Even with the New England Journal of Medicine, Scientific American, hundreds of retired generals, and the few remaining sentinent leaders of the Republican Party all coming out against them, the Trump Campaign remains confident of victory.
A dear, dear friend of mine, some bitch at the League of Women Voters, has leaked the campaign’s top secret debate script to me. It’s the logical next step in Presidential Politics.
Towards the end of Thursday’s showdown, the President will appear completely embarrassed, totally flummoxed and near collapse. Suddenly, there will be a rustling in the audience. A folded chair will come flying across the stage as the moderator runs for cover. Eye of the Tiger will blast, the fog machines will be cued and the First Daughter will appear.
The Donald will barely have the strength to reach up to touch his freeze-dried baby girlI’s Frito-lay manicured hand. But the tag will be made.
The Ivankinator will take one giant stride and burst through the acrylic spit shield. She’ll grab Biden in a choke hold, take him to the ground then exclaim “You’re too weak to be President!” as she watches him expire.
Just as they did back in the good old USS of R, Agent Orange will be re-elected unopposed.
The quote of the day comes from the Senate Minority Leader.
“I’ve had a long and serious talk with Sen. Feinstein and that’s all I’ll say about it right now.”
Wow, great catch Chuck, thanks for looking out for us.
If an aging crossdresser in a San Francisco old peoples home can spot issues with Feinstein leading a nomination fight months, nay years, in advance, shouldn’t the leader of her party have had an inkling too? The man has worked with her for a couple of decades, surely he’s aware of her abilities and proclivities. Instead he acts like he was blindsided by the whole thing.
This nomination was so important there should have been an all out effort from the Democrats starting at the top. When the Republican Leader McConnell blocked the Garland nomination you knew exactly who was calling the shots (hint: it wasn’t the Chair of the Judiciary Committee).
In this case the Minority Leader issued a press release, a couple of statements then shifted into Pontius Pilate mode. As Bob Knight used to say, Schumer couldn’t lead a whore into bed.
I don’t know if Schumer’s game is the same as Feinstein’s, aggrandizing personal wealth. Probably not to the same extent. As the party leader he’s responsible for Democratic fundraising to help win Senate seats in all states. I’m sure he needs Wall Street to meet his monetary goals. And he ignores that street at his own peril if he hopes to remain a Senator from New York.
It’s just another example of Democrats putting up a mild fight to save face. In the end their agenda is the same as the Republicans.
If the Democrats do win back the Senate it’s going to take someone a little more astute than Chuck Schumer to lead them.
Recent events had me reaching for Aesop this week for a little comfort. The version I have was originally published by Hemlock Press in the fifth century BC. My Ancient Greek is a little rusty these days but to the best of my knowledge the fable I settled on was called “The Fag Hag and the Cocksucker.”
Princess Brillowig came from a well established family who owned everything in sight including the big Sugar Plant. They also had cornered the stoneware market and were said to make the finest stines in the village.
Little El Gee Wrongside came from the poor side of town. His family’s means were meager and could never afford the Brillowig’s refined sugar. His Mom had to use brown sugar to make the childrens’ all day suckers. She did so happily saying she preferred the darker version because it tasted so good.
Walking by the school yard one day Princess Brillowig noticed the snobbier kids making fun of El Gee. They all had suckers the colors of the rainbow only white sugar can produce. El Gee was slurping away on this butterscotch rod.
The Princess chided the bullies for being mean. She told them it didn’t matter what their suckers were made of, the important thing was everyone had something down their throat.
She did cover her bases before proceeding by asking El Gee, “that brown circle around your mouth is from the sucker isn’t it?” After getting an answer in the affirmative she concluded by asking everyone to rise above the discord and give her a rousing, team-building, “yea..yea…yea…WHEW!”
Their paths did not cross again until two decades later when they worked for the Sugar Factory. El Gee had risen to the highest levels of management and found himself together with the Princess on the powerful Ways to Glean Committee.
El Gee noticed the Princess kept getting wealthier and wealthier on her living wage salary. It didn’t seem right so he asked her about it.
She replied, “It doesn’t matter whether it’s right or not. It matters whether the rules say it’s not right.” The Princess took the little queen under her wing and the two of them spent the next thirty years making the not right right.
They both became very rich by, wink-wink, just doing their jobs. When the Trump Slump hit, however, El Gee was about to be laid off. The two held one last rule fixing session together then the Princess gave her diminutive companion a big hug. It was truly a feel good moment. Especially because they could feel all the coins in their pockets rubbing together.
The moral of the story? One correct decision does not an ungrifter make.
The fastest way to move around City Hall is to take the back stairways located at the four corners of the rotunda. They lack the pomposity of the great central staircase and, for city employees who drink themselves through the day at neighborhood bars, can’t match the elevators for ease and comfort. The stairs are somewhat obscure and not that popular.
When I worked for the City in the late 70’s I would encounter the Mayor on those backstairs. She came at me full throttle surrounded by a cadre of factotums who held aloft the collective ego to which she gave face. The Mayor always looked squarely at me as if I was her best friend and/or she was really counting on my vote. Then, like the bullets that propelled her into office, she’d fire her greeting at me. Before I could answer she’d be past me.
It was always so sudden and unexpected. We never had the chance to engage in meaningful conversation.
Today the senior Senator from California is back at it as the lead Democrat in the Supreme Court Nomination Hearings. Just like at the Kavanaugh Hearings where she waited until it was too late to drop her bombshell evidence, she’s doing what she does best: putting the “pose” back in opposition.
Every Senator on the Committee knows they’re participating in a farce. Each Democrat should be spending their entire 30 minutes railing against Mitch McConnell, his devious tactics and the sham that they are participating in–but respect SOOO much.
A healthy dose of anti-McConnell rant could make a difference in a tight race. Whether the Republican Media Moguls would allow it into the national news coverage is questionable. But just to have on the record that Democrats tried something organized and well-orchestrated would be refreshing.
Instead they take their lead from the Ranking Minority Member and show their love for hallowed, ineffective traditions. As Republicans play them for the fools they are.
While the Republican agenda moves briskly forward Democrats remain mired in their muddled consciences. Of course the GOP agenda neatly dovetails with every Senators’ sweetheart deals and the wealth they attain from insider trading so no Solon is really complaining. Like the House of Lords, the Senate needs to be abolished. It’s outdated and useless.
Her former Senate colleague, the author Barbara Boxer, has memorialized Dianne’s career in one of her Cartland-esque novellas. How Blind Was My Trust is a hilarious recount of a prim and proper Senatress who observes to the T every rule of propriety and decorum the August Senate can muster. And we know how rigorous those standards can be.
Come to find out, her investment manager of a husband somehow made bazillions during her tenure as a public servant. Talk about a head scratcher, no one saw that one coming!
When jerry-rigged, artificial rules take precedence over moral and ethical decency there’s something wrong.
In her long career of going along and getting along to maintain the status quo, Senator Fine-by-me-stein has earned many kudos. No doubt there will be more.
She’s currently in line to become the first Chair of the Judiciary Committee to assume the position after embalmment. She’s that entrenched.
In the unlikely event her 88-year-old Joy Toy should expire during their marriage, Jerry has taken the precaution of having her widows’ weeds designed by the House of Patou. Our spies have learned the ceremony will be extremely private on a remote Australian beach. There will be less than a dozen close family and friends attending.
That number could easily double, however, if Jerry decides she needs her Financial Advising and Legal Teams present to help her with, what will inevitably be, an overpowering period of greed, excuse me, grief.
Ex-hubby Mick (or is he?) has reviewed the documents and is confident that scenario can be avoided. He’s so confident in fact that he’s penned the next Stones’ single and dedicated it to Ms. Hall.
The barrel-house rocker is titled Air Tight (Outta’ Sight) and will drop the day of Murdoch’s funeral. By coincidence.
The Presidential Libraries Commission has approved the final design for the new research center dedicated to our 45th President’s Administration. It will be located in Plant City, Florida, former home of Tammy Wynette, George Jones and host of the nation’s largest annual Strawberry Festival.
Plant City was selected because of its close proximity to the nation’s leading white trash scholars. The Villages, which was the runner-up location, will offer daily shuttle service to the Center.
A traditional library format was not sought largely because the family only owns about a dozen books between them. The facility was modeled after the Carter Center, a place to study the few documents that remain after the redacting and shredding tsunami of Trump’s final days.
Trump University would have been the preferred name but that was precluded by lawsuits over the Russian-based scam that settled right before the 2016 election. Instead, the edgy, streamlined Trump Think is the new moniker (the question mark was dropped.)
The derelict, mid-20th Century cement block design was the style the Trumps were most comfortable with. A little white wash, a couple squirts of Fabreeze and you’d swear you’re in an I.M. Pei. Just like Mar-A-Lago.
Admission to the campus will be free! After self-parking for $375 a day in the Acropolis Parking Lot, you’ll want to visit the many fine satellite schools that comprise Trump Think. To get you started, here are a few suggestions:
The Melania Trump Give a Fuck Research Group. The First Lady has always bemoaned the fact there are many concepts not teached in the States that were teached back in her native Slovenia. She encourages fellows of the GFRG to think outside her the box.
Melania’s insight got them to focus on the effects of 6″ stiletto heels on one’s ability to string Christmas garlands. And the incumbent ennui that can be so debilitating.
It’s an alarming problem that has only recently surfaced. Without Mrs. Trump’s leadership, many of our yuletide traditions might have disappeared.
She truly cares.
Guilfoyle Institute foe Self Expression and Effective Pubic Speaking. You heard me, EFFECTIVE PUBIC SPEAKING!!!!!!!!
Now take off your clothes and WALK AROUND THE APARTMENT NAKED WITH ME!!!
WANNA DO A LINE????
Bob Kraft’s Grab ‘Em Lounge. After a tough day of eating fast food, harassing foreigners and bullying the disabled, you’ll want to unwind in Bob’s Grab ‘Em Lounge. Through the auspices of the NFL’s giving arm, Not Who We Are Charities, Bob has donated the massage parlor where he was busted after Super Bowl LIII. (Unlike the President, I don’t speak Roman so I can’t translate.)
The Grab ‘Em’s signature cocktail is the Orchid of Asia: a hint of Indochine ginger that finishes off with a happy, explosive seltzer.
When asked if it wasn’t decadent to spend millions on physically relocating this trash heap, Bob got a little defensive. “I’ve cheated, lied and scammed to win six Super Bowls, I know what I’m doing. Since I put Orchid of Asia on the map, I can move it anywhere on the map I damn well please. I’m a fucking billionaire.”
Spoken like a true Trump Thinker.
Jared’s Academy of the Failed’s Failing Failures. Jared is a disciple of Psychologist Dr. Sigmund Oscopy and his Doctrine of Approximate Meaning. The Vienna shrink teaches if the words you choose only come close to being correct you’ve won the battle. As long as you act knowledgeable.
It’s how Jared came up with the brilliant idea of calling Supreme Court Nominee Barrett, who attended Rhodes College, a Rhodes Scholar.
Jared recently cornered me at a New Jersey fundraiser saying he’d heard I enjoyed the Amish areas of Indiana’s Noble County. Then, in confidence, he whispered, “Don’t be shy about touting your Noble Prizes.” (Close enough for our purposes.)
Academy membership is limited to trust funders holding over a billion dollars in assets. You worked hard clawing your way out of Mom’s vaginal canal to claim your inheritance. Use your life to kick back and fuck up. It’s the law.
TiffTrump Studio for Personal Girth. Come join Tiff and her trainer, YO-YO, for intense cardio and good times. Mama Marla is available to do your manis and pedis after you work-out. Then it’s down to the Grab ‘Em for jello shots and Jäger Bombs with the whole gang!
For only $25, Jerry Hall is now available in Aisle 6 to sign authentic rhinestone replicas of her fabulous $3 million dollar engagement ring. (Ring and faux velvet case sold separately for $99.99 and must be purchased in advance.)