So–Who Else Could Trump Assassinate Besides Comey? Duck Mr. Sessions!


If, as Court Jester Rudy Giuliani claims, president Trump could shoot James Comey and not be indicted, who else might be eligible for our twitchy president to prosecute with a bullet?

Jeff Sessions, you’d better borrow a couple of EPA chief Scott Pruitt’s supernumerary bodyguards.  Because, not to be rude but,  I think you’re at the top of the Trump “I could shoot him and not get indicted” list. The guy’s the loosest cannon ever in the White House so maybe you shouldn’t press your luck with him.

You might want to skip those cabinet meetings  Mr. Sessions.

And, BTW, never sit with your back to a window or a door. Your boss has a bit of a problem with impulse control.  And he’s buddies with some ruthless dictators.

Just sayin’.

Advertisements

Free Range Kids? Hell, We Were Feral Children!


So, I came across an article in the Federalist Papers written by a gentleman named Steven Straub
(https://thefederalistpapers.org/us/21-things-kids-used-to-do-that-liberals-ha
ve-ruined)   It’s about what weenies kids today have become and lists stuff
that they’re not allowed to do anymore.  I was shocked at the innocuous stuff that is considered “dangerous” today.

I hate to tell Mr. Straub, but this proud native Floridian can say the things he
listed would have been considered uber weenie stuff in my (mostly liberal)
family.

For background, my Grampa and Dad were bootleggers back in the day.
Dad had been an all-state end playing football in high school. Grampa
designed and raced speedboats and he and Dad smuggled liquor from
Canada. (Presumably that was why Grampa designed and raced
speedboats.) So they knew not of weenie-ism.

After prohibition they got into rum running but Dad (an atheist) fell in love
with Mom (a strict Catholic, sweet as pie, who had never been exposed to
such a wild guy in her life).  Dad was tough as nails.  Jeez he was tall, a
great jock, and had hands as big as catcher’s mitts.  Mom was a tiny little
thing who never raised her voice and was kind to everyone.

So, anyway, if Mr. Straub doesn’t mind (I hope he does not, I fully attribute
his work herein) here’s what it was like being a native Floridian back in the
day, compared to what he thinks is not being a weenie.

BTW, this wasn’t mentioned as one of his items, but, we had this indoor
game for after we had to come inside for the night.  It was called Rocky
Socky Football.  My little brother and I were the footballs and my older
brother was the football team.  We had this 40 ft long living room. We
would start in the middle and my older brother would try to knock us across
the room (not in one hit, mercifully) into the east wall.  No, he didn’t pick
us up and carry us, he would get down in a football stance, and charge low
and fast and hit us–like a lineman’s hit–knocking us backward if he could.  (We little kids didn’t know it wasn’t normal to be used as the football.)  My little brother (aged two – four) and I (aged six – eight) would doubleteam him and try to overrun him and get to the west end of the room.He was seven years older than I and 11 years older than our little brother, so it was a mismatch.

Before he went away to university we moved to a new house, which ended the game forever,  because the new house didn’t have a 40 ft living room.  But it was fun while it lasted.

My parents would  sit quietly after dinner, having a cocktail and cigarette, and watch the mayhem as we got knocked around, shrieking and screaming because the game was so fun. My mother was alarmed but Dad didn’t see anything odd about such rough horseplay.

Back to Mr. Straub’s list; here are his items, and how they compare to our
experiences.

“Riding in the back of an open pick-up truck with a bunch of other kids”
Yeah, we used to do that. We rode in the back of Grampa’s pickup
truck. He’d been a bootlegger and drove like one. When he was in his late seventies he hit a tree, going 85 mph on his way to court for a hearing after he’d been arrested for being drunk and running red lights in Palm Beach.  So, riding in
the back of Grampa’s pickup was fun.

“Leaving the house after breakfast and not returning until the
streetlights came on, at which point, you raced home, ASAP so you didn’t
get in trouble”
Yeah, we did that too. In the summer we hopped on our bikes after
breakfast and roamed from the inlet in Palm Beach to the Burnt Bridge on
Singer Island and everywhere in between.

“Eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the school cafeteria”
Sorry, I was a purist. Jelly just detracted from the peanut butter. I
scraped it off.

“Drinking water from the hose in the yard”
Yeah, and we didn’t hold it to the side and just drink from the stream
of water, either. We’d put the filthy end of the hose right in our mouths and
redirect the water back out, spitting it at each other.

“Swimming in creeks, rivers, ponds, and lakes (or what they now call
*cough* “wild swimming“)”
Oh, come on! Of course we did. When I was in fourth grade Mom
would let my sister and I go alone to the Singer Island causeway (which had
no lifeguard) to swim.  And we took the bus, alone, to get to Singer Island to go
to the ocean because the beach there was a lot better than the pitiful Palm
Beach Mid-town beach. There was no roped off section to protect us from
boats either.

“Climbing trees (One park cut the lower branches from a tree on the
playground in case some stalwart child dared to climb them)”
Are you kidding me? We just about lived in trees.  One of our favorite games was “see who can jump from the highest branch to the ground”. And “see who can jump the farthest out from the highest branch” was another. My older brother nailed some pieces of 1” x 8” board, each about a foot long, to a big slash pine so we could climb up it without getting sap all over us. Of course with all the
kids scrambling up and down this makeshift “ladder” the nails would pull
out at unpredictable moments so you always had to be ready to make a four
point landing to distribute the impact when you’d hit the ground. We never
got hurt.

“Having snowball fights (and accidentally hitting someone you
shouldn’t)”
Uh, what’s a snowball fight? I’m a Floridian who also lived in the
Caribbean.  But we’d make little projectiles out of rotting kumquats, stick a stripped palm frond center in one end and sling them. My big brother made a blowgun out of metal pipe and used to blow real darts (which we were supposed to dodge) at us.  It worked so well that the darts would embed in the concrete wall of the living room. We only played this game inside. There were a lot of little pinholes (okay, a bit bigger) in the wall, which our parents repainted again and again.

“Sledding without enough protective equipment to play a game in the
NFL”
Uh, what’s sledding? We knew not of such things. We did play
tackle football without pads or helmets though. And touch football in the
street was a favorite too.  The “touches” were hard enough to knock us little
ones down.  We thought that was how football was supposed to be played.
Rough.

“Carrying a pocket knife to school (or having a fishing tackle box with
sharp things on school property)”
Man, I got into the habit of carrying a knife at all times when I was
still in elementary school. Mom knew I had knives but she didn’t realize I
always had one with me.

“Camping”
My parents refused to take us camping. They liked hot water, beds and a
roof overhead.

“Throwing rocks at snakes in the river”
There was no river, only salt water (Lake Worth and the Ocean) and snakes
don’t go there. Why would ya throw rocks at a snake anyway?

“Playing politically incorrect games like Cowboys and Indians”
There was no such thing as “political correctness” then. We played cowboys and Indians all the time.  My sister and I were “Big Indian” and “Little Indian”.
When we played cowboys I was either Gene Autrey or Roy Rogers.

“Playing Cops and Robbers with *gasp* toy guns”
I had a great collection of toy guns (cap guns–pistols, with holsters that had real bullet holders). Sadly I must say that Mom would not let us have real guns.

“Pretending to shoot each other with sticks we imagined were guns”
Why would we do that? We had real fake guns. We were gunslingers when
we weren’t being Indians. Of course we pretended to shoot each other.
What the hell do ya s’pose the guns were for?   My older brother had a toy
bazooka which shot relatively hard balls and we used to shoot those at each
other too.  You were supposed to dodge them.

“Shooting an actual gun or a bow (with *gasp* sharp arrows) at a can
on a log, accompanied by our parents”
When I was in fourth grade I bought a real hunting bow and real
arrows and my little brother and I used to shoot them all the time. We
didn’t shoot them at a can on a log. No, we would shoot at various stuff
while on the run, “like an Indian”.  Sometimes we tried doing it on our bikes
but the bow was too cumbersome. We didn’t shoot at each other though.
And we were never accompanied by our parents when we did this.

“Saying the words “gun” or “bang” or “pow pow” (there is actually a
freakin’CODE about “playing with invisible guns”)
I hate to tell ya but saying “gun” or “bang” would be sissy stuff.  We were all
about heavy firepower–pow, pow, pow, pow, pow–yelled very quickly and
loudly.  For the bazooka rounds we would make the sound of an explosion.

“Working for your pocket money well before your teen years”
Are you kidding? Mom had my sister and I doing dishes and household
chores before we even got to kindergarten, to earn our allowance. My big
brother had to mow the lawn for his money–with one of the old-fashioned
push mowers.  In a large family everyone was expected pull their weight.

“Eating pop rocks candy and drinking soda, just to prove we were
exempt from that urban legend that said our stomachs would explode.”
Please. That wasn’t even on our radar screen. We never felt we had to
prove anything except on the field of combat, i.e. when we were playing.
We played war all the time. One time our parents went out and we took all
the living room furniture and made two forts, one at each end of the long room,
and had a big war with our home-made zip guns. They only shot rubber
bands though, not projectiles.

“Writing lines for being a jerk at school, either on the board or on
paper.”
Well, duuuh. Yeah. We went to Catholic school. Everybody got
punished for something, and deportment was never my highest grade.

“Playing ‘dangerous’ games like dodgeball, kickball, tag, whiffle ball,
and red rover (The Health Department of New York issued a warning about
the ‘significant risk of injury’ from these games)”
Oh, brother! Danger was the whole point of playing!  Of course we
played those games but we didn’t consider them dangerous. We did far, far
more dangerous things than any of those.  Jeez, even swings were dangerous
the way we played with them. We’d get going as high as we could and leap
out. The point was to see who could leap from the highest point and/or who
could leap the furthest out. There was one park that had very long swing
chains and a high bar, and you could really generate some power with a
good, strong pusher.  You could get, like, ten feet in the air and then bail out.
And just one person swinging wasn’t enough for us. Whoever was in the
swing would pump as hard as they could, and someone would be behind and
push as hard as they could. I can still remember how it felt to push one of
those swings because it would be generating so much torque that it would
lift me off my feet.  Just as I’d hit the ground I’d put my full weight, plus the
strength of my arms and legs into the push. Man we’d be flying higher than
the crossbar and would just sail out. (My big brother was into aeronautics
and dynamics, so propulsion was a big part of many games in our family.)

“Walking to school alone”
Starting in first grade. Mom even made me walk to school when I
was having bad asthma attacks. (That’s when I learned to hitch-hike.)  No
sissies were allowed in our family. Well, not until the last child anyway.
She was coddled and never played sports or any rough games. She just
watched.

My parents would probably be arrested for child neglect today, for letting us
roam around unsupervised and engage in such dangerous pursuits. I’m glad
they did let us run wild. As a result I’ve had an adventurous life. Jeez, the
first time I went to Europe it wasn’t to go look at artwork and fall in love in
Paris or anything like that. Nope, I went to go and drive in the fast lane on
the Autobahn. Sooooo fun!  I’ve never thought twice about just flying into
some country and taking off driving–alone–just to roam around for a month
or two, with no itinerary and no reservations, just to see what was out there.

Thanks Mom and Dad for letting us kids be feral children–just as wild as
our inclinations led us to be. We grew up to be fearless adults. And most of
us are at least quasi-liberals. So much for your generalization about liberals Mr. Straub.

GOP Thoughts and Prayers? Yada Yada; GOP Heartfelt Plea? NRA, More Cash Please


After the Parkland mass murders, and now after the Santa Fe school shootings, GOP politicians trotted out the same old insincere BS as always. They pretend to be shocked, shocked at the mayhem.  After Parkland, at first the useless Floriduh legislature refused even to take up any bill related to gun violence.  They did have time, however, to pass a resolution that mandates that all public schools and other public buildings must have the phrase”In God We Trust publicly posted.

Well, in a sense they’re right–God may take care of us but the GOP surely won’t.  They’re way too busy counting cash from the NRA.

Paul Ryan wasted no time in saying that  “This is not the time” to talk about restricting second amendment “rights”.   Because, whipped pup that he is,  he’s not gonna go against his wealthy owners.   It’s obvious that Ryan’s more concerned about keeping GOP cash flow than protecting citizens.  Yeah, he’s a real profile in courage!  Don’t let the door hit ya in the butt on the way out of the House of Representatives, Ryan.

It’s not just him.  The whole GOP and its Lilliputian  candidates and elected officials will always have their grubby paws out to the National Rifle Association, (NRA)–which gives them hundreds of millions of dollars–and anyone else who’ll give them cash.

As the old song goes; “Money.  Money, money, money, money.”   The GOP should just be straight up about it and adopt that song as the party’s anthem.  Maybe they could change the hypocritical slogan they sanctimoniously spout–“In God We Trust”– to the more pragmatic and accurate “In Cash We Trust”.

Because the GOP couldn’t care less about kids, teachers or USA citizens in general.

What the GOP “leadership,” and GOP beneficiaries of the NRA’s filthy lucre, care about is money and doing the bidding of their donors to keep that liquid cash flowing smoothly into party coffers.

So, please, GOP, spare us your crocodile tears and sanctimonious “concern” for the latest collateral damage from your gutless refusal to take sensible steps to at least expand background checks for potential gun purchasers.  That latest school shooting damage was only a paltry 10 lives and a handful of wounded kids.  Well worth the price, eh?  It’s a veritable pittance, in the GOP grand scheme of things.

GOP, you’re the enablers here.  You commie sympathizers are as unpatriotic as it gets.

Democracy?  You can’t handle democracy.  You people just don’t get it, and you’re never gonna get it.  You’re contemptible.  And predictable.  And on a moral par with the Dems, who are similarly inured to the lives of non-constituents and constituents alike.

What would Jesus say to the GOP?

“Hell is way too good for you people.”

 

Dems’ Thoughts and Prayers? Yada Yada; Dems’ Heartfelt Plea? Help the DACA Foreigners


After the horrific Parkland school massacre, Democrats lost no time before voicing their mendacious concerns.  Expect the same for the latest, Santa Fe, Texas, school shooting.  After giving short shrift, and lip service, to the victims of the latest mass murder, it takes no time for them to get back to their real concerns.

That would be the genuinely unfortunate situation of people whose parents brought them into the country illegally.

All the Dem sympathy is reserved for the “Dreamers” who seem to be that party’s sole concern.  Doesn’t the Bible say something along the lines of charity beginning at home?  (I was raised Catholic, so I’ve never actually read the Bible but a phrase or two crept into conversation over the years.  All we got was the catechism, which was all the questions and answers we kids were allowed to think about.)

Both Democrats and Republicans have at least one thing in common. They don’t give a rat’s ass about American citizens, including native-born ones. We’re just day old bread to both the GOP and Dems.  All we’re good for is providing revenue through taxes and political donations.

Maybe American citizens will remember this the next time there’s an opportunity to vote.

The Dems, having zero power to effectuate legislation either in the Florida legislature or the halls of Congress, are lucky regarding this issue.  They’ve got a perfect excuse for doing nothing about gun violence.  They can just wring their hands and whine about how GOP lawmakers won’t let them bring gun legislation to the floor of their respective hallowed halls of power.  They can pretend to be concerned about the poor murdered children while getting on with their crusade to help the Dreamers.

Meanwhile, Santa Fe was the 16th school shooting this year.  This year!

Whatever happened to that “profiles in courage” stuff anyway?

The Vatican Artifact I’d Most Like to See


At the Battle of Hastings, on October 14, 1066, King Harold II (Godwinsson) of England and William II, Duke of Normandy led opposing armies in the bloody conflict which irretrievably changed the course of European history and put an end to Anglo Saxon rule in England forever.

Now King Harold was a total dick.  His army was already exhausted from just having engaged and killed Harold’s own brother Tostig Godwinsson, Duke of Northumbria a few weeks earlier on September 25, 1066 at the Battle of Stamford Bridge.  Then they had to make a forced march to get to the Hastings battlefields, which was actually at Senlac.  (Busy, busy, busy.)

The Normans, led by the furious Duke William, won, after Harold’s army (all infantry) broke their shield wall formation and chased the Normans, when they appeared to be retreating.   Once the English were scattered the Normans’ mounted knights picked them off,  one by one.  Had they simply stuck to their commander’s plan, the outcome might have been different, but, they lacked discipline.

Now, the battle flags/standards were important accoutrements.  William’s battle standard had been personally consecrated by the pope.

Harold’s battle standard was reportedly a magnificent one, woven–possibly by his own mother, Gytha–with silver and gold thread and encrusted with precious gems.  It was captured during the battle.

After Duke William won the battle, he immediately sent the captured standard of King Harold to the Pope, because it was to God that William attributed his victory.  Or, at least, he gave lip service to that notion.

So I was wondering if that battle standard is stuck away somewhere in the papal archives. Even though the popes didn’t start living in the Vatican per se until the 14th century, there must have been a continuous repository for all the snazzy stuff the popes had collected over the centuries and which eventually came to rest in the Vatican archives.

The Vatican Secret Archives weren’t actually built until the 17th century if I remember correctly. But once created surely everything must have been catalogued and an inventory must surely exist.

So what I would really love to see is a photo of that battle standard, if it still exists.  If I could see only one thing from all the vast treasure of the Vatican, it would surely be that battle standard.

Enquiring mind wants to know.

Trump Would Have Run In and Taken Out the Parkland Shooter? Seriously?


Since we’ve all seen that the best pace our tubby president can muster is a slow waddle, his boast is only partly plausible.  Assuming that he’d been there and actually taken any part in an attempted rescue of the children under attack in Parkland, I think it would have played out something like this.

The most charitable interpretation of what Trump might have done had he been near the massacre is that he’d have charged along on his golf cart, and maybe–maybe–waddled down a hallway or two looking for an elevator rather than taking the stairs, (out of the question).  Then, exhausted, he’d have slumped against a wall wheezing from the effort of walking any farther from his golf cart than his usual distance.  That would normally be between his cart and where his ball lies on a fairway or green.

Of course, he’s never demonstrated a scintilla of courage in all the years he’s been braying on our TV screens, long before the Russians put him up to running for president.  (Coercion or bribery, inquiring minds want to know–but no icky details, please.  Some of us have weak stomachs.)  So it seems improbable that he would have done a damn thing.

But he would have said he did.  In his demented brain the two are seemingly the same.   (What really happened and what he said–after the fact– happened would not, in a million, billion years actually be the same. )

Yeah, I can see him zipping along in his golf cart, hair flying, bald spot showing, rolls of fat jiggling, racing away from any possible danger as quickly as possible.   Just like Fearless Leader of Rocky and Bullwinkle fame, our cartoon of a president would have made us laugh.

Or would have if it weren’t for the gruesome fact that real children were dying, their internal organs and bones being blown apart because no one–NO ONE–except the brave Coral Springs police officers, a few teachers, and the children themselves showed any courage at all during the horrific tragedy.

So zip it Mr president.  At this point we’d all probably be satisfied if you would just stop fooling around, tweeting, bragging, stuffing your face with KFC and Big Macs, and actually put in a day or two of actual work at your job.

But we know that’s not gonna happen.

“Bwana” Donnie Jr. “Likes” Parkland Shooting Denier Hate Tweets


“Bwana” Donnie Jr. Trump, big game hunter and useless lump of protoplasm, is the rotten apple that didn’t fall far from his father’s twisted tree. He’s always had plenty of time on his hands, having nothing better to do than ride the coattails of daddy dearests. A lot of that time has been spent gunning down hapless prey for no better reason than that he likes to kill.  So it’s no wonder that he didn’t see anything wrong with a bunch of kids being gunned down in a Parkland, Florida school.  Wild prey, kids, what’s the diff, right?  It’s all good, as the saying goes.

Now Bwana Donnie doesn’t realize he’s an ambulatory piece of trash. People have always bowed and scraped to him, not because of any inherent quality (relative term) but because people want to curry favor with his creepy daddy. Daddy bragged on tape about the joys of serial sexual assault and how he could get away with it because he’s a star (also a relative term). So you can kind of see where Bwana Donnie got his twisted and unrealistic sense of self and entitlement.

But even for this empty vessel his latest behavior is off the charts awful.

An even dirtier dirtbag, Lucian Wintrich, referring to the Parkland shooting victims and survivors, on the website Gatweway Pundit, tweeted that “[M]any of these other students are being used as marionettes by the far left and deep state because they were able to run out of a building.  There is no credibility there and it’s disgusting to watch.”

Yeah, all they did was run out of a building.  One wonders how Mr. Wintrich would tweet after he had occasion to run for his life from someone with a gun.

That tweet was disgusting enough but the real outrage is that the entitled twit Bwana Donnie “liked” the tweet via a Twitter link.  (Maybe Eric really is the smart one.)  Yes, the hopelessly empty-headed son of the President of the United States actually liked a tweet that called the Parkland massacre survivors people who just ran out of a building.  No kidding.

What would he have to say, or tweet, if it were his kids who had to run for their lives or, even worse, were left lying on the ground bleeding or dead.  I doubt he’d be so flip about that.

The Trump family is, plain and simple, hopelessly low class.  You can dress them up, you can teach them to use the right fork, but they will never be “A list” people.  Yeah, you can dress them up but ya sure can’t take them out in public.  They will embarrass themselves every time.  And they probably don’t even know it.

I believe Bwana Donnie, is even worse than the face-biting cannibal from South Florida.  At least the cannibal had the excuse of being crazy and high on drugs.  But you, Bwana Donnie, you’re just a useless waste of oxygen along with the rest of your godforsaken immediate family.  (Some of the other Trumps, like Donad Sr.’s sister for instance,  are actually productive, decent citizens who refrain from such dreadful behavior.)

What would Jesus say?  “Hell is way too good for you people.”