Ladies, I must sadly report that our heretofore favorite color has now been sullied beyond repair by the disgraceful traitors of the Code Pink minions.  Yes, it’s true.   Just as much as all of you, I too, wish it were not so, but all our pink has got to go.

Purging pinks from our wardrobes is the very least we can do for the ongoing war effort.  We should have done it long ago, I’m afraid.

Code Pink, for those of you who remain blissfully unaware of the little group, is a cabal of women (I shall not dignify them with the term, “ladies.”) who have become quite a nuisance.  They shamelessly adorn themselves in our own favorite color, pink, and parade around, often half-naked, in public places defaming our heroes and denouncing our  mission against the IslamoFascist hordes.

The Code Pinkos are currently heavily engaged in Berkeley, hurling outrageous, false charges at our marine recruiters on a daily basis, and believe me, the nefarious types who show up, adorned in our heretofore favorite color are so disgusting that we patriot women dare not continue to be associated with pink.

Now, it helps to know when watching news reports of the Code Pinkos that these women are led by one Medea Benjamin, who after spending some time in her youth in Castro’s Cuba, told the San Francisco Chronicle that she thought she “had died and gone to heaven” there, was deported for criticizing some minute policy of that government, only to return to these shores and stir up trouble from one town to the next.  She and her cohorts also raised $600,000 to give to Iraqi insurgents that were killing our brave men and women, and in spite of this treason, felt not even an ounce of shame.

In order to interfere with our Constitutionally ordained right as a people to form armed forces for the national defense, Code Pink regularly defames our troops as war criminals, denounces their families, and basically lets the entire world know that they want no part of America unless we capitulate to the international socialist movement, of which they are a proud part.

And wouldn’t you know it?  They support the candidacy of Barack Obama.  Code Pink, just like Barack Obama, is in favor of talking our enemies into being nice and bribing them with American wealth into not attacking us.  Appeasement has such a great historical track record, you know.

So, though it’s sad to say, the time has come to ditch our pinks.  Purge the whole color from our wardrobes and refuse evermore to wear it until we can successfully purge the Code Pinkos and their ill-begotten lot from our shores. 

What in the world is this Country coming to?

Victory in Anbar Province, Iraq? If you Google, “Anbar + victory,” all you will find is a bunch of outdated stuff from the years when coalition forces were taking a real beating from Al Qaeda Iraq and the Sunni insurgents, who were then still trying to take back control of the whole Country. [...]

Happy Independence Day, dear readers! Now, you might want to take a short break from waving your flag, put your sparklers on hold and grab a hanky. This story is going to put a lump in your throat the size of Texas, and bring tears to even the most hardened eyes among us. [...]

As an over-50, female Boomer, I have watched, with terrific amusement, Barack Obama’s arrogant strutting of his stuff on the campaign stump. He reminds me of a young bull, all pumped up with pride, ready to charge with lightning speed, not too sure where his target is, but fired up and ready to ram [...]

Yes, friends, I admit it.  I am a Wal-Mart Shopper.  And believe me when I say unabashedly that I am a shopper extraordinaire.  I have loved shopping since I bought my first full ounce of chocolate-covered peanuts for 2 cents at Woolworth’s, using my own allowance.  I was five then.  I’m 57 now, and my shopping skills are so honed that I can literally smell a bargain at 100 yards the way a great hunter can sense his prey in a forest.  

My family has even occasionally called me the Great American Shopper.  I shop only one day each week, using a detailed list on a form that I designed myself.  I operate within a budget amount and only use cash.  I never take a credit card with me, because I simply lack the self-discipline to avoid impulse purchases.  And the way I see it, when I go shopping to fulfill the needs of my family, it’s little ole me against the savviest, shrewdest, most high-teched, highly credentialed Shopper Sharks ever to grace this planet - retail/advertising/need-creating gurus.  To me, shopping is a bit like warfare; it’s my wits against theirs.  And I always shop to win.       

I consider it a personal insult to my intelligence as an America whenever and wherever I see overpriced goods and snooty sales clerks, whether in a classy boutique or a restaurant, or just a big, full-price department store.  If a merchant wants to gratuitously give me a lot of ambience, pay designers to perfectly arrange the goods, play my favorite classical music to soothe my weary shopper’s mood or set a pristine white tablecloth under my hamburger, then that’s fine by me, and I’ll always pick his goods.  But when he tries - and does - double, triple and quadruple the markup for all of the niceties, it makes my frugal American blood boil. 

So, when my favorite store starts taking it on the chin from the union bosses, their Democratic Party pols, and the Looney-Left press, it’s high time I make this public confession as a Wal-Mart shopper and defend my store.  When someone picks a fight with Wal-Mart, they’re picking a fight with me!

I shop at Wal-Mart for very simple, down-to-earth reasons:  consistent  product availability, clerks who are there to serve me (the customer) instead of the other way around, the guaranteed-satisfaction policy and the price that simply will not be beaten.  Those are pretty good reasons, don’t you think?              

Sam Walton was a man after my very own heart.  He brought big-buyer price competition from behind the closed doors of uptown boardrooms right into the heart of small-town America.  In effect, he took the power of the merchant’s purse and handed it right over to us consumers, slashing the oversized, per-item profits of retailers and almost single-handedly tearing to shreds the old notion of the “manufacturer’s suggested retail price.”  Young consumers, naturally, do not even remember the days in which it was next to impossible to purchase any item in a competitive marketplace without the ironclad price-fixing of the MSRP.

Sam Walton believed the MSRP was downright un-American, and so do I.  Certainly, I would never be one to begrudge small-town merchants a decent living, nor any other shoppers the right to pay more for the things they consider of utmost importance.  For some, personal service and ambience are things for which they are willing to pay a great deal more.  All power to them; America is big enough for us all.

So, what’s the beef the Democrats have with Wal-Mart?  It’s non-union, folks.  That’s the sum of it.  Socialists always strive to bring everything in society down to the lowest common denominator, squeeze out even the idea of individual tastes and competition between private entities.  It’s the way of Marx, Lenin, Stalin, Mao, Castro and all the rest of this ill-begotten lot.  As Churchill so eloquently noted, the one thing that you always get with socialism is fairness, absolutely all sharing equally in “misery.”

I’ve actually spoken at length with a good many of the workers at Wal-Mart and asked them outright:  Do you want a union shop?  Do you feel unfairly treated by Wal-Mart?

“No!” is the unequivocal answer from every single one I’ve asked.

So, I confess that I love Wal-Mart even more than union corporations.  It’s the old-fashioned American way of doing business, which has resulted in a greater degree of shared prosperity than in any civilization in the history of the world.

Take that, all you Democrats following Marx, and shove it.  Wal-Mart is in the spirit of liberty and America.  And if I have a thing to say about it, Wal-Mart is here to stay.