"Stormed off"? Bullshit!

[proud patriot]

54. Copied from a friend on facebook

Let me tell you Something, and I’m gonna say it slow so it sinks in for the Jennifers in the cheap seats.
I am a mother of three. I have a fifteen-year-old, Lily, who can lie to my face about whether she finished her homework while the unfinished homework is physically on the counter between us. I have a twelve-year-old, Cole, who memorized the entire Bill of Rights for fun and corrects the pastor. And I have a seven-year-old, Jake, who once swore on the family dog that he did not eat the last cookie while there was literal chocolate on his goddamn chin.
So when the President of the United States goes on national television, looks Kristen Welker dead in the eye, and says he “didn’t promise anything” about not starting wars, every single mama in this country felt her eye start twitching at the exact same time.
Donald. Sweetheart. Bless your heart. I was THERE.
You stood up on election night, November 6th, 2024, down in Palm Beach, grinning like Jake with the cookie, and you said it. Out loud. On camera. It is in a presidential library, which is fancy talk for “Mama’s got the receipts”:
They said, ‘He will start a war.’ I’m not going to start a war. I’m going to stop wars.”
Stop wars. You said STOP WARS, you orange son of a bitch. I have heard cleaner denials out of a second-grader holding a broken lamp.
And it wasn’t a one-time slip, either. No no no. You said it in Pennsylvania, working that crowd of good hardworking people like a man selling above-ground pools out the back of a van:
I will not send you to fight and die in stupid foreign wars that never end. I will not send our sons and daughters to go fight for a war in a country that you’ve never heard of. We’re not going to do it.”
“We’re not going to do it.” Your words. And then back in 2021 you patted yourself on your own back so hard I’m surprised you didn’t dislocate something:
“Especially proud to be the first president in decades who has started no new wars.”
Now there is a war. Operation Epic Fury, a hundred days deep, gas prices climbing like a toddler up a bookshelf, and your story all of a sudden is this:
“First of all, I didn’t guarantee no war. Why would I have built the strongest military in the world?”
I’m sorry, WHAT did you just say to me?
Honey, I have heard that exact tone of voice before. I heard it from Jake the day he flooded the upstairs bathroom and tried to tell me the toilet “did it by itself.” I heard it from Lily the night the car came home after driving lessons with a dent that she swears “was already there.” That smug little “I never said that” voice is the universal sound of a guilty party who got caught and is BETTING you didn’t write it down.
Well, I wrote it down. We ALL wrote it down. The whole country’s got it on tape, you walnut.
Now let me take a second to talk about Kristen Welker, because that woman deserves a standing ovation and a casserole. She sat there calm as a Sunday morning, didn’t raise her voice, didn’t flinch, and did the one thing that turns a powerful man into a cornered toddler: she read him his own words right back to his face. No theatrics. No gotcha. Just the receipts, delivered with the steady patience of a woman who has watched somebody lie to her before and lived to tell about it. That is the exact energy of every mama, every nurse, every teacher, every church-committee chairwoman who has ever looked a grown man in the eye and said, “Now we both know that’s not true.” Kristen, honey, you can run my PTA any day of the week. You held the line and you held it with grace.
And how did the leader of the free world repay her? When she read him the truth, you know what he did? He QUIT. Got up, said “I’ve had enough, thank you darling,” and walked his happy ass right out the door. Called her “darling” on the way out like that was gonna soften it. Threw a fit and stormed off. In MY house that’s an automatic loss of screen time and you’re explaining yourself to your father.
My twelve-year-old put it best. Cole looked up from his homework, watched ten seconds of it, and said, “Mom, if you have a recording of someone saying the thing, and then they say they never said the thing, that’s just lying. That’s the whole definition.” Out of the mouths of babes. A child knows. Even my SEVEN-year-old with chocolate on his chin knows you can’t beat the tape.
So here’s the deal, Mr. President, from one parent to whatever the hell you are. You don’t get to make the promise, break the promise, AND deny the promise all at once. Pick a lane. We raised our kids better than that, and frankly we’d ground every last one of them if they tried this stunt.
You promised no new wars. You started a new war. And now you want us to act like we got collective amnesia.
Not in this house. Not in this state. We’ve got the tape, baby. Mamas always do. And thank God for the women like Kristen Welker who keep the tape rolling.