Proclaimed Susan Sarandon, the wrinkling and erstwhile Hollywood star:

“I don’t vote with my vagina,” the 69-year-old Thelma and Louise star tweeted. “It’s so insulting to women to think that you would follow a candidate JUST because she’s a woman.”

The candidate that Susan refers to as a “woman” is the once severely concussed Hillary Clinton.   

“Woman” once had Olympian goddess status among feminists. But the worm, she do turn, don’t she? Turned because of the current drooling over a 74-year-old Jewish guy from Brooklyn who claims that dead isn’t better than red.  

Continued Sarandon in her October Revolution virtual declaration:       

“HRC doesn’t rep my interests, @BernieSanders does. Simple as that,” she added, using an acronym for Hillary Rodham Clinton, Sanders’ rival for the Democratic nomination.

As to voting or not with her vagina, we’d rather Sarandon vote with her money.   

Sarandon feels the Bern. Whereabouts on her anatomy, we won’t ask. Bernie, the avowed socialist. The wizened Red One. Cool. Just cough up the dough. Back up your Tweets with cash. Cause in the paradise of justice, fairness, and equality, your estimated $50 million net worth and elitist lifestyle doesn’t cut it as true-red socialism, doll.   

The last thing you wanna be pegged is a “parlor pinko.” You know, the rich b*tch who talks the talk, sprinkles a few bucks on this or that leftist cause, marches for an hour or so with Black Lives Matter, but doesn’t walk the walk -- viz, lives behind gates and dines four stars -- when five stars aren’t available… who thinks wearing rag & bone threads is slumming.         

Susan -- baby -- us lumpenproletariat, flyover country leftovers, want a slice of your pie -- a big, honking slab of your pie, as a matter of fact. Time for you to stroke checks to us unwashed masses… to millions upon millions of Americans who aren’t on the Democrats’ Silicon Valley protected list. Who don’t count among the DC-connected crony capitalist Wall Streeters lining their pockets. Who never got sheepskins and found Nirvana at Cambridge or New Haven or Berkeley -- university lifers ensconced among the left-elite.        

Gimmie, ‘cause we -- the forgotten Americans -- need the green you’ve hoarded. The green you grabbed unfairly, unjustly. Gams and ta-tas and a pretty mug are what you had. Nature, unfair little goddess she is, distributed wrongly. Why so much to you, Susan, and too little to Flo and Gladys and Crescencia and Tangilique?

Guilt, girl, you should be drowning in it. Guilt for hording and living the high-life, while genitalia -- female and male -- struggle on low wages and part-time gigs in Akron and Fresno. While American nobodies are logging time at Wal-Mart, you, Susan, past due-date Hollywood star -- you or your ilk -- hang at Ibiza. You can Tweet from anywhere, I suppose. 

Chutzpah and luck, you had obscene shares of that, too, Rocky Horroring your way to stardom. (Give us the star, too.) Play-acting your way to a fortune, while the little people slug it out every day on factory floors (provided the factories haven’t been shipped to Mexico). Or hump it out at job # 2 or # 3 at Mickey D’s or Burger King.    

The little people wonder what it’s like to sip Dom at the Mandarin Oriental and talk big about justice. When was the last time you caught winks at a Motel 8? Drank a cold Bud – drank it, and not just used it as a prop? Stretched a paycheck? Clipped coupons? Robbed Peter to pay Paul?      

Claims you, Susan, you’re for Bern, the “democratic” socialist. So, there are other types of socialists? Like undemocratic ones? Maybe there’s the same distinction among fascists? Maybe -- just maybe -- your Bern is more the fascist, if definitions are followed strictly. But let’s not be too strict. Bern the Red feels better.     

Democratic or undemocratic, both socialist brands want to take, huh? Take just about everything from anyone who’s earned an honest buck. Whether at the point of gun or via the ballot box, what does it matter? It’s all confiscation for a righteous cause, isn’t it? Different ways, same difference, as they say. And Bern being your man, you’re down for the taking and redistributing.   

But you don’t want us to take until it really smarts, right, Susan? Keep that pricey pad in Manhattan… maybe a spread out in Connecticut. Let’s stick to a skim – at least for someone worth $50 million. It’s about playing the role of the social crusader. But living real pain – nah!    

You’re a face for the left – a recognizable, popular yesteryear star with the low information crowd. Though fading toward a godless twilight, you help bolster the veneer that hides the deep-down ugly of the statist creed that amounts to Bern’s socialism. The media never questions your obscene wealth. Bern and his acolytes make nothing of the fact that you’re an economic one-percenter. You get a pass because you play by the left’s script.      

Socialism, taken seriously, is about ownership... of the means of production. Under socialism, who owns the businesses, factories, shops, and whatever? Why, the “people.”  It’s about distribution (er, redistribution). You’ve got too much dough, where does it go? Why, redistributed to the “people.” That’s socialism, Susan. Manly parts socialism. Either give up most your wealth or the people, through government auspices, will take it from you. They’ll pry it from your cold, dead hands, if need be.      

You’ve got an embarrassment of riches, Susan. $53, 657 annually is an average income, and if it’s good for us, it’s good for you. Excess is a sin. You’re suffering 50 million of them. Make your check payable to the U.S. Treasury – or, preferably, the Democratic National Committee. 

If you’re really for Bern, and not play-acting, then let go of your wealth. Otherwise, all those reds you find solidarity with – one day, sooner rather than later, they’ll come for what you own. Come on a dark night – a night of torches and pitchforks and scythes. Nights of screams and cries and guillotines (you think it’s horrible to be parted from your Mercedes, well…). 

Revolutions eventually eat their own, some way, somehow. The 20th Century is a chronicle of the conceited… who never thought they’d hear knocks at the door in the dead of night.      

Keep your vagina, Susan. None of us want it. Your bank accounts and investments, your bangles and bobbles, that’s another matter altogether.