Deal with it.

I’m gonna show you and everybody else that Willy Loman did not die in vain. He had a good dream. It’s the only dream you can have – to come out number-one man. He fought it out here, and this is where I’m gonna win it for him.

Death of a Salesman
Happy Loman, Act 2

Kevin Wade too had his dream.  It was a bold dream; one fashioned from Brooks Brothers Bankers grey, fine Constitutional accents, and a true blue tie.   A vision of Legislative grandeur he believed had his name emblazoned on its DC marquee.  Oh, but it was not meant to be.  Buoyed by frisky winds and a calm, yet inspired, white blanket of a January day, the lawn fancy planted never taking root, wilting then dying in the June heat five months hence.

K-Wade has pulled up stakes and folded his tent.  Having fought through that angry winter without a name or so much as a few sheckles for a contender’s coat, K kept keepin’ on.  Besieged by insipid subordinates and feckless stratagems, the campaign never got out of first gear… but to meet and talk to K-Wade one never would have gotten any vibe other than that of a trooper.  One would swear he had some magic potion or cape… or somethin’, that would miraculously vault him into the spotlight ergo into the race.  He had too his ardent legion of apostles who worked tirelessly – and sans pay – to tug his message to we the people.  There was noble effort but not sufficient in the end to keep his campaign from the predicted show finish fate.

We had written of K-Wade as a pretender; a man locked in a Quixotic battle with the Windmills of the GOP, and perhaps he was.  But it cannot be said he didn’t have heart, purpose, and a manifest worthy of our consciousness.  He did.  And while he may have lost his bid for the House, we can only hope Delaware hasn’t lost his voice or his vision for a consecrated Constitution and a tenacious Bill of Rights.

In parting he has opted not to throw his support to either Mama or the floundering Papa.  Hmmmm.  Some bad blood… or not the right offer perhaps (oh, it’s been talked about… right, King?… right, Mama?)  I’m thinkin’ Mama if K’s smart and wants to hang around awhile.  I’m just sayin’.

We at DE2010 wish you well, K-Wade.   We’re certain your name will again surface.

Lying a mere 1K, as the crow – or rocket – flies, from the Gaza strip, the modest Israeli town (19,500… and change) of Sderot has for a decade attracted its share of the red glare that accompanies the Qassam rockets as they make their way into the precarious lives of its traumatized tenants.  The Qassam, a somewhat rudimentary, yet dangerous STS projectile, being the weapon of choice employed by Hamas and Islamic Jihad to kill and disrupt this perimeter and relatively defenseless Israeli settlement.  The constant barrage – amped up since 2007 – has inflicted a ton of damage to not only the properties, but collective psyches as well causing many to flee the incessant wail of the air-raid sirens for a more becalmed and guarded existence.  It ain’t pretty.

Due to its proximity to the Palestinian (Gaza) and its recent violent history, Sderot has drawn more than its share of American political dignitaries; all making the trek to get a first hand glimpse of this hazardous ambiance, set as it is amongst some of the worlds most beautiful scenery.  President O’Biden’s been there, as have Senator’s McCain, Kerry, and Lieberman.  Congressmen Brian Baird (D-Washington) and Keith Ellison (D- Minnesota) also spent time touring the ruins of some family homes following a ’07 attack.  These are called fact finding missions that provide for the legislators on the ground intel that help shape US/Israeli policy along with the physical and mental pictures necessary to sell said policies to the American voter.  All these “fact finding” junkets are generally made by incumbents; as it is they that have the mandate and the power to influence these international guidelines.  After all, what purpose – other than fulfillment of a personal burning desire for knowledge – does it serve (politically, that is) for one not yet in office to make the journey, hence incurring the expense, if they do not possess the hammer to make anything happen?

So it is with this question in mind that we address the Israeli/Sderot excursion recently made by our own John Carney.  Seems as though the Chosen One is acting like a congressman-elect 6 months before the general election and 5 months before his primary date with Spencer for Hire.  Odd, isn’t it?  Makes little sense to me as to the logic behind this seemingly superfluous dog and pony show.  I’m certain John harbours tremendous interest in Middle East affairs and its potential affect on general US foreign relations – we would expect that – and that of the First State he hopes to represent.  I say… HOPES to represent.  But he ain’t there yet and there’s a couple of folks out there that feel they have something to say about whether or not he will eventually be the peeps “Chosen One.”

So we wonder… who orchestrated – or had a big hand in orchestrating – this long distance press/photo op… and why?  Actually, these are rhetorical questions as one would have to have been in a cave the past year not to sense the presence of the Kings of the Dems… aka the VP and his boss The Prez.  The dems need the seat and would like nothing more than to see Carney pad his early lead going into the summer – and what better way than to paint him as a worldly leader well before he actually becomes one.  Ain’t this temptin’ fate, John?  Kinda like hoistin’ the National League Championship Trophy before the World Series?  I’m just sayin’.

And the cost?  Lemme just say that Spencer would salivate over the prospects of acquiring half of what the trip cost.

Mama Rollins must be sittin’ back plannin’ her trip to… hmmmm… how ‘bout North Korea to face down Kim Jong-il?  Or head to Ramadi to chat with the Rangers?

Gotta do something’, Michele… after all, you don’t need the party or citizens to foot the bill… and Kingston don’t look as worldly as Moscow.

Final note:  Does John Carney own any shirt other than a Blue Oxford Button Down?

“How fortunate for government that the people they administer don’t think”  -  Adolf Hitler

As chilling as it is to quote history’s quintessential mad palaverist, there still remain lessons to be learned as to how an entire people can be drawn into the madness.  Distorted words and twisted logic passing themselves off as gospel can lead even the most civil societies into a hypnotic march to an insidious drum.

And no one in recorded history (or at least since the advent of mass media, ratings frenzies, and the writings of Marshall McLuhan) has played the mass fear card quite like Adolf, and with such calamitous consequences.  Not ever one to be confused as the poster boy for the politically compos mentis, Hitler had the artful and dark skill to form from lies, untruths, and rumor, a landscape of fear and intolerance that ended in the cold blooded annihilation of over 6 million Jews, Gypsies, Catholics, or anyone deemed undesirable in the eyes of the propaganda machine (sound familiar).   So it begs the question: why on earth would an American politician – and self proclaimed patriot of patriots; guardian of the Constitution -  recklessly correlate the words of its author – and one of our nations revered founding fathers – Thomas Jefferson, to mirror the ideological rants of the Nazi King?

That remains a question Papa Glen Urquhart must answer; at least better than he has.   In a discovered YouTube special, the man who channels The Gipper at every turn was quoted saying this firecracker of a gem:   “The next time ‘Your liberal friends’ ask you about the separation of church and state, ask them why they are Nazis.”  WTF.  Yep, somewhere in the back of Papa’s (tolerant?) mind, where also he harbours a (love?) for the Constitution and all Americans, some right wires got crossed and one of the very anchors of our founding document got singed in the process.

Now, in an effort to close the barn door after the horse is gone, Glen Urquhart has attempted to distance himself from remarks that can only be described as inane at best; frightening at worst.  His retort – with the aid of NJ scribe, Beth Miller’s kind spin; attempting as she was to clarify and temper what Glen actually meant with a “What he (Urquhart) was trying to say… blah blah blah” – was a Gregory Hines Carnegie Hall tap performance at its best.  “Let’s all be careful, Glen continued, about what phrases we use without thinking them through.”   He also went to great lengths to paint himself as Jeffersonian saying he “Stands absolutely with our 3^rd President in his zest to protect religious liberty.  But he just had to tellingly sneak in that “Hitler used similar language to quell the influence of the church.”  Just couldn’t help yourself, could ya, Papa?

And the coup de grace?  …  This gem of veiled admission: “It was an April (as if the month mattered) mistake.  In that segment it was not as (skillfully) worded as I would’ve liked it to have been. I’m a little more experienced campaigner today than I was in April.” Huh?  What difference does that make, Papa?  You mean ya wouldn’t say that now; not that ya didn’t mean precisely the quote made last April.  Oh the poli-speak (see doubletalk)

Ya see, Papa, I think you (and a fair many of those in the barn) do subscribe to what you articulated then; and to a rousing applause.  You’re a smart man, Glen, and you knew exactly what you were saying… and to whom.   You may wish you hadn’t said it, but  I think ya did mean it.

I’m just sayin’

A final note: Papa’s press secretary, Kim Huoy Stevenson, has evidently exited out the campaign’s back door.  Papa’s, “May I show you the door?” remark was reportedly taken out of context.  What Glen actually meant to say was…

The American Soldier.  A battling archetype born of the relentless spirit and fierce will for a fight that has preserved democracy and freedom ever since a fateful morning 19 April, 1775 on a Concord Bridge and a Lexington Green.  A legend of honor and bravery honed later in the trenches of the Western Front, the cliffs of Normandy, the sands of North Africa, the skies over the Coral Sea, the hills of Inchon, the bars of the Hanoi Hilton, and the insurgent insanity of Ramadi.

Whether sporting the badge of the All Americans (82^nd) , Screaming Eagles (101^st), The Big Red One (1^st Infantry), Hell on Wheels (2^nd Armored),  Seals, Rangers, Delta Force, or Green Berets… or the patches of those who fly – or flew – Mustangs, Fortresses, Voodoos, Phantoms, Tomcats, Hornets, Eagles, Warthogs, Blackhawks, Hueys, and Apaches; the legend continued.  Our fighting force was –and remains – the force… end of conversation.

But with the legend also came scuffs on the shine of that honor as our vaunted military prowess fell victim to the social issues of the times.  Minority soldiers were largely segregated (see Tuskegee Airmen)  and afforded not the respect and inclusion one would expect from a nation forged from the “All men are created equal” of Jefferson’s quill.  The women pilots (Wasps) of WW2 were relegated to fighter and bomber ferry missions while the men flew the combat sorties.  Racism and sexism remained in place even in view of the ultimate sacrifices blacks and women paid in defense of their country.  Change – as it always is – was painfully and abhorrently slow.  Votes, remember?

But in the end it was the scope of a man’s/woman’s  talent, mettle, and courage that would lay claim as to whether they were deemed worthy to wear the uniform of the US fighting elite.

Or was it?   It wasn’t… at all… not even close.

There was a new source of bigotry cookin’ in the kitchen’s of the White House, Pentagon, Congress, and on stoves all across the land of the free: The Gay soldier. Somehow, amazingly, the men in the halls determined ones sexual orientation equated military fitness (socially, ethically, morally) and could, if left unchecked, undermine the entire foundation of the armed services.  Huh?   And God forbid one happened to be a black Gay soldier… or Black Lesbian soldier… whoa, Nellie… sure as hell can’t have that, now can we?  After all, the public hysteria and fear had kept closets of Gay teachers, athletes, cops, coaches, parents and politicians under lock and key for like… forever, in fear of public crucifixion and personal ruin.  I mean, aren’t gay people perverts, disease ridden, and always always looking to infiltrate our sacrosanct family structure so as to get us all (the straight world) to “Change Teams?”  After all, that’s what the rumor mills crank out… gotta be true, right?   If everyone believes it then it must be true.

Well, the soldiers knew all to well the torches were lighted for them too should they dare come out and exercise their constitutional rights so they did what all persecuted folks do to keep breathing: they kept their damn mouths shut so the $^!% wouldn’t hit the fan

But the $^!t did hit the fan cause some brave gay soldiers and political supporters said no way…

The powers that be were now faced with a political hot potato and a simple question:  How to pander to a largely ignorant and intolerant “Family Value” voting populace while adhering to the Constitution (Remember that document?) and appearing to possess any semblance of an open mind?   “Don’t ask don’t tell” (see keep your damn mouth shut) was the palatable compromise fashioned by the White House, Joint Chiefs, and sheep of the Pentagon.  Kinda sounds like the advice given to Sarah Good and the rest of the Salem hunted to keep them from the Magistrates gavel and Puritans gallows.  Didn’t work, Btw.

And now the whole shebang is back as the House voted to repeal “DADT” aka The Gay Ban.  The tally?  234-yea… 194-nay. The Sectarians… er, ah… Republicans are just peachy with DADT.  All but 5 (including the brave Judy Biggert R-Ill) voted to maintain the ban, while the more progressive Democrats (excluding the 26 doctrinaires) wanna scrap it.  Coons, Carney and Spencer – in addition to Ted Kaufman (who we’re liking a lot these days) –  have stood firm with a LGBT community that is tired of orientation having any bearing on anything.   We agree and applaud them  for such a show of common sense, pragmatism, and fairness.   We’d love to say the same for King Castle who cast his regrettable party vote to extend the ban (but he’ll spin it to the middle soon).  We would love to hear Mama and Papa chime in on this but I’m guessin’ Mama would be a hesitant yea and Papa a definite nay.

But even with the yea vote to end the blatant – and thinly veiled discrimination – this amendment has to pass the muster of the same cast of characters that have helped carry on the hysteria up to this point: The President, Joint Chiefs, and Defense Secretary Robert Gates.  They will  digest the slanted findings of a Pentagon study and walk to the podium.   Now how do you really think, given the nature of political pandering in the vaunted “Family Values” environment, the men in the suits and Unis are gonna come down on this?   And in an election year… hubba hubba.   If you’re guessin’ status quo then you are in the majority.  For DADT to be given a ticket to the scrap heap it will require real courage and big balls on the part of the aforementioned playas.   I’m not sure they’ve got ‘em, but will hold out a glimmer of hope they do…

It also in all fairness must be stated that The President has once again declared June LGBT month.  Yes, we applaud this show of support for fairness but it is after all a proclamation, and they are after all just words.  Getting past the hatred to do what is right will take action.

Now here’s something to consider Mr. President and Secretary Gates… and the Pentagon exploratory squad:   I would wager that there were more than a few gay patriots at the Boston Tea Party (ironic ain’t it) and Massacre, San Juan Hill, Gettysburg, Normandy, Pork Chop Hill, Saigon, and Fallujah.  Many have died defending the freedoms of some of the very citizens who still call them names.   I don’t know about y’all, but when a Gay soldier’s casket is flown to DAFB draped in the American Flag, I call that… debt paid.  Hey people; how many of your “normal” friends would truly take a fatal bullet for you and your family?  They did.  How bout we all grow up, take a look at our own “closets,” and finally… finally treat everyone like human beings

And Americans at that.

So the migration to the beaches begins.  Not quite the hot sunny days we were hoping would stretch from mid-week through the weekend – more like late September than late May – but nice enough to fire up the grill, imbibe with friends at the first Jam Session, or stroll in sweater style on the spankin’ new treated planks of the south boardwalk.  Also not so ungodly hot that being jailed in Rt.1 and 13 traffic doesn’t raise ones BP while shooting pissy glances at the boy/girlfriend who didn’t take off early enough to beat the masses.  By and large a fairly good start to the summer.

Actually, if a ‘nor’easter had decided to make a call and wipe out all the Coppertone dreams, it would still be a great weekend.  And why is that, you may ask?

‘Cause it’s Memorial Day.  And should anyone reading this not get it… you really should get it.  Maybe you rode – or are riding – past the expanse of the Veterans Cemetery off Rt. 71 and noticed the fields of Red White and Blue flapping in unison to the now cool breeze.  Or perhaps you visited a loved one – or two – interned there or some other revered spot .  Regardless, it is a scene like this that puts a ‘lil rainy day into perspective.  This weekend has so little to do with bicycles, beer, French fries, fine dining, or negotiating the curves between Ruddertown and the land of Sunday Bloody Sunday while totally smashed.   Nah, this weekend has everything to do with taking a moment to appreciate the sacrifice many brave souls made so y’all could decide for yourselves whether to cross over to Nalu (love that place) or continue up the west side to further experience the Miller High Life.

Yes, it seems like eons since Omaha Beach, Guadalcanal… (the death march), Pork Chop Hill, Khe Sanh, and the fall of Saigon; or even the opening night of Desert Storm.  The fierce street fighting in Kandahar at times touches the senses only as a CNN night light.  But these all have littered our consciousness in addition to our landscape with fields of white crosses that often lie in anonymity as we make our way quickly (we hope) in efforts not to miss the Toss of the Tacos.  Sad isn’t it?

How many of our brethren would love to have stuck around to witness such gaiety and popped a couple of cold ones with us all?  More than one could ever imagine.

This weekend – and Day – is entirely about our freedoms and those whom took it upon themselves to bestow on us all such a benevolent and admirable gift; and at such a dear price.

DE2010.com writes of the political realm and how it has become at times as oily as the tentacles of marshlands and waterways surrounding N’awlins; the protection of our Constitution, Bill of Rights, and preservation of our freedom.  So Mama, Papa, King, Chosen One, Quiet Man, and Spencer for Hire, take a breath if y’all would and get the dubious state of our State and National political specter out of your minds for a couple of days. Think more of why you’re really here and what ya really ought to be doin’.   If you think for a moment that the spirits of those lost are all smilin’ on the many liberties lost while folks were busy securing or keeping their jobs, then by all means fire up the Weber, throw on a Kansas City Cut and pop open a Fife Zin.  But make certain to serve up a side of conscience with them taters…K?

And for our readers?  We wish – along with the politicos – a safe, festive and introspective weekend.  Just remember who provided it for ya and what it takes to keep it.

Ciao

Come Back to the Five and Dime Kevin Wade, Kevin Wade.

Yo Kevin, where’d ya go?  Been two weeks since the Convention handed ya a show finish amongst your political peeps, and we were just wonderin what the hell ya decided to do.  So… what the hell’d  ya decide to do?  Besides sit back with a Heineken (or two) and entertain classy, plausible, and beneficial exit strategies.

This is the life after Convention for semi-pros like K-Wade.  I mean, seriously; he never had a shot at the majors but gave it his absolute best.  Anyone who’s ever been to a Blue rocks game can relate:  Talent; can run, throw, and hit pretty good… but just not as good as say… Johnny Damon… who went from Wilmington to Boston to NYC to stardom because he was a better player.  Yeah, it’s kinda like that with K-Wade.  He looked good in uniform but couldn’t run as fast or hit the curve.  So he was trapped in the minors never to find his way from the life of 10 hr bus trips and carrying his own luggage.

And now even his Single A locker has been cleaned out and he has – for all intents and purposes – stopped acting like a playa.  Gone are the press releases and the 3 county tours of cheap beer, rubber chicken dinners, and handshakes.  Replaced by the memories and debt of a campaign dead and gone.  And of course the “What if’s.”

Like… What if he had been a more compelling speaker and candidate right out of the box?  What if he had had the pin for Mama’s Black Card… or one of his own?  What if Axiom had done a better job… any job?  What if he wasn’t constantly avoiding breaking his ankles by sidestepping the holes dug by inane staffers?  What if the party liked him for more than just a person (a good guy for certain)?

And what if he’d had all of the above and gotten to face Minner…er, ah…Carney in November?

That’s what he’s thinkin’.

So the State GOP convention is history.  As are a few of the hopefuls chances.  The show of hands had handed Mama the spoils and with them the key to the Bat Cave (as if she needed one).  A lot of money was spent and if we are to believe the buzz from Papa’s and K-Wade’s camps, they are (at least Papa) not yet ready to ride into the sunset.  A continuation of the primary campaigns are – in our eyes – a superfluous act, destined only to waste gobs of cash while producing anything but the desired result:  Their name atop Mama’s come September.

These are the dreams of some good and ideological men and woman (yes that means you, Rose);  ones who believed they held their own key to what the Party, State, and Nation needed – And dreams do die hard, but they are well beyond life support now.  There are a lot of folks hammered by the down economy that could use the million that K and Papa will spend to not look like quitters.  They’re not of course, but need to check out the handwriting on the wall… It’s Madda’s show now. She is the name at the top and it’s gonna stay there.  The King and his Court are smart and new deals are being forged as we speak.  Backing out in style plays well with all parties.  Avoiding expensive fights that only prove to fracture party and message, and at a time when the focus – and money – would be better spent preparing for “The Chosen One.”  Now that is gonna be a fight and its gonna require a whole lot of coil and a single laser focus should Madda come from behind (yep, its where she is) and beat Carney in November.

Oh, but for now “Let’s Make a Deal” have been, and will continue to be the channel the GOP’ers are tuned into.

Perhaps Papa and K-Wade (we’d mention Rose, but she holds her ears anytime the word “Deal” is uttered… were all of you aware that Deals are always done in back rooms?) didn’t see Monte Hall slip into town right before Mama announced her candidacy.  Both Monte and Carol (as in Merrill, the original Vanna White) sat with the King and assured that Mama, should she hop aboard, she would walk away with exactly what she walked away with… The Nod… and with the guaranteed 66%.  The Dog and Pony show replete with all the, “Sussex rumor’s are swirling that Glen will eek out the call” only served to mask the “Deal” and allow Monte and Carol time to slip back out.   We had ourselves questioned Madda’s intensity.  Turns out she was on cruise control not needing to do anything but show up.  She was bland but always fashionable decked out in the colours of the “Deal”… black and white… simplicity with style.

Now onto Door # 2 and the proposals that will be made to both Papa and K-Wade.  Ya know Fred (Remember me) Cullis got one.  Party unity comes at a cost.  Now its only a matter of stubbornness that lies between a single Mama scotch and a blended party bottle.  I think the King prefers the Mama Macallan.

That is a done deal.

It wasn’t yet Memorial Day but one could see the signs of the impending Summer season here in Rehoboth Beach.  Parking was at a minimum (and no, we’re not talking the 5 min meters that require begging for quarters), the tourists, while sans tans were in July cruise mode, and the legion of Oakley sporting officers in their star cruisers camped out at the city limits daring anyone to exceed the allowable 25 mph.  Yep, The Nations Summer Capital was awake and abuzz after the winter from hell.  The avenue was alive.

And amongst all the pre-summer revelry were some somber souls meandering the strip outside the Convention Center who looked as though they had lost their best friends.  They walked with a gate one might have if one had partied a ‘lil too hard and woke to find the phone number they had gotten the night before was a phony.   With strings trailing their shoes attached to popped balloons and shoulders dotted with confetti dandruff, the night before evidently had not portended a glorious day today.  And unbeknownst to the early bird shoppers who were welcoming in summers early entrance were the once GOP hopefuls who were facing an early exit.  Dreams dashed by a show of hands while being shown the door.

This was Republican Convention Weekend.  It was held in the venue that has seen its share of beauty pageants; winners and losers; cheers and tears.  And this was a beauty pageant to be sure.  Only a new Miss Delaware wasn’t crowned, but a former Miss USA was.  Mama Rollins won the hearts (at least 66% of the hearts) of the GOP and became the darlin’ of the party and the belle of the ball, outdistancing Papa and K-Wade for the much coveted party endorsement.  Get it and the primary road becomes a lot smoother – leave without it and the pot holes get a lot deeper and the national money well dries up.

None of this was much of a surprise, really – unless you are Papa and K-Wade – as it didn’t take a hand writing expert to read this wall.  This as a coronation was a ‘lil off as the party has been runnin’ on 6 of the 8 cylinders due to some gummed up ideological plugs and some water in the gas line vibe from the Grande Dame in recent weeks.  Papa Glen went for broke as did K-Wade (although K was tellin folks he had some serious millions committed should he get the nod) and both will now be forced to hit the eval button as to whether to continue; cause spending big primary money now could be foolish… if ya have it.  For the record, Papa says he’s stickin’ with his (second place) hand and stayin’ in.  Guess since he’s acted like the playa for so long it’s hard to give up the ghost.  K-Wade would be better suited to look for a job with Da Madda, and she would be wise to include him.

And what of Rose Izzo?  What of Rose Izzo.  She stayed away.  She doesn’t get it and never will.  Did like her quip about non-essential Gov personnel, though. Maybe a career in stand-up?

So the Party has their gal.  Now they got some patchin’ to do if they expect to challenge the Chosen One in November.  First, they would be wise to avoid an expensive and fracturing primary fight (you listenin’, Papa?),  second, they need to get on the same flippin’ page; far too many Chefs in the kitchen, and third…someone light a fire under Madda, will ya?  She’s been runnin’ on Nyquil, guys.

A Side Final Note:   The King beat out Miss Tetley.  Yea King.  Whatta shocker!  Maybe next time around Christine can afford the $30 for the Friday night dinner.

Patois. A uniquely Jamaican dialect that on first intonation baffles the auditory senses and makes one reach for a Red Stripe while inexplicably crankin’ up some Peter Tosh.   The lingo of the indigenous folks from Negril to Port Antonio to Ocho Rios to Kingston, holds a special place amongst all Jamaicans and might just be the coolest hybrid language in the world.

And why we talkin Jamaica?   Well, Coo Yah, it’s Madda Rollins, of course, and the Bangarang surrounding her as a result of the latest Dada U press blast hacklin’ her for being a hitey titey international business woman with a lot of coil.  But that would require from us the spin breakdown and a Jamaican thesaurus.  We will supply both.

Back to Dada’s jook at Madda’s heart.  He don’t think it’s in Delaware.  He thinks it’s somewhere in between Grand Cayman and Jamaica; no where near Dover, Georgetown, or Wilmington.  The beef?  Madda has been busy promoting a more financially aggressive Kingston, cajoling the home of Marley to become another Caribbean offshore mecca like that of Grand and “lil Brac.  The Dada Laba-Laba machine has a petrol pic line allowing it to run 24/7 and now he’s calling Madda unDelawarean.   Because she has foreign interests.   Hmmmm, perhaps Dada should examine the portfolios of the entire GOP crew in DC.  Ya think there just might be some Coil tucked neatly in Grand Cayman or Bermuda???  Ya think?  A ‘lil callin’ the kettle black, maybe?

Ku ya, Dada, while you def got kass kass wit da Madda, and the Laba-Laba be flyin’, we’re not certain that having holdings and looking after those holdings… or attending to an international financial interest makes Madda pyaka.  Sight?… No true?  We’d be more interested to give her the chance to do here what she did in Jamaica.  Now we all would like to hear supm like that, Madda.

Besides, Ya got a ‘lil uptown thing goin’ on too, Dada.  Watch the uphill.

More time.  Irie, Mon