Apres Nous, Le Deluge

Tonight, Saturday, August 21, 2010, on the progressive paradise of Martha's Vineyard, the Obama entourage is making merry.

Louis XV supposedly said "Apres moi, le deluge," (after me, the flood) because the French natives were restless; his wild orgy of spending and unchecked privilege was almost over. But most scholars say those words actually came from Madame de Pompadour, Jeanne Poisson (known as Jeanie the Fish in gangland circles). Regardless, they were wrong. The sybaritic French monarchy was able to squeeze out one more Louis before the dam broke, the rabble took to the streets, blood flowed over the cobblestones and the guillotine blade grew dull from overuse.

American progressives will not be so lucky. There will be no second act for the Obama crime family, nor any successor in his footsteps. The water is already rising. As a metaphor, that the Obama clan should choose to take their 17th vacation of 2010 on an island, surrounded by water, at a traditional haunt of the hyper-privileged left wing, is almost too easy.

But let them enjoy it, because this is the end. Let tomorrow's children absorb the legend of their arrogant profligacy and transparent contempt for the people they were charged to serve. Lest we forget, upon Madame D'Obama's return from a glitzy spin around Spain, the royal family jetted down to Panama City, Florida (a favored Redneck Riviera beach destination of the Great Unwashed) for one day, just long enough to snap a single suitable photo designed to message "Nope, no oil here" before fleeing to their detached Bastille of privilege.

But we must draw a distinction between the French monarchs and the Obama court. In 18th century France, the nation and everything in it actually still belonged to the king, by divine right, to dispense with as he saw fit. Legally, if not morally, French blood and treasure were his, so he was carousing, albeit stupidly, on his own centime. Not so Obama. Not a nickel of the public treasury belongs to him, nor to the state over which he was mistakenly chosen to preside. In America, the people rule. Every now and then we forget, but we always remember. It's the American way to "laissez le bon temps rouler," and when the good times are rolling, it's easy to turn a blind eye. We were blind, but now we see.

Tonight, we're huddled on the dark mainland watching the party lights twinkling on the island in the sea, and see a man, snug among his czars and courtiers, who delivered a trillion dollars in bribes to unions and Democratic district pork projects. We see a man-shaped something who sold out Europe to Russia and got nothing in return, who spit on our British cousins and cooed sweet nothings to contemptuous Iran, gave back rubs to our enemies and is doing all he can to leave Israel for dead. We see a dark lord who will not use his borrowed power to protect the lives and interests of those from whom he borrowed that power, who will not protect their homeland's borders, because to him, that homeland is not a place, but a state of mind. If he knows that the proposed Ground Zero Mosque follows an historical, triumphal Islamic pattern of cultural domination by historical revisionism, he will never admit it. If he doesn;t know, that's bad. If he does know, but doesn't care, that's worse. And all the while, the champagne flows. He chooses not to see, but we see.

We see that high crimes and misdemeanors have been committed against the American people and their traditions. We see that a thug would be king. We hear the laughter and clatter of fine china, the hilarious toasts to the God-and-gun clingers. We hear and we see, but in the royal court, the ball goes on. We wonder if, after the party in the dead of night, the revelers of the Obama court freeze up with an animal sense of what is coming. Stabbed with self-recognition, do they say to themselves "Apres nous, le deluge?"

Maybe they don't know. Maybe it's better that they don't. Hey, party on, dudes! Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you die. Tonight, in the rest of America that is not lucky enough to be Martha's Vineyard, rage, fear and a new sense of honor run deep. And a guillotine is being prepared.