Panicking a calm nation
Please. If the federal government shutdown is still in effect as you read this, then, please, somebody—close down the national parks. All of them. Lock them up, and put up barricades. Do whatever is necessary, but, please, keep people out. This insane damage and abuse that’s taking place because there are no rangers and supervision is unbearable. Americans are acting like cretinous pre-schoolers. Why are these places even open? Trevor Noah nailed it last week while showing pics of trashed National Park bathrooms—“Who’s the shithole country now?
Please. When new Congresswoman Rashida Tlaib said what she famously said last week, just fess up—she didn’t say anything you hadn’t said yourself 17 times that week. Hell, 17 times that morning.
So Agent Orange went on TV this past Tuesday and lied his ass off. Great. Wonderful. Who cares? Fuck him. He’s making shit up. Daily. He’s making shit up so he can have a “crisis” that will be immediately tossed by the courts. He’s making shit up so that he can momentarily forget about Mueller. He’s making shit up so that Ann and Rush will think he actually has a pair of actual testicles. It’s beyond pathetic, truly. I hope we saw at least a few networks roll with live fact checking while The Mad Idiot burped up his rank, toxic swill. As none other than Bette Midler tweeted—“Networks should air Trump’s ‘speech’ ONLY if they have the technology for an instant bullshit-to-English translation.”
Another good tweet, from Republican journalist Bill Kristol—“There is no security crisis at the border. There’s a security crisis in the White House.” And one more, from Republican strategist and Never Trumper Stuart Stevens—“There are numerous examples of presidential addresses made to calm a frightened public. This will be the first to frighten a calm public.”
Please. Will one Republican senator take his thumb out of his ass and tell Dum Dum to go piss up a rope?
Call me an insane, pie-eyed optimist if you will, and I might well be, but, goddammit, I really do think the pressure is building and building and building, and it could well mean that sometime in the next month or two, a Retrumplican senator or maybe even two (imagine!) will experience some kind of magical collection of calcium growing in a somewhat vertical and cylindrical shape in his dorsal region and that this strange physiological phenomenon will mark the beginning of a genuine reluctance to continually suckle Trump’s hideous mottled ass. And when that dam breaks…