🔴 http://noblegoldinvestments.com/nation Protect Your Retirement With A Gold IRA Noble Gold is Who I Trust ^^^ Call Now 877-646-5347 TELL THEM LIONEL SENT YOU I’ve seen people preparing to surrender themselves for long bids in the hoosegow who looked more lighthearted than everyone’s favorite démêlé panjandrum, master debater Pickles Wilson, sensei of the 10th Degree black belt in Bullshido. You don’t need extraordinary powers of perception to notice that Andy appears a tad timorous. How does a man who demanded this debate, supposedly craved the challenge and proclaimed himself a superior rhetorician now look as though his goldfish died and somebody just handed him a terminal diagnosis? It’s hilarious and almost tragic. He insinuated himself into a world he claimed to master, demanded attention and issued the challenge. Then Candace Owens had the audacity to call his bluff and accept. Suddenly we get hemming, hawing, hesitation and the unmistakable sound of profound uncertainty. Mais pourquoi? Remember, Sparky, you wanted this. You challenged Candace. She accepted. And she is not some disposable internet pushover you expected to steamroll. This is Candace Owens. Now comes the apparent intellectual self-immolation. At least she may have the decency to return the remnants of his severed rhetorical gonads in a Ziploc bag, perhaps accompanied by a copy of the home game as a consolation prize. And while I’m not a betting man, the action seems increasingly heavy on one proposition: Pickles never actually makes it to the debate. That possibility becomes funnier by the hour. The bravado was magnificent when the challenge remained theoretical. But once the invitation was accepted, the swagger suddenly developed a limp. As Tom Cruise’s Jack Reacher put it: “Remember, you wanted this.” Indeed he did. Now all that remains is to see whether Pickles shows up for the intellectual gunfight he demanded or discovers an urgent prior engagement involving an olive jar. E