When I’m suffering with something-or-other, it really helps to know that I’m not alone. Since November 9, 2016, there’s been a veritable epidemic of misery sweeping the nation. Relax, though. Because your misery now has a name, an actual diagnosis:
Sometimes a metaphor actually plops into your lap. Or your hands. Or into someplace you hope you don’t drop your cell phone.
That happened to me today, when I read an article in the Huffington Post about one of the, ahem, priorities, of the folks setting up Friday’s Inauguration of Donald J. Trump. And really, it is a metaphor for what is to come.
You see, whenever there is a big event here in the DC area, there’s a lot of shit going on. Literally. Lots of people = lots of pee and poop! So port-a-potties line the Mall, surround the Monuments; and ring the Capitol itself. And in the DC area, one company has the scoop on poop.
When I saw that headline, my first thought was, “Of course they are. They’re covering up all kinds of shit.” But this time they’re not covering up the shit, but the name.
Photo Credit: Michael Showalter for the NY Post
Of course folks are covering up Don’s shit. But it’s up to us to pull off the tape and show the world Don’s Johns. That will be our job for the duration of Trump’s presidency — whether that is for 2 weeks or 4 years. To pull off the tape on Don’s Johns. To expose every breach of law, each unethical behavior, all threats to the rule of law.
THAT is how we will survive Trump. Because you can’t paper over the truth for long.
Comedy and life works in threes. Today was no exception.
Or maybe it’s just a weird day.
You see, every morning I check reports on the status of the DC area’s Metro system. I don’t take Metro — it doesn’t go anywhere near where I live. But for some reason, I get notice of Metro problems hours before everyone else. So I pass them on to my friends and colleagues so they know whether or not to drink that coffee.
So I know from my personal observational study that the DC Metro is a mess. My friends are frequently stranded, late to work because of one delay after another. Forced to Uber to the office when the system lets them down.
Next, I learned that President Obama is considering a surprise guy to replace Antonin Scalia on the US Supreme Court — GOP Nevada Governor and gun-control opponent, Brian Sandoval, a “centrist” former federal judge. I am hoping that this was a ploy to force the Senate Obstructionists to stamp their feet and make it clear (OK, more clear) that the GOP is holding their breath until they turn blue.
That background should be red, don’t cha think? Google Image. Or perhaps Smirf
A pouty Smurf. I couldn’t decide which one was more GOP-like. Although I seriously doubt the GOP wears the white hat… Google Image. Because how much time do you think I have for these posts?
I drove home through a nasty storm — and wanted nothing more than to watch last night’s Stephen Colbert show.
Where a fun band played. But I was confused.
First of all, the group’s name is the “Violent Femmes” — and the band members were three men. I was confused — and it wasn’t just that my French sucks. Because “Femmes” means women. Really. It’s one of the three french words that I’m certain of.
But the weirdest part was that they had rather unusual percussion.
The news is on, and the pundits are all falling all over themselves to be the first to put a bar of soap into Donald Trump’s mouth because he uttered the word “pussy” when referring to Ted Cruz’s unwillingness to, should he become president, bring back waterboarding.
The Donald’s and the woman in the audience’s description of Ted Cruz is not the one I would use. I personally prefer to call Ted Cruz “an asshole.” Bu then, I’m not running for president.
But the media, the Fourth Estate, aren’t concerned that the top contender for the GOP’s candidate for President of the United States favors torture. Favors one of the very practices that helped spread, helped foment, helped make terrorism an acceptable option to far more people who might just act on it.