The Runt vs T. Rump

I have never promised to give our current alleged president any credit for any action he may ever take. Mainly, this was because I could never envision his being effective in any positive manner, despite (or because of) his relentlessly positive posture. Someone who never questions his own perspective is bound to drive off cliffs, pedal floored and banners flying, practically all the time.

Well, damned if he didn’t get one right. l won’t deny it, won’t even nitpick about Marquis of Queensbury  or Hoyle even the Geneva Convention, if it ends here. Beijing bitch-slapping their yapping punk was the desired result.

Appropriate world perspective was preserved.

I can only hope that penetrates T.Rump’s hopelessly self-centered myopism. People are genuinely glad that what he said [reflected] the world’s policies while endorsing America’s presence on Guam. If it results in a de-escalation of hostilities, as it appears, then it may actually further humanitiy’s promise.

This was the scenario T.Rump has been playing out in his head since – well, since his election, at least. Us vs Them, on a level field under clear skies. It helped that They are <.01 Us, potentially harmful and obnoxious to boot. I don’t know about you, but I’m perfectly cool with taking a bullying posture with the brat that’s terrorizing the granny-lady. Threatening a perfectly plausible devastating retaliation should it continue satisfies my sense of justice. Communication must be received and understood to be effective.

I have had cats through much of my life. Unlike dogs, who don’t think much and look to their companions repeatedly for advice and direction, cats think for themselves, and don’t really care what you think.

They think it’s perfectly natural, for instance, to share in whatever food is reachable. I have found empirically that cats will generally not take my unwillingness to share my meals with them as sincere unless it is accompanied by a heartfelt threat to their lives.

Not that I would actually do it, probably. The distinction between threat and execution is thus defined as the birthplace of civilization.

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Scaramucci’s Fandango

When I was a kid, and some noteworthy made a jackass of himself in public, I’d make up some drivel about him calling me in the middle of the night, drunk, whining obscenely about whatever treatment he’d received in the course of his moronic behavior.

There were those who, reading these scurrilous diatribes, took them as reportage. I would take a demure bow and retire, allowing my public its profane fantasy. But anyone connected to reality however vaguely would notice the fraudulence in its composition. Confusingly, I received far more demands for retraction of my comments than praise for my witty insight. I suppose my recognition will come in retrospect.

Meanwhile, Friday, my “New Yorker” subscription brought me an article by
their Washington editor, Ryan Lizza, “Anthony Scaramucci Called Me to Unload About White House Leakers, Reince Priebus, and Steve Bannion”. Lizza had tweeted an item about Scaramucci dining at the White House with the Trumps, Sean Hannity, and Bill Shine, recently a Fox News executive.

In the tweet, Lizza speculated on T. Rump’s relationship with Hannity, and whether he was thinking of hiring Shine.

“‘Who leaked that to you?” Scaramucci said. “What I’m going to do is, I will eliminate everyone in the comms team and we’ll start over.'”

Scaramucci said, “‘You’re an American citizen, this is a major catastrophe for the American country. So I’m asking you as an American patriot to give me a sense of who leaked it.'” [Lizza said he could not.]

“He eventually convinced himself that [White House chief of staff Reince]Priebus was my source,” Lizza said.

“The issue, he said, was that he believed Priebus had been worried about the dinner because he hadn’t been invited. ‘Reince is a fucking paranoid schizophrenic, a paranoiac,’ Scaramucci said. He channelled Priebus as he spoke: ‘”Oh, Bill Shine is coming in. Let me leak the fucking thing and see if I can cock-block these people the way I cock-blocked Scaramucci for six months.’ (Priebus did not respond to a request for comment.)”

Priebus, the former Republican National Committee chairman credited elsewhere with “turning around” the Republican Party six years ago, was forced to resign the day after the dinner party.

“‘The swamp will not defeat him,’ [Scaramucci]said, breaking into the third person. ‘They’re trying to resist me, but it’s not going to work. I’ve done nothing wrong on my financial disclosures, so they’re going to have to go fuck themselves.’

“Scaramucci also told me that, unlike other senior officials, he had no interest in media attention. ‘I’m not Steve Bannon, I’m not trying to suck my own cock,’ he said, speaking of Trump’s chief strategist. ‘I’m not trying to build my own brand off the fucking strength of the President. I’m here to serve the country.’ (Bannon declined to comment.)”

It all sounded legit to me. I remember when parody and life, even politics, were separate endeavors. That’s what They must mean when They talk about the Good Old Days When Things Were Simpler. I preferred it. So I’m getting older.

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T. Rump and the Boy Scouts

I read the first two hundred or so words of the speech, I suppose out of due diligence. It was the same speech he always gives. Nothing but braggadocio, and disrespect for anything that isn’t him.

I was a Boy Scout. I went to a National Jamboree. We were addressed by somebody. I don’t remember being profoudly bored at the Jamboree, so I probably didn’t go to be addressed.

Of course I believed America was the best place to be. Foreign Scouts came to our Jamborees. I ate at foreigner’s fires, they ate at ours. We traded
patches. Theirs were flimsy, ours weren’t. They really prised ours.

But enough about me. And the Boy Scouts. And T. Rump, for that matter. While this ballyhoo’s been going on, what’s Paul Ryan been doing?

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Ruminations on Terrorists and Invasion

In WWII, even in Korea, we had news photos of GI’s giving candy and food to local kids and adults. This practise disintegrated in Vietnam, where babes in arms could just as easily be rigged to explode. Partly this was the result of a global ideological conflict. Partly, though, perhaps the greater part, was that American soldiers were not helping the people of the nation they’d invaded. Whatever agenda they had – save Australia from Communism, establish a drug business, pump oil out of the China Sea, rip off the Defense budget or the PX – it had nothing to do with Freedom, Liberty, or the Vietnamese people.

Invading Iraq was an excuse for Halliburton to bill Congress; invading Afghanistan … well, frankly I don’t know. I think it may have had to do with oil. Hunting Isis, the Taliban, bin Laden, all noble pursuits. But the only success among them was the surgical erasure of bin Laden. In the current era of frontless war, invasion-sized offenses have generally failed.

Rest assured, I have no qualms about killing terrorists. I’m no Buddhist. Probably that’s linked with the ease with which I justify squishing mosquitoes and suffocating ticks. I figure, even if they are my ancestors, they’re pests now and squishing and drowning is part of a bug’s karma.

American military behavior, while never as valorous as we’d like to believe, still was admirable compared with The Other Guys. I’m not so sure any more. Sweeping troops through residential neighborhoods, through actual residences, will not make many friends among the residents. Drone attacks, unless regularly extremely accurate, would tend to scare the living shit out of the civilian population. While calling America “terrorist” is not correct, calling its motives corrupt and its overall approach murderous may be thoroughly accurate.

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Well, Hail To The Chief, There

_obamaobamaEveryone’s howling for Trump’s impeachment, and he won’t even be sworn in until tomorrow. Meanwhile, Trump’s howling about a conspiracy only he sees in which everyone else created votes for whats-her-name. This sort of thing invariably leads to a tea party featuring a dormouse and a disappearing cat.

I’m beginning to think, though, maybe this is a conspiracy Trump’s trumped up himself. He just doesn’t want to be President. He’s had all the fun, shaking babies, kissing hands, getting golden showers in Moscow. I think he wants to quit now, while he’s ahead.

That ain’t right, yo. We can’t let him get away with it. We gotta make him serve.

Ever since I learned to take the concept of Draft seriously – and I assure you I was caused to take it very seriously – I’ve favored drafting a businessman and hauling him, kicking and screaming if need be, into the West Wing, strapping ankle brscelets on him and forcing him to run the government. We could pay him from National Budget surplus. If there were surpluses three years running he’d be eligible for early release, but not guaranteed it, unless he could prove some benefit to the people – say, tasty school lunches nation-wide – resulted from his administation.

Being President is hard work. Look at the before&after pictures. You remember what young Barak looked like? And now? They go into office with colored hair. By the time they come out, it’s all white. Now, that’s one problem The Donald will not have to face. He’ll simply have to send out for a new wig.

The government is, theoretically, divided into three parts. Legislative, judicial, and administrative branches all serving as checks on each other. The President is the administrator, not of The People, but of the Government. In Trump’s case, that makes him the Top Landlord of all the Government office buildings.

He will be the one ultimately responsible for the proper functioning of the plumbing in all the lavatories in all the US Government-administered facilities in the world. First among these are in the Congressional cloakrooms. And as the landlord, he will be esponisble fo the janitorial services as well. These tiles are smeared not only with biological emissions but also psychic effluvia that cannot be erased with chemicals and scrubbing. The difference between Trump the Landlord and Trump the President comes here.

It is the President’s task first to grease the mechanisms of government with the alick primordial slime with spraygun and mink-fur brush, and then to recite the arcane spells and perform the profane rituals that cleanse these same political cogwheels so they can go home to their spouses and kiddies and not scar them when they embraced.

He wasn’t running to be elected Louis XIV, you know. It isn’t always good to be President. He’s got to deal with a lot of assholes. The Republican Party isn’t exactly a party.

You remember the last big party you went to? Where somebody rented a hall, booked a caterer and a band, had some mc yelling things through a PA system? And your Aunt Gussie made a spectacular fool out of you and, worse, your Dad? Well, the Republican Party is made up mostly of Aunt Gussies, and Uncle Melvins, too, the guy who enables her bad behavior with the catchphrase, “What’re you gonna do?”

Well, that’s a very interesting question. You know the saying, “Beauty s only skin deep, but ugly goes all the way to the bone?” My Aunt Maddie was the ugliest woman God ever made, if He made anyone. Her husband, Uncle Melvin, was alternately the sweetest guy you’d ever want to meet. You’d expect Uncle Melvin, living with this psychic vermin, would either die young or end up looking like Dorian Gray’s picture.

Not so. I don’t know what he said or did to her in private, but Aunt Maddie’s face while she was alive continued to corrupt, what with warts and convulsions, until she looked like the business end of a ’56 Buick. Uncle Melvin’s oountenance, unblemished, shone on all with the smile of the benificient.

She died ten years before he did. He then moved to Orlando. Whenever I ran into him there, he smiled on me and strolled on, accompanied by two women at least forty years his junior.

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