Around a load of laughs, Curtis Sliwa, “the white Jesse Jackson,” gave Mark Levin the inside scoop on Barack Obama’s buddy Father Pfleger, street fashion, and how to have it your way at burger joints:
Related:
Obama and Pfleger
Michael Pfleger speaking at Barack Obama’s church, May 25, 2008
Hannity looks nicer in person
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I would often listen to Curtis Sliwa on my drive in to work but too often had to change the channel because it was difficult to take his whacked out commie lib counterpart Ron Kuby. Even when he was right his obnoxious persona never allowed the coffee to taste as good as it should have. Curtis is better off without him and so is WABC.
Most people born and raised in Brooklyn, as I was, spend most of their life trying to disassociate themselves from the distinctive accent. I used to say that I could tell whether a dog was raised in the Bronx or Brooklyn because they barked differently and I believe I can still make that call. Sliwa has taken Brooklynese to a new level, improving on the colloquialisms with a distinct vernacular all his own. He should be copyrighted. Years ago on a trekking Safari in the African Serengeti our troupe camped at a different location each night and a buddy of mine, from the same Brooklyn neighborhood, kept everyone spellbound with evening stories that could only be told by a guy born and raised in a Brooklyn neighborhood.
In the late fifties and early sixties Brooklyn neighborhoods were frequently ethnically separated and a lot of names were thrown around yet we all seemed to have thick enough skins to get along very well. Despite being half Italian names like Bensonhurst Gavones, Golden Guineas and South Brooklyn Whops never really bothered my friends or me. Those frequently used words bounced right off us. It was almost affectionate language. No one got shot, stabbed, injured or killed. In fact there were no storefront security gates and graffiti was absent and when we delivered groceries to apartment buildings we would leave many packages unattended in our large bicycle baskets and nothing was ever stolen. The only groups I really had a problem with were Irish because I often found myself in a full nelson or a headlock and that never stopped until I began to lift weights. When I was very young, before Mike Long became the Conservative Party chairman, I became friends with several young conservatives (a rare find). Today ML might call Pelosi a socialist lib but as recently as last month an original Brooklyn conservative member referred to her as a Catholic fascist w!*p. He himself is a catholic and an Italian. As politically incorrect as that may seem today, that was Brooklyn lingo and there are still those that speak in a manner that would knock an outsider off a bar stool sitting 50 feet away.
Sliwa is a treasure chest of minutia memories. He is a true American, an outstanding neighborhood activist (more correctly a national activist… even in Japan) and a fine example of just how much the American melting pot brings us together and allows us to laugh about our differences and the names we sometimes used to call each other that today would probably cause the lib political correctness meter to explode. Fortunately for Curtis the Gambino flunky misfits never took any NRA lessons (they would have failed anyway) and he is still around to get arrested a few more times for doing the right thing.
That was quite a comment, task. One thing:
That was just some of my fellow Micks showing affection toward a goomba. LOL!