Appearances are deceiving, but I have to admit that circumstantial evidence points directly to me as one of the 13 Russians indicted by Robert Mueller.
After all, long time followers will recall that I used to post all the time. I used to comment on politics, and on Donald Trump. I sought to sow confusion, discord, and rancor here at FiftyFourAndAHalf. I sought to get folks to the polls. Get them to vote my way.
And then I stopped. Practically disappeared.
Long time followers will also note that since Trump enteredsullied the White House, that I haven’t been writing a whole lot.
But really, it is entirely coincidence. Completely. I’m not a Russian agent. It’s all coincidence. I have had a bit of a make-over, though.
It’s all been said already. The GOP bill, TrumpDoesn’tCare, sucks. And frankly, I am unable to find the funny in the fact that the current leaders just sold us down the River Styx, on our way to hell.
I feel it personally, deeply. I honestly fear for the future of myself and everybody like me with a preexisting condition. Everybody with a chronic condition that requires expensive medicine. Mine costs $26K every six weeks. Over the 5 years of the “pool” the GOP added to the AHCA, I’ll use $1 million just by myself. Because of poop problems.
Folks keep telling me that I’m over-reacting, that this bill will never pass the Senate. And that’s true. But I have no faith that the Senate version will be much better, only different. After all, it is run by the folks who literally stole a supreme court seat. Does anybody really believe that these guys will do the right thing?
So clearly there is only one response that I have to Donald Trump and the House GOP.
If you hear about somebody doing this at the White House or on Capitol Hill, just pretend you don’t know me.
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:
We’re all suffering from PESD. Although frankly, I don’t know why they needed a new diagnosis. Because if the election of Donald Trump doesn’t represent a traumatic event, I don’t know what does.
Earlier today, after spending hours trying to digest/swallow Putin’s President’s nominee for the Supreme Court, I tried not to vomit. That continued as I tried not to go ballistic over the fact that the Senate Finance Committee cheated by changing the rules for reporting nominations out of committee and sent PRICE — nominee who wants to gut Obamacare, Medicare, Medicaid and Social Security — out for an up or down vote on the senate floor. You see, in the real world — pre-Trump — the Senate had rules. They followed those rules. And things worked out OK.
Now? Not so much. Things don’t seem to be going quite so well.
So naturally, I thought of poop. And my friend Nikki/Jordan provided the backup for my concerns. Sloths.
So I’m figuring that the Trump Administration is a collection of sloths, all holding in their shit for a week at a time. And that explains how miserable they are. Constipation doesn’t make for happy government nominees.
FiftyFourandAHalf 