Like most of you, and all good Republicans, I was both saddened and outraged to hear that Paris Hilton was attacked last weekend thanks to President Wimpypants’ woefully inadequate protection of American broads. So I was greatly relieved when I realized that it was not Paris Hilton, but Paris, France that was attacked, and while it was actually Americans abroad that were in danger, only one of them (and Donald Trump’s deportation storm trooper force would have probably sent her back to Mexico anyway) was killed.

Since no self-respecting conservative Republican gives two whits for those cheese-eating surrender monkeys over there, I guess Obama is off the hook once again, because….

Wait, what’s this? Republicans are outraged over this? I don’t understand. I mean, I know they’re good at being outraged, but I had no idea they cared so deeply about France. You’d almost think they were politicizing a tragic event. How unusual. Maybe they’ll even go back to serving “French” fries at the House cafeteria again.

As the week went on, of course, we found that not only are Republicans suddenly now Francophiles (except, presumably, for their healthcare system, their 35-hour work week – which, by the way, they can volunteer to work up to 39-hour weeks to earn up to 22 days off above and beyond the 5 weeks they get by law, and their ridiculous coddling of women with newborn babies), but they seem to be terrified of Syrian refugees (or, as President Obama refers to them – “women and orphans”).

I guess it’s no surprise they don’t like women, and any child past the fetal stage is on his or her own. Let them pull themselves up by their own bootstraps the way Donald Trump and Mitt Romney did.

The best argument for keeping out Syrian refugees came from Texas (no surprise) state legislator Tony Dale (R – also no surprise): it’s just too goddamn easy to buy guns in his state.

This flap over allowing refugees into the country is a prime example of the hypocrisy of modern day Christian-America. Especially when you consider they’re trying to prevent folks from Jesus’ neck of the woods from moving into their neighborhoods.

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Just kidding.