![](http://borderpundit.com/"wp-content/uploads//2010/03/reyes_hiding1.jpg "reyes_hiding")
Reyes hasn't updated his taxpayer-funded blog since 2008. Why, we remember the time when he was a fixture on intelligent matters like Intelligence (since, like, whenever), and "reducing college costs" (2007). You could hardly choke down a dry flauta without seeing Silver around, picking up loose change off the restaurant floor and selling snippets of his hair to admiring locals. Now, it's like he got off Pelosi's chain and is running loose around the political neighborhood. Everyone knows him, but no one wants to bring him in. He's like the ugly one-eyed, three-legged chihuahua, not the beautiful Siberian Husky. So he's just a stray, and everyone seems be repulsed by him. Politically.
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Where’s Silver Reyes?
Monday, March 22nd, 2010
It’s The End Of Their Party As We Know It (And We Feel Fine)
Wednesday, March 17th, 2010[Ed: I've watched Obama's Administration screw up for a year. This parody wraps it up for me. Sorta. There's a second parody coming. There's enough for it, easy. Thanks to twisty Michael Stipe for the influence and for making it so easy.]
It's The End Of Their Party As We Know It (And We Feel Fine)
(with apologies to R.E.M.’s Bill Berry, Peter Buck, Mike Mills, Michael Stipe)
That’s great, it starts with Obamacare, money there, and Barney Frank – Steve Colbert is not afraid.
Cornhusker Kickback, ACORN heart attack,
Glenn Beck’s on your back, Fleetwood Mac on 8-Track.
Daily Kos is polling wrong, Robert Gibbs’ face is long,
Bowing down to heads of state, ShoreBank’s final fate.
Coffee Party astroturf, George Soros butthurt,
Global warming millionaires and Al Gore hot air.
Babs Boxer, Harry Reid gothic face of Dem greed. Firedoglake work overtime, propping up a dying line.
Oval Office garden with imported plants, fake doctor’s smocks and KSM. Look at that Maddow – oh, another ratings blow.
What, then?
Uh, oh, Churchill no, Jeremiah Wright’s a go, DVDs to the Queen, look at me primp and preen. Israel bad bad Saudi daddy glad glad, bored with this stinking job, trot my kids out, stay away.
You foaming-mouth, Left Wing, hot, snot, smear merchant empty-head looking for a fight.
It’s the end of that Party and we know it
It’s the end of that Party and we know it.
It’s the end of that Party and we feel fine.
Cancer patients on parade, doctors’ jackets in the shade,
Aborted baby saves cash, or trot kids out to make a splash,
Nancy P tuna farm, Jane Harman AIPAC harm,
Feinstein real estate grab cash, REM lead singer, socialist bell-ringer,
Useful tool, Golden Rule, rhyme-clinger, bitter singer,
Jerky little baldy singy man full of hate, discriminate, it’s fun.
Pelosi’s Caucus, womyn’s only cathouse henhouse, call a special meeting,
Lipstick air kiss greeting, Mark Spivey Astroturf, Ellie Light in the night.
It’s the end of that Party and we know it
It’s the end of that Party and we know it. (It’s time I had some freedom)
It’s the end of that Party and we know it (It’s not time for any CoffeeTurf) and
we feel fine. (We feel fine)
Dan Rather mumbles on Vietnam George Bush, watermelon President, very articulate. Hope and Change, anger frames, Democratic Underground exploding from internal flames.
Sycophantic Libtards herkin’, jerkin’ in the night, right? Right.
It’s the end of that Party and we know it
It’s the end of that Party and we know it. (It’s time I had some freedom)
It’s the end of that Party and we know it (It’s not time for any CoffeeTurf) and
we feel fine. (We feel fine)
It’s the end of that Party and we know it
It’s the end of that Party and we know it. (It’s time I had some freedom)
It’s the end of that Party and we know it (It’s not time for any CoffeeTurf) and
we feel fine. (We feel fine)
It’s the end of that Party and we know it
It’s the end of that Party and we know it. (It’s time I had some freedom)
It’s the end of that Party and we know it (It’s not time for any CoffeeTurf) and
we feel fine. (We feel fine)
It’s the end of that Party and we know it
It’s the end of that Party and we know it. (It’s time I had some freedom)
It’s the end of that Party and we know it (It’s not time for any CoffeeTurf) and
we feel fine. (We feel fine)
We Make Fun of White House Professional Robert Gibbs Making Fun of Sarah Palin Making Fun of Sarah Palin’s Palm-Notes
Tuesday, February 9th, 2010After White House Press Secretary Robert Gibbs parodied Sarah Palin’s use of hand-notes, we parody both the hopeless Gibbs and a laughable legal assertion that has appeared on the White House’s Flickr page. Clicky on picture for super-sized Gibbsness goodness:
Updates: Further commentary at
Are We Lumberjacks?
I Own the World
BARACK OBAMA’S TELEPROMPTER’S BLOG “Press corpse.” Heh.
Gateway Pundit
Moe Lane
Left Coast Rebel
Daily Caller
Hot Air
Introducing the El Paso Sun
Saturday, December 20th, 2008We have no idea who’s behind El Paso Fake News, though we suspect it’s actually Roy Ortega blogging from his home in pajama bottoms and a workout bra, but the blogger has outdone his already-outdone-himself parody-within-a-satire by launching The El Paso Sun.
Mainstream Media covers the announcement here.
Fifth Best Local Blog? That Calls for a Fifth of Whiskey to Celebrate!
Saturday, November 29th, 2008Thanks to the El Paso Times for putting 4 Borders Pundit on the voting list for Best Blogger, and for voters who placed it fifth, with 7.48% of the votes.
Despite this fishwrap blog making the list, there are some good choices there, all worth checking out. So check ‘em out here.
Congratulatory telegrams have been pouring in from all over, including from Sara Palin, Baracke Obama, Jae Koestner and, of course, regular visitors Scarlett Johnson, Selmah Hayak, and Jo Biden. Due to this success, the blog has also been asked to host President-Elect Obama’s “first 100 days” reports, while simultaneously hosting the Repub’s strategy to achieve their major (rather difficult) goal in 2012: to take one lousy Senate and one hopeless House seat back.
In 2009, 4 Borders Pundit promises to post more than 7.48% of the time, too.
Now, about you people’s choices for Best Italian… Well, we need to talk.
Barack’s New Movie
Friday, November 28th, 2008Your Saturday Congressman Murtha Motivational Poster Dump
Saturday, September 20th, 2008If it’s Saturday, it’s time to crank on one of the ultimate corrupt-o-crats in DC, Democrat Congressman Murtha. He of the Haditha “cold-blooded killers” Marines crap. They’re acquitted, and he’s not charged — tell me the guv’mint isn’t screwy!
So here’s a fun series of Demotivational Posters, created courtesy of the excellent software provided by Political Demotivation. If you’re not making your own from this free software, then what are you doing on a Saturday morning (besides drinking a beer, BBQ’ing and watching East Coast football games??
Click for full-sized printer goodness.
Obama on Palin: Lipstick on a Pig
Tuesday, September 9th, 2008Yeah, your cynical Southwest Border Pundit doesn’t believe that some Dem wonk — or possibly Obama hisself — dreamed this analogy up without reference to Sarah Palin’s too-recent lipstick/moose joke at the Republican National Convention.
Because, you know, rudeness is so derivative these days, especially for a guy who needs to get back at a competitor who so outclassed him in the Talk-Without-a-Teleprompter competition. Here’s the poster* (click for full-sized goodness):
*Don’t like this one? Make your own at Political Demotivation. It’s fun!
Joe Biden’s Visit
Saturday, August 23rd, 2008No sooner had the Old Prospector driven off in his new Benz than Senator Joseph Biden pulled up to my Upper Valley high-class hacienda in an Indian rickshaw.
Can’t a body get any weeding done around here these days?
Biden walked into my courtyard and planted himself on the plastic-and-wood bench that I haven’t had the heart to toss out. He launched into a 12-minute monologue on his Irish-American roots, Grandpa Finnegan, his son’s application to Princeton, a speech he’d given on the Princeton campus, the fact that he hated giving a speech on the Princeton campus, and then spent much time discussing the vagaries of Sen. Dianne Feinstein’s sunglasses.
I asked if he wanted to help weed.
“Oh, no,” he said, stretching his legs and admiring my beautifully-xeriscaped (i.e., cheap) front yard. “I’m here to talk about the Indians.”
“Mescalero Apache? Tigua?” I asked.
“No, no,” he replied, as if begging off a free Sunday lunch. Instead, he launched into a 12-minute monologue on his Native American roots, Grandpa Son-of-Geronimo, his son’s application to an Indian college, a speech he’d given on the Tohono O’odom reservation, the fact that he hated giving a speech on the Tohono O’odom reservation, and the vagaries of sunglasses sold by Tohono O’odom natives to Sen. Dianne Feinstein.
I asked again if he wanted to help weed.
“No, but I’m here to talk about Indian Americans, not American Indians,” he said. “Seems you can’t walk into a 7-11 or Valero on Doniphan unless you have a slight Indian accent. I’m not joking.”
“Did you plagiarize that, or think it up yourself?”
He shifted his frame about as easily as any long-time politician shifts his positions — just enough to keep the votes and money coming. I felt a few dollars slip out of my wallet, of their own accord. The man was good. But I wasn’t ready to vote for him.
I suggested he help weed.
“Not likely. I’m only here for a minute. Can you give my rickshaw driver some water? Seems he can’t pass a high-class Upper Valley hacienda without asking for water in a slight Indian accent. I’m not joking.”
I took water to the driver. He was from Punjab. His name was Darvesh, and he was a post-doc in medical anthropology.
‘How come you’re with him?” I asked, jerking my head back toward the bench.
“Got caught plagiarizing,” he said.
I nodded.
“Say,” Darvesh said, “is it true about Doniphan? Lots of Indians there?”
“I guess,” I replied. “But be careful of that 7-11 at Redd Road. The night shift guys all voted Democrat, last time around.”
Biden got up and walked to the rickshaw.
“Say, Joe,” I said. “What’s all this about ‘Barack America?’”
That was a mistake. Biden went off on a 30-minute tangent, wandering across the moors of his mind and waxing poetic on such topics as hyperinflation in Hawai’i, the cost of peanuts in Pennsylvania, a new Russia strategy, and the IQ of Barbara Boxer.
I swear I saw the weeds grow another inch before he was done.
Sure wish it had been the Old Prospector in the back of that rickshaw. At least he’d offer to help. He wouldn’t actually help, but he’d make the offer. And that’s the difference between a senator and someone respectable.
The Old Prospector Gets a Benz
Friday, August 22nd, 2008OP, the Old Prospector, pulled up to my house in a brand spanking new E320 BlueTEC Sedan.
“Say, partner,” I said, “is that a Mercedes-Benz?”
“Yup,” he said. And then proceeded to tell me all about the 24-valve V-6 engine that delivers 210 horsepower, or something.
“Well, that sure beats your old mule,” I said.
OP only took offense for a second.
“Hell, man, I’m rich!” he declared, staring at me to see if I believed him.
I believed him because I saw the golf clubs sticking out of the trunk with the Coronado Country Club sticker on the bag.
“So have you gone West Side?” I asked.
He looked at me like I was dumb.
“I got a pay raise,” he said, eyeing my xeriscaped (i.e., cheap) front yard and my wood-and-plastic bench on the porch, and my ages-old Justin workboots. “Everyone’s doing it.”
It clicked.
Half of El Paso’s elected, appointed or self-annointed guv’mint officials are getting pay raises these days.
What with the ongoing FBI corruption investigation, I guess everyone who’s anyone on a potential court docket list is trying to grab what they can, just in case.
Just in case they need to relocate assets and asses to Mexico or Texaco or Aruba. Or any outlying outlet where the crazy local ruling body has no extradition treaty with the US, like North Korea or Austin.
I guess 30,105 extra clams will buy any under-suspicion County Commissioners Court member about six months of defense lawyer work, or a year’s protection in Juarez by a drug trafficking organization or, come to think of it, about 2/3 of a Mercedes-Benz E320 BlueTEC Sedan.
“Now, don’t you look at me like that,” said OP, as he ran an Armor-All cloth over the dashboard. “I’m not on the Commissioner’s Court. You know as well as I do that I wouldn’t qualify for that elite club.
“Hell, I’m too damn honest!”