Kari Lake
Random observations from an Arizona progressive
Every tumbleweed wrangler and city dweller here in Arizona knows two things about water.
Number one: America only has five Great Lakes. Five.
And number two, Kari Lake is not one of them.
In spite of her own narcissistic deluded assessment.
Mourning doves mourning the passing of reason have been cooing that Kari “From fool to dead pool in ‘22 ” Lake has been thinking of running for the seat occupied by Senator Kyrsten—rhymes with “Thirstin’ for corporate Cash”- Sinema, a rumor that gobsmacked this Arizona progressive. Holy javelinas. I am stunned to hear she’s been thinking at all. Kari Lake thinks?
It always appeared to this saguaro hugger that the woman is simply reptilian. Hungry for power the way a starving Colorado River Toad’s hungry for ants after a year in the dried mud.
According to the gossiping Cactus Wrens warbling in my ear Kari “Carry that Old Rugged Cross to Mar-a-Lago” Lake is itching to get back in the spotlight.
Sounds to me she’s craving the light the way a wide-eyed jackrabbit at the side of the road itches to spring into traffic because the headlights of those oncoming semis look like they could, maybe, possibly, be studio spotlights.
I expect no less than unbridled delusion from a former Fox News anchor.
Fox News anchors are an uncommon breed prized for their adorable cottontail looks and their cotton ball brains.
I’ll concede Lake is alleged to have been a “journalist”. And if that’s the case I am a flying javelina astride a Santa Cruz River porpoise typing this out with my snout. Or so I allege.
Lake’s a hissing snake in heels whose incessant hissing about conspiracies and liberals and Soros and hanging chads can’t be heard over the hiss of the tires under her haunted campaign bus, the old worn tires that are losing their air, flip flapping down the highway into the dark night of political obscurity.
She could at least pull over and give sister Palin a lift to the warmth of the nearest Trump-lit dumpster fire.
Alas, I fear Lake's forked tongue will always find prey for her sound bite fangs and her poisonous venom. Any desert rat with a brain bigger than a Kangaroo rat’s cerebrum knows her toxic venom can be fatal to democracy and can paralyze the intellectual growth of Arizona’s antediluvian dimwits, and antebellum dullards known to inhabit our shadow lands.
Her Lord and Savior in Mar-a-Lago has abandoned her, as well as her God, the Divine One who was her certain ally in her crusade to save America from Drag Queens, Katie Hobbs and Critical race Theory.
And now Arizona’s fine Secretary of State, the upstanding former Marine Adrian Fontes is after her to stop encouraging the violent intimidation of his, and our, fine public servants working the polls in various MAGA-infested counties suffering outbreaks of Civic Rabies. I like your grit, man.
His folks in the field are facing un-American intimidation of the Munich-storm-trooper-street-thug variety. Thuggery by Bible-thumping, gun toting thugs who can’t list the Rights enumerated in the Bill of Rights beyond the 2nd which guarantees these insurrectionist goobers their combat weapons. This rampant bullying in Arizona’s backwoods is driving many good, normal, hard working public servants to leave the mud-sotted trenches after years of honrable public service.
Why? Because they are sick and tired of dealing with the madness and the insanity and the terrifying bullshit that Lake and Finchem and Trump and his trolls and dolts and the cynical well funded right-wing media machine continues to stoke. Just so the hucksters can peddle their piffle and their unhinged billionaire backers can slash their taxes, gut regulations and continue their war on the working class.
Maybe it’s the heat in Arizona that gets under my collar from time to time. Or maybe it’s the inhuman beings you run into out here in this beautiful desert that make the Gila Monsters and scorpions seem downright civil.
Miss Lake is more than just a loser, she’s a dangerous prattling rattlesnake. Arizona Secretary of State Fontes, thank you, sir, for calling out the Fire Department’s snake wranglers with their snake hooks and their bucket. Good luck.