Just Say It–Trump Appears to Have Dementia


For heaven’s sake–and our own–just face it. Trump appears to have
dementia.

It’s not going to get better. He needs to be evaluated and given medication
which can slow down the process.  And he needs to be removed from office
because he is just not mentally competent.

He may be competent for discrete periods of time, and in disconnected
specific incidences. But his failure of logic, his erratic behavior, furious
temper tantrums, paranoia, linguistic incomprehensibility and inability to just sit down and get to work are indicators of profound dysfunction. Not exactly what you want in a guy with the nuclear button at his disposal.

The executive branch of a country of nearly 350 million people or so isn’t
going to run itself.  We need a fully competent chief executive who is willing and able to work capably and diligently at being the head of a massive bureaucracy with complex functions and responsibilities throughout the world.

That’s not Donald Trump.

Republicans need to face harsh reality and forget about political advantage
for the moment.  Insist that his family have him evaluated by a competent,
independent medical professional who specializes in age-related mental
disorders.  If, as it appears, he has dementia, then he’s got to go.  Period.

Do it before he does something awful and irrevocable.

Trump, Hillary, Time Warps and the Apocalypse


Since I’ve set my security settings all over the place to pretty much block
the world, I can’t answer comments about my blog posts. So I’ll respond to
one here.

Re: the blog about Shakespeare stealing a march on Nostradamus and the
Donald; that post should not be interpreted as supportive of Hillary. WRT
Hillary and the Donald, to continue with my shallow Shakespeare-themed
analysis–a pox on both their houses.

Aside from being an inveterate whiner (she’s always got an excuse) Hillary
seems to me to be demonstrably dishonest.  As far back as Whitewater her
public conduct was dishonest.  Remember how, during the Whitewater
investigation, her billing records from the Rose law firm were being sought?
I think there may even have been a subpoena issued for the records. But no,
she just couldn’t find them. Que lastima!

Until, that is, they were later found in plain sight in her Book Room in the White
House. Yeah, they magically reappeared. So amazing.  Obviously they
entered a time warp/vortex and were spun out again into the Book Room
after the danger to her was past.

She also has an indefensible record of taking credit for others’ work and/or
achievements. To my thinking the most heinous of these incidents was the
way she and her tawdry supporters took credit for passing what is now
known as the Children’s Health Insurance Program (CHIP, originally
SCHIP).  She had no official position with the government at the time.  It
was Orrin Hatch and Ted Kennedy who sponsored the bill and their staff members who wrote it.

But take a look at the Wikipedia entry for CHIP or any other article about
the origination of the program and you’ll find Hillary Clinton’s name.
Most, if not all, specifically mention Hillary Clinton supporting the bill,
some claim she got it passed.  Yeah, along with a gazillion other
supporters–none of whom claimed credit for the creation of the program. It’s
despicable!

And she ran a pathetically inadequate campaign for president in 2016. Her
grand vision was “it’s my turn” and “I don’t have a penis” (or more politely
put, a “Y” chromosome).

Trump has all these characteristics in spades, so there was no advantage to
either Hillary or the Donald there.  Well, except that he does have a penis–but given his massive insecurity about his masculinity (and tiny hands) ya gotta wonder just how big the presidential member actually is.

I remember when Trump refused to pay an elderly man who sold him chandeliers for Mar-a-Lago.  Other stories of his chiseling on debts abound. He calls it deal making, normal people call it many other things, none of which are laudatory.

But he supposedly had two things going for him in the election. He was
allegedly high energy, and a good businessman.

But if one looks at his lack of productivity, and what he actually does, both these
putative attributes remain unproven as far as I can tell.  He seems to spend a
huge part of what should be his White House workday watching TV and tweeting.  His travel all seems to be related to golfing, which promotes his own properties and enriches him.  This doesn’t seem much different in spirit, if not strict definitions, from some slacker teenager who spends all his/her time playing video games on the internet while sponging off mom and dad and living
in their basement.

Trump hasn’t accomplished a thing, unless you count getting a funding bill
passed, which would keep the federal government running until the end of
the fiscal year.  And even that was done by congress–and only to keep its own
salaries funded and their constituents off their sorry asses.

But now we are finding out that Trump seems more like a wholly owned
subsidiary of Vladimir Putin. That’s not funny or even dismissable as “oh
that’s just Trump”.  We used to joke about the right wing’s silly conspiracy
theories about the “commies” or “Ruskies”.   Now, with thugs like Russian
Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov and Russian ambassador Sergey Kislyak
yukking it up and laughing at Trump’s buffoonery right in the Oval Office,
it doesn’t seem so funny, or implausible.

And Trump’s man-crush on Vladimir Putin is widely reported and his own
words typically praise the murderous former KGB head and vicious dictator.

Meanwhile, Trump thinks North Korean leader Kim Jung Un is a great guy,
a “smart cookie” and praises him while that fat asshole is busy trying to put together a nuclear bomb and an intercontinental missile capable of dropping it on our country.   That’s not so funny either.  Especially given Trump’s fragmented thinking and total lack of impulse control.  But, for the moment, Trump’s too busy tweeting and watching TV to attend to such trivialities.

Can you just see him getting pissed off that Kim’s getting more attention
than he is and then dropping a nuclear bomb on North Korea in a mega
version of “mine’s bigger than yours”?

Even worse, Trump appears to have dementia. His fragmented thinking,
inability to remember what he said only minutes, hours or days earlier, his
wild mood swings, his garbled linguistic output…all seem part of an array of
symptoms and behaviors indicative of dementia.  But no one dares to say so,
certainly not the tame pussies in the media.

Events subsequent to the election, including the outrageous firing of James
Comey to stymie a criminal investigation into Trump’s possible collusion
with the Russians, seems to bode ill for our country.  It won’t be Trump or
his family who’ll suffer, it’ll be our military, our citizens and our country.

Given Trump’s demonstrable history of trying to distract people, especially
the media, from his misdeeds, he doesn’t auger well for the benefit of “we the rabble”.  To what lengths might he go to distract everyone if that investigation closes in on him?  Well, does anyone think he’d balk at pushing the nuclear button to distract from his own misdeeds?

Where is that “button” he might push anyway?  One can only hope that Gen. Mattis has it stashed somewhere in his mobile library of thousands of books. (General, please don’t leave a trail of bread crumbs–we don’t want the Donald to find that button.)

No matter what happens, that slacker Trump will skate.  I think he’s passed
the stage of being a laughable buffoon.  Now he’s dangerous to every one of us.

My current choice for 2020? Angus King.

Shakespeare, not Nostradamus Predicted Trump


How did the History Channel staffers miss this one? They’ve zeroed in on
extraterrestrials, and uncovered Nostradamus’ hidden codes and the bible’s.
(I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before they realize that it was
extraterrestrials who gave the Vikings the stuff & info they needed to
conquer most of the known world.)

But they totally failed us re: Shakespeare’s hidden prediction about Trump
in, of all places, Macbeth. I weeded out the chaff and came up with ol’
Will’s hidden message to us from the late 16th century (or possibly the early
17th).

…but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more….an idiot, full of sound and fury
signifying nothing.

C’mon, ya know that’s Trump to a “T”. You’re welcome Mr. Shakespeare.
Glad to give credit where credit’s due. You were spot on buddy.
Unfotunately.

 

Carpe Diem Young Journalists–Now Is Your Chance for Glory


I’ve been fretting for some time about how few opportunities there are for young journalists and journalism students to sink their chops into something really meaty and write about something meaningful.  In the first place they exist in a journalistic environment which is more froth than beer.   And, of course, if they are active journalists with a media outlet, they only get to work on what they are assigned rather than what they may want to pursue.  Puff pieces are the name of the game in the establishment media.

But recent events and the corrosive corruption which are exploding in our society’s public life present a rare opportunity for young millenial investigative journalists.  I’m hoping they’ll smell blood and pounce on the stories with the ferocity and energy which only the young have in abundance.  Their complacent elders are tiptoeing around and walking on eggs like fearful weenies, hamstrung by their bunker mentality.  Those old media whores are too chicken to do this.

Come on brave millenial journalists!  Young people are always supposed to long for glory and a chance to show what they’re made of.  Here’s your big chance.  I know you can sniff out the green, rotting meat of dangerous conditions and unworthy politicians undermining our democracy.  You know how to dig into real in-depth research.  You have the internet, where Woodward and Bernstein were limited to actual on-the-ground sleuthing.

This is some really ugly s— coming down in our governance.  Expose it.  Please. There are a ton of us out here who will be pulling for you, and cheering you on.

Go to it.  Because your flaccid, sedentary,  scaredy cat elders aren’t likely to do it.  They have kids and mortgages.  They play it safe.   You don’t have to.  Bare your fangs.  Un- sheath your claws.  Lay back your ears and raise your hackles. Dig, dig, dig until your paws are bleeding and your claws are broken and worn.

Here’s you chance for lasting journalistic glory.  You can do it!  I have the greatest confidence in your ability to rise to the occasion. (And the greatest scorn for your sissy journalist elders.)   Hup, hup get off your asses and jump into the fray for the truth.

We’re starving out here–for courage,  honesty, substance and real facts, instead of opinions.  Sink your fangs in, grab the truth by the throat and shake it until it stops shape-shifting.  Then drag it back to the cave, carve it up and serve it to a grateful nation.

Tillerson on TV Being Led on Leash by Russian Foreign Minister


So I saw the Russian Foreign Minister on TV with a Putin poodle, AKA
Secretary of State, Rex Tillerson. The Russian thug, Sergey Lavrov,
sneered at the media and copped an attitude then led Tillerson away on his
leash. I guess Tillerson hasn’t been completely trained yet because he was
at heel on the wrong side of Lavrov. Dogs at heel are supposed to walk quietly on
their lead slightly behind the left leg, not the right.

It’s okay Rex, you’ll get fully trained soon enough. Do ya miss your balls?

What an insult to the American people to have the surrogate for Trump’s
Russian master, Putin, treat our media like that in our own country.  I guess
the Russians don’t even need to pretend to be our equals anymore.  (Actually they have never been so in reality, only in their own estimation.)

I wish they’d go ahead and release the pics of Russian hookers peeing on
Trump (ick, no, double ick!) and get it over with.

Remember the book “Advise and Consent” (by Allen Drury) which had the
then-unthinkable premise that Russian agents had infiltrated the highest
levels of American politics and government?  I guess Vladimir Putin read it too.

Can you say “President Pence”? C’mon Congress, get on with the
impeachment. It’s not as if you’re busy doing anything except being on
vacation and dodging pissed off constituents.

BTW, where does the Tea Party stand on having our president bowing and
scraping to a damn brutal dictator, formerly head of the KGB?  What’s that
sound I hear? Why it’s scumbag Joseph McCarthy spinning in his grave.  (Which is actually a good thing.)

Remember that old book “None Dare Call It Treason” by some ultra right winger John Stormer?  It seemed ludicrous  back in the day.  Now, not so much.  People are starting to call Trump’s subservience to Putin treason.  For a reason.

Trump’s Putin Phone Call–Best Phone Sex Ever?


It’s pretty clear Trump has some sort of man crush on Putin. (Was it the
topless pic on horseback where Putin flashed his man-boobs that started it
all?)  Trump’s like a giddy schoolgirl the way he keeps finding excuses to talk
about the object of his fascination.  Tough luck Michael Flynn, Putin’s goin’ to the prom with the Donald, not you.

So, anyway, when Trump finally got to talk to the Russian dictator what I wonder is–was it good for ya Donald?  (Please, no icky details, a simple yes or no will be sufficient.)  Was it like everything else is with you–the bestest, most wonderfulest, super duper ever?   Was it the best phone sex ever?

But, just to remind us all why Trump won, Hillary popped up again only a few days ago, beating that same old, “everybody’s pickin’ on me” drum she loves to pound.  She was still whining in that bandsaw voice.  Wah, wah, wah. It was misogyny, it was Comey, it was…fill in the blank.  Here’s a tip–most people don’t want excuses, they want results.  When you always need an excuse, there is no excuse.  You’re a loser plain and simple.

Here’s what it really was.  You and your ninny staff were true to that old stereotype about women being lame at math.  Y’all couldn’t do simple arithmetic.  Just as in 2008, you couldn’t add up the number of electoral college votes you needed and work to secure them.

Ya didn’t even go to Michigan!  You just expected that your compelling story–“it’s my turn and I don’t have a penis”–would automatically win the female vote.  Apparently Madeline Albright’s tone-deaf remark that there should be a special place in hell reserved for women who don’t help other women put the exclamation mark on your sexist expectations.  Thinking that Trump should be discriminated against because he does have a penis maybe wasn’t the best rationale on which to hang your power-hungry hopes.  Gender discrimination cuts both ways.

And you foolishly assumed black people would automatically vote for you because they supported Obama so overwhelmingly.  Did ya think they’d forget the racist stuff you & Bill slathered onto the national conversation in the 2008 election?  Here’s another tip–black women aren’t necessarily all that fond of white women.

Jeez, lady, because of your unprofessional staff, classified information showed up on serial dick-pic flasher Anthony Wiener’s computer.  No problem there, eh?  And he was supposedly flashing underage girls.  Yeah, because of you classified information wound up on the same unsecured computer used to distribute porn to children.  Do you see any potential security problems with that?  No rush, give it some thought while you’re channeling Gollum and muttering about how your “precious” was stolen from you because of that mean Mr. Comey and misogynistic men.

Sure, we appear to have wound up with a commie cabal that’s wired in at the White House.  But Trump’s just another disappointing old fart white guy being faithless with the electorate.  Nothing new there.  If it had been Hillary, the fallout when she failed–as she has so often, despite her clueless cheering squad–would have been “See what happens when ya let a woman have power”.  She would have poisoned the well for all women for years to come.  Hillary’s an out of touch loser who can’t take responsibility for her own behavior.

With Trump all we have to worry about is the commies who hate us and would love to harm our country.  And, of course, his mystifying and kinky masochistic crush on a vicious dictator who never stops trying to harm the U.S.

Of course I could be wrong–I am, after all, a post-modern dinosaur– but I still think it’s Putin’s man boobs that have the Donald all a-twitter with commie praise.

 

 

 

 

Grampa–One of the Last “Old Florida” Rum Runners


Grampa was wealthy and old school.  School of hard knocks, that is.  He
(and my Dad and uncle) were bootleggers in Michigan during prohibition.
Grampa used to design, build and race speedboats on the Detroit River back
in the ‘20’s and ‘30’s, presumably as an adjunct to the family liquor transporting
franchise.  After prohibition he got into rum running in Florida.  I found that
out many decades later, from a local chiropractor who told me his first job in high school was putting fake tax stamps on Grampa’s un-taxed liquor.

He used to take me surf fishing with him.  He was a lot of fun to be around.  People were scared of him though.  I never knew why but it was obvious.

When Grampa got too old for such frisky pursuits he diversified into
medical fraud.  His company sold a device invented by his aunt’s husband.
It had absolutely no medical value, but it was shiny and looked like it might.
Grampa and his aunt’s family also sold (by mail) a patented salve which was advertised to possess great healing properties.  Numerous charges of mail fraud were sprinkled throughout that aunt’s family resume.  My older brother told me they used to mix the salve up with a trowel on the table where they cleaned fish at Grampa’s local bait and tackle store.

The store was on the inland waterway, a stone’s throw from an inlet.
Presumably the location was chosen for that proximity–so useful for
bringing in contraband with only a short window of opportunity for law
enforcement to apprehend someone driving a fast boat.

Later on Grampa built a house on an island north of Palm Beach, near a more secluded inlet, on land he bought that fronted on both forks of the St. Lucie River.  This was probably even better for smuggling since he had more options for fast runs from the ocean up the river in a very sparsely populated (back in the day) area.

Grampa used go on business trips to Montreal.  It must have been to buy shipments of liquor and have it sent down to uninhabited cays and islands in the Bahamas.  Because, as far as I know, his bait and tackle store didn’t require anything from Montreal.  Then from the Bahamas Grampa, Dad and my uncle would bring it into Florida in fast boats on moonless nights.

That was until my Dad met and married my Mom, who was a strict Catholic
and had no tolerance for his family.  She expected Dad to work at real jobs.
He was madly in love with her and gave up his wild ways in favor of true
domestic bliss.

When I was young and read about the death of Franklin Roosevelt I
mentioned to Mom that just about everybody in the world was sad when he
died.  She replied–with the bemused, exasperated look that was reserved for
any mention of Grampa–“Not your grandfather. He got drunk to celebrate
and danced in the streets.”  Apparently Grampa detested Roosevelt for
rolling back prohibition and ruining the very profitable family business.

Since I was a little kid when I knew him it never occurred to me to wonder how
Grampa came to have so much money when his small bait and tackle store
couldn’t possibly have generated that level of income.  He did spend a lot of
time at the stock exchange in Palm Beach though and that was ostensibly
the source of his wealth.  Actually, looking back on it, that was probably
where he laundered his illegal profits.

I only learned about Grampa’s past when I was grown up and living in the
Caribbean.  One time I was visiting a friend and her guest happened to be
another Palm Beach County native.  We were talking about growing up
there.  All of a sudden she said “Wait a minute–you’re not related to old
man ____ and his two wild sons are you?”  (I write under a pen name
because my well off and very respectable extended family would not want
to be associated with our family history, or with a lot of the things I think
and say.)  And I said, yeah.  And she said “Your family is legendary in Palm
Beach County.”  Surprised I asked “For what?”.  And she said “smuggling”.
When I mentioned this to my Mom she said laconically, “I knew there had
to be a reason that old goat always carried a gun.”

It all made a lot of sense.  I remember Dad saying once, at the dinner table,
that the only time he’d ever been arrested was in high school–for
bootlegging.  Then he smiled at the memory and mentioned that he’d gotten
off because the judge was one of his customers.  My tiny Mom, without moving
a muscle or changing expression, shot him the freezing look women use
when they’re about to lower the boom.  Dad, who was a big and very manly guy, afraid of nothing, shut up and never mentioned it again.  His family was not an allowable topic for discussion in our home.

So, anyway, this woman who’d made the remark about smuggling asked me;
“Weren’t you always just wild and didn’t quite know why?  Didn’t you do
stuff that was considered way, way too outrageous for a girl?”

As it happens, I was always in trouble back in the day when girls were supposed to be submissive, quiet, and conduct themselves “like a lady”.   I learned to drive when I was 12, after an exasperated governess let me drive her car just to get me to behave.   By age 16 I sought to “tach it out” whenever  possible.  (The first time I got to drive alone, within an hour I was flying along at 95 mph on A1A, after promising Mom I’d be careful.  I was careful–by Grampa’s standards.)

When he was in his seventies, Grampa got arrested in Palm Beach for being
drunk and running red lights at excessive speeds. The officer who stopped
him happened to have a Slavic last name.  Grampa didn’t like that one little bit.  He detested “Polacks” (and lots of other groups too, including Catholics).  So he told the officer that he should “Go back where you came from you goddam foreigner.”  Which is how he came to be arrested in the middle of the night and my Dad had to go and bail him out of jail.  My nonplused Mom just said her rosary and kept quiet.

When it came time for Grampa to go to court on the charges, he was, as
usual, driving about 85 mph on A1A.  He wrapped his car around a tree.
The engine wound up in the back seat, but Grampa survived.  When he was
finally able to return home, although he was still bedridden, my Grandma refused to let him have a private nurse because she thought he’d be fooling around with her.  (And she was probably right.)

He built his own runabout speedboat in his garage not too long before that, and used to take us grandkids on wild, screaming, full open throttle (with twin Mercs)  rides up the treacherously shallow St. Lucie in it.   Totally dangerous.  And soooo fun!  Well, it was anyway, until Mom found out and put a stop to it that is.

My Mom once said to me that if I didn’t learn to control my temper I was
going to wind up “just like your grandfather”.   Yep, fast boats, fast cars, plenty of money, runnin’ red lights, speeding through Palm Beach at 80+ mph and smarting off to an authority figure.  I’m still wondering if that’s a good or bad thing.

Grampa was a real life tough guy, not like on TV.  One of the last “Old Florida” rum runners.  He was wealthy, successful and did exactly as he pleased, when he pleased.  Doesn’t sound so bad to me.

That’s the “Old Florida” I knew.