So much has been written and broadcast about fat, orange-faced, Donny Dum-Dum’s indictment and arraignment, I planned to avoid adding to it. But I just couldn’t help myself. Even as Trump’s attorneys are dropping like flies, caught in a mist of a Raid® fog, leaving No. 45 scrambling to find someone with a law degree, or even someone who watched at least three back episodes of L.A. Law to defend him, his MAGA group will not be deterred from its unwavering support. I think I can safely say none of his MAGA sycophants are card-carrying members of MENSA.
Trump’s message of being America’s savior seems to have resonated with the lowest portion of the human food chain, and even though Donny couldn’t give a rat’s patoot about them or the country, they feel that anything he says is the Almighty’s way of voicing His wishes to Americans through the genius of Trump. Speaking of food, when No.45 was in the Cuban restaurant after his arraignment last week and offered food for everyone there, despite the cheering, clapping, and singing Happy Birthday to him, Donald and his team left without ever buying food for anybody. Not even for a flaccid tortilla.
There have been a lot of memes circulating about the photo of secret and top-secret documents piled high in Trump’s gaudy, over-the-top, ego-boosting, dictator-style, bathroom. Decorated with a pseudo-crystal chandelier, phony marble sink, and elaborately gold-framed mirror, the gag-worthy (a friend I had used to eat chocolate cream pie with two scoops of ice cream on top for breakfast; that kind of gag-worthy) style is complemented by a Walmart-inspired shower curtain held up by a 98-cent expandable rod. Regarding accessibility to the average yahoo of the highly classified documents stored in a Mar-a-Lago bathroom, House speaker, McCarthy said, “At least the door locks.” Yes, from the inside, bun head.
Some intelligent people previously had seen through this need to impress the snot out of the public by Trump. In 2018 (and I ain’t lyin’), the White House requested a van Gogh painting on loan for Donald and Melania’s living quarters. The chief curator at the Guggenheim turned down the request (he probably figured they wouldn’t know the difference between a Van Gogh and a black velvet painting of dogs playing poker) and offered instead the painting of a solid gold working toilet that had come off exhibit. Some White House staff member must have recognized the snark behind the curator’s offer and turned it down because in never showed up in White House photos.
Enough Trump.
Did you happen to see the news that another Russian official, a judge who apparently watched too many episodes of the Superman TV series and thought he could fly, ended up as road kill 12 stories down from his apartment window? When I was a kid, mothers used to complain about children imitating Superman by trying to fly with large pillowcases tied over their shoulders with the rest hanging cape-like off their backs. Funny how this is now becoming popular in Russia after nearly seventy years. And among Russian officials no less.
If I were a Russian official, I would by a bungi cord and have it attached to me whenever I was higher than the basement level in any building. I haven’t read about the death of any high-ranking Russian attempting to fly out a basement window. But hey, with those zany Ruskies there’s always a first time.