of that.  It is a modest 3 bedroomed bungalow in a small country town and it has – wait for it – a clothesline in the backyard. No fancy drier for me.  I peg my clothes out every morning and my sheets sway in the breeze and my grandkids come around and jump in to the sheets and swing the hills hoist around.  I race out, pretending to be angry, and the grandkids scatter, giggling and we gather the sheets in and fold them and they sleep that night in the soft scented love of Granma’s sheets.

Obama is no better or worse than all of the other hypocrites who cry foul about coal, climate change, climate emergency and love of those that despise us and our ways of life.

They applaud climate change activists  and despise Donald Trump.

They want their cars, their jets and their 21st century yachts, built with coal and condemn us for  wanting a simple life with an opportunity to work hard and buy a home, have a family and just make good.

Mr Obama is the flagship for hypocrisy. A man who tells us what to do and then does the exact opposite because he has the money to do so.

Mr Trump does not tell us what to do: he asks us what he wants us to have him do.

Yet, after two and a half years, Mr Obama and Ms Clinton and all of the cronies that they were in bed with, are still trying to dictate, not only what Americans should do, but also what those of us elsewhere should do.

We need to stop listening to Ms Ardern from New Zealand. We need to stop listening to political activists and we need to tell Scott Morrison to be more like Peter Dutton and MAN UP.

Churchill was hated and admired. As was Margaret Thatcher. As was Sir Joh Bjelke Peterson. Bronwyn Bishop. Jim Molan. Our own Pauline.

Being liked is something that Obama embraced. Trump does not give a shit. And that is why I love him.

Trump is more like us than the MSM would like to admit. He actually gives a shit.

Will ScoMo wake up and realise that we want a Trump, a Churchill, a Dutton , a Bronnie?

For myself, I miss Bonnie Bishop. She was OUR Margaret Thatcher.

 

 

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