A Special Olympics Trump Special

I don’t know if this has been posited yet, probably has somewhere, but I’m curious as to what arrangement was worked out between Donnie and DeVos for her to agree to look the REALLY bad guy by cutting the budget for Special Olympics so he could then White Horse-It in to save the day and give the appearance that he’s a good man who cares. Especially when the infamous neo-Nuremberg rally video of him mocking the disabled popped it’s head up again recently. I mean, obviously, no one is actually going to cut the budget for Special Olympics as the optics of such would just be awful, so this was completely manufactured, propaganda-like, in an incredibly transparent attempt to burnish his image. Plus, the budget for Special Olympics is relatively small, less so, for example, than the estimated cost of Trump throwing himself a fascist admiration baby general military parade party, so no one is buying it.

Now, to be fair, Betsy DeVos cutting said budget on her own wouldn’t be completely out of the question as she is just a shit of human being but, again, I’m curious as to the arrangement. What did DeVos get in return for falling on the sword of public outcry so that Trump could appear the hero? Or maybe this was Donnie the Don just calling in that favor, mob boss-like (it’s how he operates after all) that DeVos has owed him from the beginning, since he nominated her for this bought education post that she is astoundingly unqualified and unsuited for that then led to one of the most embarrassingly horrendous confirmation hearings in the history of this country, hearings that in any sane non-trump reality would have had her unanimously rejected with an added recommendation that she be soundly mocked 24-7 for her stupidity. Or maybe it’s just a bit of a smokescreen to throw us off the fact that Betsy has added 60 million dollars to the budget of suspect charter schools that operate with no oversight and with surely most of that earmarked for Christian indoctrinary factories.

Well, whatever the arrangement and some of the reasoning was, we know one thing for certain. #DonnieDisaster’s propaganda machine is working overtime, hell, we can see that now as they spin the Meuller report, asking us to trust the State News word of a shill AG’s hastily trotted 4 page “exoneration” of the President even though he clearly had no time to actually read the full report, even with all the Russia connected indictments, an AG who feels the President is above the law and who’s 19 page memo from a short time ago decried, in part, the constitutionality of the investigation and whether a President can be indicted in the first place and what should have had him recusing himself from the whole thing the second he was confirmed all while trying to do everything they can to keep anyone, including congress, from actually reading it in full, all 400 or 700 pages of it, or at least until they’ve redacted most of it. Maybe even destroying some.

This will only get worse (history, apparently, hasn’t taught us much or maybe it has depending on your perspective and to what lows you will go to recreate it) and even more painfully obvious as we get closer to election day, well, more painfully obvious to some of us anyway.

The Trump Treehouse of Tall Stories, Treason & Tyranny – "Trump D In The Lie With Zirconia" – Song

When I was a kid, my first girlfriend was the Beatles. Mom even approved of all the time we spent together, and it was quite a lot (no kissing by the way…I knew Cynthia Lennon was hot). I thought, in my kidness, that her approval had to have come from her, of course, knowing them personally. She had emigrated to America from their equal small England right around the same time as Ed Sullivan and just before she met “Joe Frankenberry from New York” and then there was a me. They shared accents so they must have known each other right? I mean, how could they not?

So the first album I ever bought was Live at the Hollywood Bowl…check that. The first album I ever bought was the Star Wars soundtrack, Rexall Drugs, Mahopac, New York (pronounced Mayo-Pack for anyone that might be reading a Ma-Ho-Pack into this and getting all huffy) right across from the lake and just down the street from Rodack’s, home of the finest post you made it through church nods again treat sandwiches known to man. That album cover would soon be the repository of all of the stickers I collected from the Star Wars card packs I spent way too much of my paperboy money on (yes, I lived a time of paperboys). I somehow thought that buying that album and those cards might get me a bit closer to that magical galaxy. It was a little dissapointing.

But the first REAL album (apologies Mr Williams) I ever bought was the Beatles Live at the Hollywood Bowl. He doesn’t know me but a “Speilbergian” suburbia was inspired by myself and countless other then kids as I rode my bike to Mammoth Mart, too many miles and years away today but a mere blip for us back then, with one intent. Come home with that record. I rode, one handed, all the way back to my bedroom using that extra hand, outstretched, to hold that prize away from any possible bike’s bounce handlebar/wheel damage while also cursing any car that passed endangering such. It was surely around this time when I did, eventually, get that prize to my bedroom, and because of my endless replays of “Twist and Shout”, “Ticket to Ride”, “A Hard Day’s Night” and the rest, that Mom probably wished she had discovered vodka.

I bring this up only because I’ve built a few tunes here in the Attic courtesy of the Beatles. Unintentional really…to start. Maybe it’s because I can “sing” them a bit easier knowing them so well, maybe it’s because I’d like to think the “lads” would agree with my tuned sentiments, maybe the songs sort of lend themselves or maybe it’s just because this was the time I wish I could go back to, a cliche’d innocence, when mom and dad, when all of our mom’s and dad’s trusted us, trusted us out there on our bikes, trusted us to be smart and be ourselves without worry and when the future didn’t look so dim, when our present then wasn’t as fucked up as this current now.

Language, I know…sorry Ma.

So another tune, another attempt to keep sane in an insane world.

Trump D In The Lie With Zirconia

Picture yourself in a swamp where truth quivers
With Orange tinged lies and white chocolate tries
A Senate adores you, you gloat in the glory
Of lapdog and sycophant cries

Cult like adornments white lettered on red
Witlessly cover their heads
Cast for the dumbest with blind in their eyes
And you’ve won

Trump D in the Lie with Zirconia
Trump D in the Lie with Zirconia
Trump D in the Lie with Zirconia

Trump dumb dumb down to a negative measure
Where marshmallow people cry victim’s sad sighs
Backwards they go at behest of their master
Where white anger’s dumb it does rise

News outlets try all while ducking their heads
From Orange shouts looking for blood
But still Nielsen calls with their 30 coins pay
And they’re done

Trump D in the Lie he’s not heaven sent
Trump D in the Lie Sarah go get bent
Trump D’s GOP’s on a Hell descent

Picture a sad orange cream sickle nightmare
Where real is accused of being the lie
Actual lies are then trotted state news style
A Fox truth democracy dies

Trump D in the Lie he’s not heaven sent
Trump D in the Lie Sarah go get bent
Trump D’s GOP’s on a Hell descent

Trump D in the Lie with gold’s foolish
Trump D in the Lie with 49’ers
Trump D in the Lie with alchemy
Trump D in the Lie with Zirconia
Trump D in the Lie with Zirconia
Trump D in the Lie with Zirconia

A Motorcycle’s Youth

Dearest Son (licensed dirt/road bike),

Mother and I wanted to let you know that that wheelie you felt the need to perform alongside a gentleman’s car from one traffic light until he pulled off just before the next (maybe a quarter mile or so) where he stopped for a to-go from Popeye’s for his dinner?

It was quite impressive, as juvenile feats of stupidity go, especially as the kids may like just that sort of thing these days. We don’t know, being old an out of touch of course as you always remind us. Ahhhh, youth. But, at least, keep wearing that helmet son. We know it may soon come in handy though we pray not. We love you after all.

The gang at Popeye’s, when the gentleman relayed this quick story, while ordering his 5 piece, mild not spicy, spicy hasn’t sat well lately, all agreed that your worried manhood shouldn’t hinder you from future displays of the same such stupidity. They may even offer an extra piece of chicken for the laugh. But again though, the helmet, please, always the helmet. We’re also SOOO relieved that you didn’t fall after that tire hung in the air for such a long stretch. But at least you can sleep well knowing that that gentleman’s car was small. It might not have been that much of a bump…bump…anyway, if things had gone awry.

Don’t forget to continue to send us postcards from stupid by the way. Your mother and I treasure them. And your handwriting has gotten so much better.


Ps. Please, in the future, try to impress someone other than an another gentleman in an unimpressive car. Your mother, and I, would love grandchildren.

Pss. I think I’ve got the gout.

A Cat Guy and a Weekend

I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but I’m something of a cat guy. Yeh, who knew huh?

Well, while my landlady and also dear friend, Celie, has been enjoying some much needed sun and down time away from the cold and dire “tune in tonight to find out how we will all die” cold weather predictions, I’ve been minding the kit kaboodle.

Now there are, of course, mine. My Bella Girl in her (and my dearly missed Shoes’s) first of my 2 computer chairs right next to me as I type, always, kitten china shop Blink and some warm laundry’s pause, old quirky, fragile girl Mimi (Memes) finding that same warm pause and Cricket the Blind of the wailing meow quietly grabbing a cat nap on a Steve bed.

But there is also a Honey Bob Tail, or “Boo” as I like to call her, the uber cool Lebowski-like dude Bruce and his seeming lazy eye, big boy Buck in his finest of tux, Florida and her perfect orange, Handsome, perfectly named and who’s always a nose to nose swivel head nudge with me on my come homes, Lola of the silent meow, Sharky my assistant chef at dinner time and the aloof, secretive Trucker who just appears. Really, he just appears. No idea from where.

Missing for the moment? Dolly who you can sometimes find in the sink and say “Hello Dolly” with a musical nod, Millie who you can often never find and Cujo who has earned his name but is still, though be wary mere humans, a good boy. Oh, and there is the other Bella, of bird type, who decided to tap tap around on the hardwood and check out the me taking pictures. She is not one to be excluded.

How was your weekend?