If You Never Read Another Thing I Write...Read This...

 

Old saying.

Two things certain.

1. Death.
2. Taxes.

Old saying rebooted for contemporary times.

Four things certain.

1. Death.
2. Taxes.
3. Trump is going to say or do something horrific, horrendous and/or moronic.
4. I am going to write and post/publish a piece that trashes Trump.

This particular piece, though, serves a different purpose.

It answers a question increasingly asked in my direction.

"Why...?"

Why, at a time when everyone knows what kind of pitiful excuse of a human being he is, do I continue to comment on his words and actions.

When does enough finally become enough?

 First, let's do a little "one thing straight" getting.

This is not a defense. This is not an apology.

I feel absolutely no need, let alone desire, to defend.

I owe not a single word of apology.

As a courtesy to those in my world who still have my respect, these words are by way of offering an explanation.

This is the first time I have offered it.

And it will be the last.

I would refer you back to a few sentences ago.

To those "defend", "apology" dealios.

Second, four words that loom large here.

Spark.

Fuse.

Fire.

Light.

Oh...and there will be a little New Testament James as well.

Make a mental note to remember those words and that announcement.

Post-it Notes are fine if you're so inclined.

And here's a bonus, from the git-go, plot twist.

My motivation for every word I write is that I haven't got a clue.

Stay tuned for the exciting payoff to that little unexpected. 

The motivation for this essay... came from two friends.

We'll call them "T" and "E".

They each posted a unique spark...that lit a fuse.

That resulted in this piece.

Eleven days ago, this country did something unbelievably unacceptable for the second time in less than ten years.

It watched "peacefully" as the office of President of the United States was handed over, again, to a clinically sociopathic narcissist who couldn't find his own ass with both hands and a flashlight, let alone "lead" a nation of 334,924,895 citizens in desperate, even critical, need of mature, intelligent, unifying leadership.

And after the Presidency was handed over to Elon, Donald Trump took some kind of hysterically ironic oath or something.

See what I did there?

Skipping the almost overwhelming temptation to laundry list the irrefutably infinite examples of why this "presidency" might very possibly result in the end of, if not life on the planet as we know it then at least, the end of America as it has existed for over two and half centuries, let's do a little cutting in the direction of the chase.

I wrote and posted some quick shot observation/lament about Elon's ill advised attempt to look like the loyal lackeys to the evil Messala in Ben-Hur.

Said ill advised attempt complete with a clumsy Roman salute to "Tribune" that, unfortunately, can easily be mistaken for the salute offered when "Tribune" is pronounced "Fuhrer".

Be it your garden variety historic Nuremberg "Fuhrer" or your more contemporary "Mar-A-Lago" edition.

My two cents moved "T" to make a request in the comment thread.

"Change the channel, please"

A day or so later, I opined on the disastrous and despicable FUBAR that, thus far, has been standard operating procedure in the worst sequel in the recorded history of sequels....

"Make America Great Again II--The Reckoning"

Moving "E" to respond..

"..I am so tired..."

The thing, one among many, about social media is that, with posts that lack sound or visual, it is impossible to hear tone or see facial expressions , ergo, impossible to know the attitude that accompanies the commentary.

As mentioned earlier, both "T" and "E" are friends, so the inclination is to read their contributions to the conversation as commiserating.  

As in "we hear ya, brother"...or "you go, guy"....or even a healthy shot of "Amen!"

Things being what they are these days, though, it's also entirely possible that one or both of those comments could translate out as....

"...for the love of God, shut the fuck up, we're beggin' ya..."

Hey, I hear ya, brother/sister.

But that's not going to happen.

Which brings us, finally, around to "why?"

Why, at a time when everyone knows what kind of pitiful excuse of a human being he is, do I continue to comment on his words and actions.

Like I said...

It's because I don't have a clue.

We are all gifted.

Be your theology rooted in spirituality, universality, single deity and/or organized religion (let's save time and just concede that one is a total oxymoron), we are given skills, abilities, talents, et al,  that make it possible for us to contribute positively to this life, this planet, this country.

Whether or not, of course, we choose to make best use of that gift.

Free will and all those other tricky slippery slopes.

Some of us sing.Others can't carry a tune in a tote.

Some of us dance. Others can't get jiggy with two feet and a flashlight.

Some of us are savant like brilliant in business...and some totally con others into believing they are savant like brilliant in business only to see casinos go bankrupt and end up settling for being elected President.

We've all got something.

And we all lack something.

If you were to put a gun to my head and say "tune this car engine or you're a dead man"...

...you'd save us both a lot of time if you just go ahead and pull the trigger.

If I've learned anything in a life getting very close to three quarters of a century long, it is what I can do...and cannot...of what I am capable...and am not....

...at what I am not, in any way, good...

and..at what I am very good. 

My gift is words.

The love of them, the respect for them...and the ability to put them together.

Additional description of my own work inappropriately crosses the line between applicable acknowledgement and blowhard braggadocio.

So, I offer up an appreciated, and unsolicited, comment from another friend we'll call "A".

A selfless and accomplished educator and, in the best, old fashioned sense, a good and decent man.

Who had this to say about one of my more recent op/ed moments.

"..Man you got a way of communicating the truth and nothing but the truth..great post and desperately needed…"

Thank you, sir.

Now, again, here's why.

Again, because I don't have a clue.

I have no way of knowing who is reading my words. 

Or more accurately, I have no way of knowing who else is reading my words. Besides those whose names I see in the comment threads.

And given that social media is a global platform, that means that I have no way of knowing if my words are falling on deaf ears all over the world.

Or if they are being read by someone...somewhere...that might be moved by them.

A someone, somewhere who, having read my words and being moved by them, might be...

...the spark.

That sets off a fuse.

That ignites a fire.

That roars into a shadow destroying light.

That shines immeasurably on what need be done.

To save America....

...from being made great again.

When that "greatness" is defined by a clinically sociopathic narcissist who couldn't find his own ass with both hands and a flashlight, let alone "lead" a nation of 334,924,895 citizens in desperate, even critical, need of mature, intelligent, unifying leadership.

At this point, something very important needs to be said.

I feel absolutely no need, let alone desire, to defend.

I owe not a single word of apology.

That said...

I have absolutely no sense of "self importance".

I am committed to as much humility as possible.

I reflect continuously that I am nothing more, nor less, than a vessel for what I offer in writing and posting and publishing.

I never ever let myself lose sight of the fact that what talent I possess....is a gift.

And I never...ever...let myself forget James 4:17

"...it is sin to know what you ought to do...and then not do it..."

For what it's worth, "T" and "E"....

The moment this shit show is canceled, I'm not only ready to change the channel. I'm good with shutting down the flat screen and returning to a healthy program of reading, reflecting and writing...on some other, any other, topic.

And, trust me, I'm as tired of all of this...as tired ever gets.

But I was given a gift.

And to not use it...with the right intentions...and best effort....

Would be....if nothing else....rude.

There's way...way more than enough rude these days.

Ground zero centered at 1600 Pennsylvania.

The courteous thing to do...

...is honor the gift.

If only just on the off chance....

...that it causes a spark.

 

Forget Harry and Sally...Imagine If Kamala Met Larry...

 

For all of the kabillions of words/commentaries/analysis (up to and including paralysis)/etc. that have been discussed, debated, dissected and disagreed about since November 5th, the question remains pretty basic.

How, in the name of all things holy, did he get elected again?

The kabillions of words, etc that have been proffered in answer to that questioin since ten seconds after the election was called, meanwhile, actually boil down to a simple few, not at all difficult to comprehend.

He got elected....because she didn't.

No snarky, wise ass ba dum bump intended here. That's the bottom line, unvarnished "why" to the original question.

Garden variety 'no shit, Sherlock' stuff.

And that's not where the spotlight should be shining anyway.

It's the 'where and by who' of that answer that makes this particular election historically noteworthy.

Not to mention the stuff of hours of future fun playing Trivial Pursuit.

The "where" is Nashville, Tennessee.

The "by who"...is the late producer of a late country/pop music superstar.

Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion.

For the purpose of context, it should be noted, at this point, for the benefit of those who are reading this but are not particularly aware of me, my writings and/or my political leanings that while I resist/reject/detest "labels" when it comes to those "leanings" (I subscribe to the mindset that human beings {for the most part} are far more complex as creatures go to be either 'one' or 'the other' in any kind of absolute way), I have, for all of my adult life, been more inclined to side with Democrats as opposed to Republicans. 

The whys and wherefores are the stuff of another essay. Or perhaps the Pulitzer Prize winning book I've been composing in my head for, give or take, the last fifty years.

Suffice to say, if label me you must, then label me (D) and not (R).

That said, I would have voted for almost any other living, breathing Republican on the planet if it would have kept the Mar A Lago Mental Case from scoring a second lease on the big white condo at 1600 Pennsylvania.

And by "Republican", I mean old fashioned, committed (in the 'dedicated to" sense not the 'put em in the looney bin' sense) conservatives.

Reasonable, mature, intelligent, educated people, authentic public servants.

"Patriots" spoken as a word describing loyalty to country and "we, the people".

Not describing wretched worship to a single man.

A less than one 100th of a man, at that. 

The Republican Party of Lincoln and Eisenhower...even Goldwater.

Hell, even Nixon.

And neither the spineless sycophant sellouts who spell GOP M-A-G-A....nor the mind numbing MAGA myrmidon(ald)s themselves...

Taylor-Greene, Boebert, Gaetz, et.al....you know...the usual list of white trash, sex offenders and/or passengers on the short bus.

But I digress.

It's time to declare disappointment when it comes to the (D) and their deftness at defeat.

And while second guessing has been the only daily soup being served up for almost a month at this writing and second guessing accomplishes nothing except pouring salt, it's my commentary here, so I claim commentator's rights by way of saying that when it came to the Harris candidacy, from the git, I (paraphrasing both Han and Leia) had "a bad feeling about this".

For all the admitted energy, enthusiasm and, okay, "joy" that she and her Minnesota main man originally lit up in what had become a pretty dark election year,  there were some obvious, even mentioned,  'yellow lights' that were minimized...even ignored...so that what resulted looked like "hitting the ground running"....

...but come November 5th, turned out to be only... hitting the ground.

Some of the more obvious yellow...

...the failure of Joe to get out of the way sooner cost the (D) precious time to make the case that Kamala had the 'right stuff', regardless of who she was up against...

...the silly, naive, strategically FUBAR notion that it was "Kamala's turn" simply because she was Vice President fatally dismissed the very strong possibility that there were several Democrats with an even stronger skill set...coupled with an ability to make that "right stuff" case in the very limited time available...

...pitting a woman, and a woman of color, at that, against Trump for the second time (and we all know how that turned out the first time) turned a deaf ear and an already blind eye to an uncomfortable, inconvenient truth....sexism and racism have, at best, been held at bay since the 50's and 60's but are still malignancies alive and functioning and doing their best to do their worst in the American bloodstream... 

The list...like the beat...goes on.

But other points found on that list, as with those three examples, are arguable. They rightly fall into the category of "maybe/maybe not", think "Schrodinger's Cat" and throw in bumper stickers and yard signs.

Here's a few "X" factors that are hard to discount.

...the infamous "The View" appearance in which, when asked what she would do differently as VP within the Biden Administration, given the chance for a do-over....replied, with a slight stumble, "I can't think of a single thing". It doesn't take a Pol-Sci major to read that as one of a few critically damaging possibilities...

***************************************************

1)  an incredible naivete, perception being reality, in failing to see that millions would see that answer as a way of saying "we've made no mistakes and would do everything the same way over again if the chance arose"...a statement that may, or may not, be literally valid and/or true...but a well known effective means of committing political suicide....voters are never happy or satisfied.... 

POP QUIZ...when is the last time you heard media use the phrase "..voters are happy and satisfied"?

...okay...when is the last time you heard media use the phrase "...voters are angry and frustrated.."?

There you go.

Voters don't vote for change.

They vote against the status quo.

2)  an unwillingness to say anything that might be taken as disrespectful to Joe Biden. A noble, gracious, kind and compassionate thing to do.

And as it turns (turned) out....an absolute sure fire vote killer.

Status Quo. Voters. Against.

This ain't rocket surgery.

 

3) and probably the straw that broke the (D)onkey's back....

At the outset of the "Accidental Candidacy" in the swirl of all that energy, enthusiasm and, okay, "joy", there was much talk from the Kamala Korner about "moving forward" "looking ahead" "not going back", all quick shot, high loft "sound byte catch phrases" that implied, even pre-promised, that the "status quo" was about to be bitch slapped away with exciting new programs and advancements, an end to homelessness, great healthcare, prescriptions people could actually afford, safer streets, new state of the art public transportation, a return to life changing space exploration...an effective, efficient and compassionate solution to America's immigration problems.

...name your wish and chances are it might have been part of the grand plan that was being called "moving forward" until the real plan could make its national debut, saturating TV and radio and online, the one she would talk about in speech after speech and ad after ad...detailed, easy to understand, easy to get excited about, easy to make it easy to pull that lever and/or push that machine button next to the name "Harris"....

but...somewhere...after only a week or two....those speeches and ads weren't hardly at all about those details and those advancements...and that grand plan....

...in their place there was the familiar, true to a T, but exhaustingly overplayed tune...with lyrics we've been hearing over and over and over...and over....for almost a decade now....

"...Trump is unqualified/Trump is a danger

Trump hates democracy/Vance is even stranger

Trump is a felon / Vance a perv liar

Trump is a narcissist / Who's set America on fire.."

**********************************************************

For the love of God, Sam....please, don't play it again.

Not that it's not all true...accurate....irrefutable.

But that when it comes to changing the minds of people voting for, or thinking of voting for, him....

IT DOESN'T WORK.

If it worked, Hillary would, come January, be celebrating the eighth anniversary of becoming the first female President of the United States.

 How, in the name of all things holy, did he get elected again?

He got elected...because she didn't.

And why didn't she?

That brings us to the late producer of the late country/pop superstar.

Larry Butler was a successful musician, born in the 40's, a member of the successful 60's pop band, The Gentrys ("Keep On Dancin').

In the early 60's, he moved to Nashville where his piano was an integral part of such hits as Bobby Goldsboro's schlock super hit "Honey" and Conway Twitty's 'signature' success "Hello, Darlin'.

From there, a second career as producer/songwriter, crafting hit singles and albums by such noteworthys, among others, as Johnny Cash, John Denver, Debby Boone, Don McClean and Tammy Wynette.

In 1977, he brought a song to a 60's pop hit maker whose pop stardom had begun to fade a bit, leaving him "between gigs", so to speak. That song, and Larry Butler's production of its recording, put that 60's success on the path to a second career, one that took him to international superstardom.

The song?

"Lucille".

That country/pop megastar?

Kenny Rogers.

I met Larry in the mid 1980's, during my own checkered past as a songwriter/producer, interviewing him for a country music trade magazine for which I occasionally freelanced.

Sitting in his plush, but modest, second floor office on Music Row, I remember Larry to be cordial, clever, a witty, wise and entertaining interview subject, chock full of music and memories and musings.

Amidst and among some wonderful anecdotes of life in the studio and life on the road, he offered up more than one insightful observation about the nature of the song business. One in particular I recall clearly all these years later.

Knowing that I was also a songwriter/producer and respectful of that, given the very wide gap between his success and my own to that point, he graciously asked "how it was going" on my own quest for fame, fortune and multiple Grammys. I told him of some minor successes I had had to date and casually mentioned my clear grasp of the obvious...that it was a "jungle out there" when it came to getting songs heard, let alone accepted and recorded, by publishers, producers and/or artists.

He smilingly acknowledged the obvious and my clear grasp of it. Then he leaned a little forward and in an almost 'winking big brother' posture, shared the advice I can still quote verbatim to this day.

"...let me tell you something to remember....and this goes for publishers...producers...artists...all of em...doesn't matter which or who....when you pitch them your songs...."

..he totally had my attention....

"....they're not listening and looking for a reason to say yes...."

...I was hangin' on each wise word...

"....they're looking...for a reason to say no...."

At first, I thought that was it. But I could tell there was an important punchline coming.....

"....so......", dramatic, while impish, pause....

"...don't give 'em one..."

Obviously, I've never forgotten that teriffic tidbit. And, just as obviously, have also never forgotten Larry Butler.

We talked music that day. There was no mention of politics. So I have no idea where he stood or which political party he called his own.

I do know now, though, something that didn't occur to me all those years ago.

Larry Butler was, among his many other accomplishments, quite savvy politics wise.

And history might some day correctly offer that it's a shame that Kamala Harris and the Democratic Party of 2024 didn't have Larry available for their war room.

Why didn't she get elected?

Because at least tens of thousands of voters who made the difference between electing her...and rejecting her...weren't looking for a reason to say "yes".

They were looking for a reason to say "no".

Judging from the outcome, it's pretty much a foregone....

...that she gave them one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let. The. Word. Go. Forth. Period.

 

 

The period is a very powerful piece of punctuation.

More often than you might think, in fact, even more powerful than a bold font-ed exclamation point.

Even several bold font-ed exclamation points. 

Even then followed by a raging OMG emoji.

I was reminded of that this week.

Thanksgiving Day, to be exact.

A friend used a period, three, actually, to take me to task for being a turkey day downer.

Truth be told....

...guilty as charged.

That said (or pled, in this case), I would offer to the court of opinion that, first, it was very, very early in the morning. 4:30-ish. Early rising being a deeply grooved part of my daily routine, the residual effect/collateral damage of a couple of decades doing morning show radio and having to be all bright eyed, bushy tailed and broadcast ready by 6AM.

So I was scrolling and perusing and perusing and scrolling a full two and half hours before even the first magical movement of the Macy's gang floatin' and balloonin' down West 75th and Central Park West.

And were I inclined to pick fly shit outta pepper, I could make a pretty compelling case that, at that pre-crack of dawn time of day, it was, technically, already Thursday...but still a couple of hours away from Snoopy and Spiderman and that always pasty looking Pillsbury Doughboy delighting the masses, so my friend's implied accusation that I was a "day of gratitude and counting blessings" buzzkill was a big ol' case dismissed.

If only on the technicality that it was, arguably, still very late Wednesday night.

Very.

Very.

Late.

Still, I should, at this moment, add that I couldn't have cared less what time of day or night it was.

Or what day or night it was, for that matter.

There are some things that transcend, preempt, even call for total disregard for boundaries, be they borders, speed limits....or that old "...a time and a place for everything" chestnut.

I came this close to adding "trump" to that list.

But that would be redundant. And most likely confusing to a significant chunk of his misguided and misdirected devotees.

What flipped my switch and sent me to peeing in that big Turkey Day morning's Cheerios was the 'official Thanksgiving message' from the, at this writing, current President-Elect of The United States Of America.

Well now. In the archives of inspired and inspiring Presidential oratory, let's log that somewhere between "...the only thing we have to fear..." and "...four score and seven years ago..."

Just a skosh past "...ask what you can do for your country...".

If the purpose and/or goal of Donald's latest Nuremberg Address was to move those reading it to a feeling of passion and patriotism, count me amongst the passionate and patriotic moved.

I expressed said passion and patriotism by posting that picture of his oratorical magnificence....and added my own expression of how his expression had moved me.

 

"...4 more years.....

...of inciting and inflaming when inspiring is most needed....

...of childish nicknames and petulant (look it up, MAGA) tantrums when it doesn't get its way...

4 more years...

...of turning one and all against each other because there is personal and political profit..only in the midst of chaos....

...of bigotry, misogyny, racism, sexism, illiteracy and ignorance being labeled as acts of patriotism....

4 more years...

...of taking credit for e v e r y t h i n g....and responsibility for

a b s o l u t e l y n o t h i n g....

...of calling bullying "leadership".....lying "straight talk"....

and...

...of providing already written entire episodes of SNL for the next 48 months....

while, on this day traditionally reserved for showing gratitude and giving thanks....

...a looking forward to the next time real gratitude and sincere thanks beyond measure will occur.....

in 4 more years...."

 

The aforementioned friend, upon coming upon my holiday contribution to social media, expressed her own suggestion regarding my observations.

" Just. Stop. It's Thanksgiving. " 

Three powerful periods in one four word sentence.

Clearly she was also passionately moved.

To make a point.

Three points, actually.

Point made.

It's a holiday. There's a time and place for everything.

Due respect notwithstanding.....

Yada.

Yada.

Yada.

Here's the thing about that.

Again, due respect, and forgive my putting 'words' in your four word return volley, but I think it reasonable to assume that you're tired.

Tired of all the bickering and bantering and bitching. Tired of all the hatred conjuring up all the venom and vitriol. 

Tired.

Of.

Politics.

So tired, in fact, that you took a moment out of your busy Thanksgiving morning to remind me that it's enough already. Even if that "enough" lasts only twenty four hours. 

You were saying, in just four succinct words...and three powerful periods....that if this madness has to continue for any length of time, then the very least we can do is call a brief cease fire on this day of expressing gratitude and counting blessings. Even if that cease fire only lasts from the first sign of Snoopy floating into frame until the third and last late evening turkey sandwich is scarfed down.

After all, on Christmas Eve 1914, the Brits and the Germans crawled out of their respective World War I trenches long enough to exchange pleasantries, tidings, even seasonal good wishes...before resuming their efforts to kill each other.

Seems like a no brainer that the very least we could all do...the very least....would be to put a cork in the political bitchin bottle while we put the parade and football on the flat screen and put the stuffing Mom put in the turkey into our smiling, non-partisan (for a day) mouths.

Here's a minor plot twist.

I.

Couldn't.

Agree.

More.

Here's a surprise bonus plot twist.

That's precisely why I said what I said...and posted it for global exposure....on this day of expressing gratitude and counting blessings.

Because I, like you, like many...many...of us...am also tired.

I'm tired....

...of his endless inciting and inflaming when inspiring is most needed....

 

...of his use of childish nicknames and petulant (look it up, MAGA) tantrums when it doesn't get its way...

...of his turning one and all against each other because there is personal and political profit..only in the midst of chaos....

 

...of his labeling bigotry, misogyny, racism, sexism, illiteracy and ignorance acts of patriotism....

...of hearing his bullying bullshit called "leadership".....his lying "straight talk"....

...of his taking credit for e v e r y t h i n g....and responsibility for

a b s o l u t e l y n o t h i n g....

 

but...more than anything...and everything...else...

 

I am beyond exhaustion tired...

 

...of him doing and saying what he wants, when he wants, wherever he wants, as much as he wants, to whomever he wants....

 

...and experiencing nothing...n o t h i n g....in the way of consequence.

 

Nothing.

 

Not.

 

A.

 

Goddamn.

 

Thing.

 

From the contempt for, and disregard of, the rule of law...to the calling for the elimination of pillars of the Republic....to the verbal, and literal, sexual abuse of women...from the committing of numerous misdemeanors and felonies...to his irrefutable attempt to overthrow the government and electoral system that has gotten America through almost two and a half centuries, to date...

 

Even when it takes the form of an "official" holiday statement from the President-Elect of the United States of America.

 

Posted for global exposure on the morning of the day of expressing gratitude and counting of blessings.

 

I freely admit, after some reflection since Thursday, that I was a bit wordy in my written response to his insulting excuse for a presidential message.

 

I should have just taken a cue from my weary friend.

 

Hey.

 

Donald.

 

Just.

 

Stop.

 

If wishin' made it so.

 

 

 

This "Brotherhood" Ain't Anywhere Near Being The "Crown Thy Good" Type...

 

    The hits just keep on comin'...

    "...The FBI has sent a memo to law enforcement agencies across the country warning of possible armed protests at all 50 state Capitols starting Jan. 16, and also says an armed group has threatened to travel to Washington, D.C., the same day and stage an uprising if Congress removes Trump from office, according to a senior law enforcement official...."

    There are, theoretically, tens, even dozens of questions that one might have when reading something like this in their daily news feed. Especially since it's not the kind of thing one usually finds in their daily news feed.

    Or at least didn't, usually, find in their daily news feed.

    Until a wacky, fun filled chunk of "the American people" decided that America wasn't to their particular liking four years or so ago and that it was ding damn time to make it "great again".

    Frankly, meanwhile, when it comes to said "questions", I'm of the opinion that there's really only one that matters..

    And I already know the answer(s) to that one.

    First, the question. Complete with a little sprinkling of reverential Deity.

    "For the love of God...why?"

    Why is this one "armed group", and/or its particular "splinter" groups locking and loading and organizing and scheduling to show up all locked and loaded and gnarly and snarly on a Saturday that could be filled with so many other, much more pleasant and, (Deity Alert) God knows, more productive pursuits?

    Well, first, let's see if we can whistle up some support for these stouthearted men and their stand by their men women by way of showing we understand where they're coming from. And why they are armin' on up...and headin' on out to a state capitol near you.

    Alien invasion? (And, at least, for the moment, we're talking ethnic humans coming across one border or another in one hoard or another and not any other-world being that might get welcomed to Earth with a punch in the face by Will Smith or be told, by Sigourney Weaver, with no mistaking of her mood in the matter, to "get away from her...you bitch!")....

    ....uh, nope. Nothing online, on the wire, on the flatscreen, on the QT, the downlow or even the rumor mill about any impending swarm of "bad hombres". Which, come to think of it, is kinda surprising, what with the wall not being finished and all. And that massive invasion a sure thing, bet your ass, here they come to pillage and rape and kill our great country scheduled for....what was it?...oh, right.....about four years ago. Besides, if El Mucho Mal Hombre Swarmos are already lined up to hit all fifty states at once, we got bigger problems than some bunch of pistol packin' patriots whippin' out the ol' AK's to make up for the ol' E.D. (if ya know what we mean, wink, wink...)

     Covid?

    ...well, it would be a wonderful thing if some rootin' tootin' shootin could take out that annoying little virus that has put (at this writing) 375,000 Americans in their graves...and turns out the pesky little plague don't just kill Democrats, damn the luck. Of course, if Corona could have been ended by a bunch of half cocked who get off on being fully cocked, pretty sure them and their stable genius woulda blown that viral bitch away months ago....hell, who knows....even, say, 374,000 Americans, or so, ago...but, well...no.

    Oh, wait, hang on. Here ya go. Armed group gonna get the rest of us our guns back...you know, cause we have all been living our lives in fear and trembling, being all defenseless and shit, since Obama and his Federal Every Weapon Anybody Owns Cough It Up and Turn It Over Confiscation Program came rolling into our neighborhoods in the middle of that terrible night....when was that again?....September 2015, memory serves....no, wait, I remember. It was never. Yeah, pretty sure. Never.

   Of course, there is that "they stole the election" silliness that some morons came up with after seven million more people decided they wanted Donald to go back to hosting Celebrity Apprentice and give Joe a crack at making America greater than great. Again. Or, you know, just great.

    ...but even the dumbest of the "shoot first and use the words "you're" and "your" correctly" club know that "fixing" an election of that magnitude would be impossible in this day and age of checks and balances and counter checks and counter balances.....and that only the really dumbest among us would ever fall for that "they fixed it and stole it and we need to go shoot somebody to express our displeasure with the outcome that lies in contrast to our original expectations." Only fools and dumb asses would show their foolishness and dumb ass-ness for a single second with that malarkey. Well, them and any sociopathic narcissist hanging around in hysterical fear that presidential immunity was about to expire and anywhere from two to five states want to lock them up on tax fraud charges for the rest of their natural life. You know, just fools and dumb asses and narcissists. Not any of these fine patriots gathering together to proudly display the red, white and blue. And sing a chorus or two of God Bless America. And hugs, you know, lots of hugs and high fives. All masked up, of course....but, still...

    Ah, but let's not forget that "angry and frustrated" thing. We hear that one a lot. How the middle class and working class are tired of being (apologies to Dr. King) "trampled on by the iron feet of oppression". That there needs to be a more equitable economy. Put simply, for the simpler amongst us, the rich need to stop being so rich that the middle, working and poorer classes have to scrounge for the scraps.

    Well, that seems like something that would, certainly, inspire revolution. Has been known, historically, to do exactly that.

    Just one thing,here. though. If that was the reason for this fifty state thing, wouldn't these "make the nation a fairer place" full magazine merry makers be set to show up on the doorsteps of the major corporations...or the front doors of the blood sucking, bottom feeding corporate CEO's. Or even the White House? Where the current (soon to be evicted) occupant has likely made a couple million more bucks off that gig in the time it took you to read this sentence?

    Nope. It's a poser. A perplexer. A veritable what the fuck? 

    Armed groups getting ready to gather in all fifty state capitols.

    To wit, we re-ask. For the love of God, why?

    Turns out, the answer is basic. Simple. Even, one might proffer...primal.

    Same reason Grandaddy used to joke about when he'd ask us why a dog licks its own balls.

    Because they can.

    Because freedom to assemble...and freedom of speech...and freedom of expression...and even freedom to carry are all part of that wacky piece of parchment that just wraps around the lot of us like a big ol' blanket on a cold winter's night.

    The Constitution.

    But while that's an answer to a question, .."why can they?"...

    ...it's not the answer to the question.

    ..."why are they?"

    And that's the simplest answer of all.   

    Because they think it makes them look heroic. Because they think it makes them better citizens, better patriots, hell, just better Americans than anyone who isn't strappin' on and showin' up and, with any kind of luck, gettin the chance to put a bullet in a window....or wall...or, dare they dream, a Democrat.

    Because this gives them the opportunity to vent their hatred of other colors and other creeds and other genders and, well, hell, any other "them" that they decide they hate. At a time, for the time being, where their bigoted bullshit is not only 'acceptable' to "leadership", it's likely to get them Presidential Medals of Freedom (limited time, offer expires January 20th)

    Because they're not all that bright and don't have the full faculties critical to understanding that what they are doing is going to have exactly the opposite effect of what it is they say they are trying to do.

    Make this a freer, better...greater country.

    When, in fact, first, that won't happen. Because that's never worked before. In any country. But, simple truth is, they don't really give a fuck about that happening, or not, anyway.

    It's just another chance to shoot off their mouths and shoot off their rightly beared arms. The kind of chance that didn't come along all that often until four or so years ago. But has come along in spades now, baby. 

    Get while the gettin' is good. Shoot while the shootin' is smiled upon. Crash, trash, break, take, hurt, harm, denigrate, destroy, level, loot and, with any kinda luck, empty as many magazines as time permits.

    Before the clock strikes noon. Four days later.

    And the oath is taken. And the inaugural address is given.

    And the work of rebuilding a nation torn asunder begins. First and foremost on that list...

    Putting the pretend patriots back under the rock. That the orange guy had somebody lift up for them four years ago.

    Before he crawls back under his own.

   

 

     

     

    

 

The Problem With Patriotism Is That Its So Easy To Add Poison...

 

    Ashli Babbit died yesterday.

    35 years old, a California native and a veteran of the U.S. Air Force, Babbitt served in Iraq and Afghanistan. Later, with the National Guard, she was deployed to Kuwait and Qatar. She met her first husband in the service and they married, divorcing in May of 2019.

    "She was never afraid to speak her mind...and in a way, this was her way of speaking her mind", her ex-husband said to reporters.

    The "this" ,that was "her way" he is referring to, was going to the 'rally' that assembled in front of the White House, listening to a 'president' call for a march to the Capitol building, marching to that building, taking part in what became an armed mob storming barricades, entering the Capitol to occupy, vandalize and desecrate. As windows were smashed, the 35 year old Air Force veteran, wearing a "Trump flag" around her waist, who was "speaking her mind" jumped on a pane and joined others in crawling through a window.

    And was shot to death by Capitol Police reacting to the assault on the premises. 

    Babbitt was a passionate supporter of Donald Trump and had posted frequently on social media echoing Trump's conspiracy theories and false claims of massive voter fraud. She posted combative videos about American immigration policy, expressed support for a border wall. Tweeted a picture of herself in a "boat parade" in San Diego, wearing a shirt that read, "We Are Q", referring to QAnon, the radical right conspiracy theorists. She had publicly called for Mike Pence to resign and be charged with treason, Posted numerous videos of Trump rallies and of the 'supporters' headed to DC for yesterday's 'protests'.

    In her last post, she offered "nothing will stop us...they can try and try and try but the storm is here and is descending upon DC in less than 24 hours...dark to light..."

    The 'storm' arrived as advertised. And once the clouds of tear gas had blown away, the 'storm' had resulted in, at least, one fatality.

    The original announcement reported that she was killed by a gunshot fired by a Capitol Police officer who was reacting to the assault of an armed mob on the United States Capitol building. A first in contemporary American history.

    She was shot. But she died from a toxic reaction

    To an unconscionable passel of half truths, false claims, outright lies sold, all very legally, in small, but constant doses, in the forms of "tweets'. By a failed con man/real estate hustler /television game show host who took insecurity, uncertainty, fear and paranoia and concocted a recipe of snake oil never before seen and, likely, never again to be equaled.  

    The irony practically screams out loud. That a young and dedicated veteran of service to her country should die...at the blood stained hands of her "Commander-In-Chief"...

    Ashli Babbitt died yesterday.

    She was shot.

    But she died from something she swallowed. Something she bought quite a while ago.

    Snake oil.

   

     

    

 

 

Smoke Gets In Your Ize

The problem isn't with the lies.

The problem is with the eyes.

And not the "eyes", exactly.

And you'll see what I'm talking about shortly.

Given that the IMAX 3D version of influenza has become the conversational elephant in the room, it's only natural that the political badminton perpetually playing itself out in social media is liberally sprinkled with medical expertise of one degree or another. Or not at all.

And that's "liberally" as in "in large and generous amounts", not "liberally" as in the adverb that sends Trumpists simultaneously reaching for their antacids and their AR-15's.

That's not to say, of course, that the ever present flow of "I know you are, but what am I's" that has become as much a part of our daily chit chat as "good morning", "good night" and "hey, whatta you lookin' at" have suddenly become a scarce as toilet paper on your friendly neighborhood grocer's shelves.....

...and, not for nothin', but what in the world are you all wiping that much?

It is, though, worth saying that, at this point in the time line, while the hailstorm and hubbub of the virus is taking up all the oxygen in the room, not to mention all the aforementioned Charmin off the shelves, there has been, while we have been otherwise distracted and deflected, a shift in one of our more primary paradigms.

And it, like so many other of our primary paradigms that have been jarred, knocked, banged or busted since Donald descended down the escalator from Mount MAGA, has changed not only the way we talk, the way we think, the way we do the things we do....

...but,even, in some ever increasing measurable measure, who we are.

Put a pin in that for a few. We'll come back to it.

My friend, author Alanna Nash, continues to "fight the good fight" for lack of a more applicable, minimalizing , sound-byte worthy catch-phrase (and 2020 'Murica shore do loves them a sound-byte worthy catch-phrase, right....right on....save the whales...Keep 'Murica Great...) when it comes to the, now, pretty much everyday, back and forth that ignites each and every time even a drop of Trump is injected into the flow of pretty much any and all conversations in social media.

The arrival of Coronavirus, or as Fox News likes to refer to it in their never ceasing, ultra patriotic efforts to unite us all, the "Chinese Coronavirus", is just the most recent hook on which we all hang our hats, roll up our sleeves, take out our brass knucks and tire chains and get about the business of beating the shit out of each other.

Here's a plot twist I am confident you were not expecting.

Let's take a pass on pissing each other off about what Donald did or didn't do, or, for that matter, does or doesn't do from here on out, when it came, and comes, to dealing with what has been reasonably labeled the first actual, genuine global crisis with which this particular president has been faced since he solemnly swore to execute and preserve, protect and defend, yada, yada and all that other malarkey that he's treated like a sixteen karat inconvenience as opposed to a sacred obligation.

Put simply, for the more erudite, red cap accessorized sophisticates in the gallery today, the first challenge to the nation and/or the world that couldn't be dispensed with via a few grammatically garbled, impishly misspelled tweets.

Let's just concede that

a) he has done, and/or is doing, a masterful job of leading our nation through the darkness and toward the light of yet another unprecedented brighter day......

...or...

b) has screwed the pooch so badly that America, as it has been, and been known, for over two hundred and forty years will be lucky to come out of this next few weeks alive....let alone prosperous....let alone....wait for it....great.....

Your choice, of course, depending entirely on your current P.O.V., M.R.I, blood pressure and/or bloodstream to Kool Aid ratio.

Supreme leader / pooch screwer
Either /I-ther
Neither / Ny-ther....

Let's call the whole thing off,

Oh, if wishin made it so.

Instead, let's meander back to that primary paradigm shift I mentioned a few minutes ago.

And, obviously, we're going to shoot right straight to the heart of the matter here. I'm just an old fashioned guy who enjoys washing down my bitter pill with a little tasty vocabulary and "meander" is not a word that gets a chance to come off the bench much anymore.

Then again, the screwing of pooches does, in fact, usually involve a considerable amount of meandering but I'm committed to staying on point here.

And here's the point here.

Four years, an infinite amount of injustices, insults, injuries to foundations that the Founders foundationed, endless awkward moments and a kabillion grammatically garbled, impishly misspelled tweets later and Donald Trump can still do no wrong.

And that's what's wrong.

But, again, not for the reason you're either assuming....or crouching down in preparation of jumping to defend.

And, as has been offered and re-offered to the demarcation line of delirium, not because those who insist on digging in even more deeply to preserve, protect and defend their president are blind to his transgressions, tantrums and grammatically garbled, impishly misspelled tweets.

With the exception of one relatively tiny demographic, they are fully aware and seeing very clearly.

The problem is not with their eyes.

Oh...and that one relatively tiny demographic?. That inevitable small percentage of any population of human beings that actually do sleep soundly every night sincerely believing that education is the root of all evil, Kellyanne Conway is Joan of Arc without the Bic Lighter, wearing the MAGA red t-shirt that proclaims " You Can Grab My Pussy Anytime, Mr. President" is second only to flag waving when it comes to real, God blessed patriotism....and that the only good skin is a white skin....well, with a pinkish hue.....well, okay, maybe just a hint of tan, but we're talkin' long, God fearing, hard working days in the field and not any of that, you know, other brown skin.

Meanwhile, back to the fully aware and very clearly seeing.

The problem isn't with their eyes.

The problem is with their "ize".

As in romanticize.

Desensitize.

Mythologize.

Dehumanize.

And one more, big pair of "ize" just ahead.

I mentioned Alanna Nash, in particular, because one post and comment thread of late did an empirical job of shining a bright light on the "ize" in play here.

Names and specific quotes are academic. Suffice to say that the original post was a legitimate criticism of the way Trump had handled something.

Inevitably, and sadly, within just a few comments of agreement and/or reasonable debate, one commenter took harsh task with the criticism and opened fire with pretty much every note we've all come to recognize, by heart, from the Trump Sympathy Symphony.

What made this particular salvo unique was, first, it was clear that the commenter was not just a hit and runner, or even a troll, but was, in fact, a longtime friend of Alanna's.

It was also clear, from her grammar and spelling and overall presentation, that she was not a member of that aforementioned tiny tasteless T Shirt, Mama don't allow no brown skins ' round here demographic.

Her point of view, while clearly passionate and flirting with furious, was articulate and cogent.

And it was her ability to articulate and her command of cogency that connected my dots and made me realize what we, as a nation, are actually dealing with four years, an infinite amount of injustices, insults, injuries to foundations that the Founders foundationed, endless awkward moments and a kabillion grammatically garbled, impishly misspelled tweets later.

It's not that his followers don't see that he is a blunt tool. They see just fine.

It's not that his followers don't see that he's a liar that lies more than a woodchuck chucks wood. They see just fine.

It's not that they don't see that he belittles people who dare to disagree with him, he ridicules anyone who isn't loyal to the point of obsession. They see just fine.

It's not that they don't know with crystal clarity that he is wrong about nothing and right about pretty much everything and that he is never, ever, ever responsible, accountable, to blame or deserving of criticism of any kind for any reason.

Never.

Ever.

They see just fine.

It's not that they don't know, for an indisputable fact, that he did, as he campaigned to be chosen for the privilege of serving the entire nation as President of the United States of America, denigrate, ridicule and mock Serge Kovaleski.

They are much older than five.

And any five year old sees that he denigrated, ridiculed and mocked Serge Kovaleski.

They see just fine.

But, somewhere along the way, at some point in this darkly, satirical dramedy that's now in year four of season one, they decided that whatever the means were, the ends more than justified them.

Way more.

The most more. The best more. The just terrific more.

The "nobody knows more than I know about more" more.

Okay, so he belittles people. Yeah, whatever. I got a nice little raise this year. God bless you, Mr. President.

He lies and makes things up. Blah, blah. Everybody lies and especially Pelosi and Schumer, just like Obama and Hillary and Bill and...yeah, whatever. The economy is booming. God bless you, Mr. President.

He ridicules anyone who isn't loyal to him. Waa waa. Somebody hires you and they have a right to expect your loyalty. Unemployment rate is down. God bless you, Mr. President.

Well, so what if he mocked that crippled reporter guy. That guy wrote nasty things about him. So he can dish it out, but he can't take it. Puhleeze. Our president is going to get that wall built, man. God bless you, sir.

They see just fine.

The problem isn't with the eyes.

The problem is with the "ize".

And that earlier promised big pair of "ize"

"...the attempt to explain or justify (one's own or another's behavior or attitude) with logical, plausible reasons, even if these are not true or appropriate...."

Rationalize.

and...

"...to make, conform to...or reduce...something to a standard of normalcy..."

In plain English.....

To make it normal.

Normalize.

Belittling, ridiculing, denigrating, mocking, bullying.

Made...no, scratch that.

Reduced... to being normal.

Ignorance, ineptitude, insensitivity...incompetence.

Normal. Normal. Normal........Normal.

The problem isn't with their eyes.

They see just fine.

Oh...

One more "ize" worth mentioning here.

Occasionally associated with viruses.

Most often associated with cancers.

The kind that destroys cells.

And the kind that destroy societies.

Metastasize.





 

X Not Only Marks The Spot, It Marks The Ballot, Too...

Old saying.

Two things certain in life.

Death and taxes.

2020 re-boot.

At the very least, two additional things certain in life.

A love of game shows and reality television.

Couple of fun facts to know and tell about the former.

The death and taxes quote is attributed to no less a wit than Benjamin Franklin, in a letter to French scientist Jean-Baptiste Leroy in 1789.

The exact excerpt of that letter reading as follows:

"Our new Constitution is now established and has an appearance that promotes permanency, but in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except.......

Say it with me.....

...death and taxes."

It's worth noting, of course, that while the whole death and taxes ba dum bump has been ba dum bumped around now for the 240 years since Ben and Jean-Baptiste were pen pals, it is both interesting, and not just a little eerie, that the actual phrase wasn't a stand alone, but was, in fact, a punch line to Ben's observation that the, then, newly minted American Constitution was, in no way, guaranteed to be a sure thing, fail safe, bullet proof, unconditional warranty, protecting all of the we that made up that other heart stirring catch phrase of the time, "we, the people".

Interesting because, safe to say, most people don't know that "death and taxes" ever had anything at all to do with the Constitution.

Eerie because we're talking about death and taxes at the moment, a moment in the American history timeline in which that Constitution is getting what is going to end up being described as an historically brutal bitch slappin'.

Meanwhile, back at the 2020 re-boot.

And two of our new besties, game shows and reality television.

Motivating, understandably, the request for an answer to the question.

What in the world do game shows and reality television have to do with death and taxes?

Well, as our friend Dr. Franklin very possibly might have said at one time or another in his own lifetime....

Don't get your kite all tangled.

You'll get your "what" as in "what in the world" in a few minutes.

For almost a year now, my friend and fellow opinion enthusiast, Dave Simmons and I have been doing a vidcast/podcast called "The Blab"

New broadcasts air and publish each Tuesday night on our Facebook page with that week's program continuing to be available for the remainder of the week on the Facebook page and at my own website, sepradionetwork.com

The Blab is sixty minutes of, well, as our show promo hype hypes, "just two guys talkin'". And while neither one of us claims any particular credentials validating our observations, opinions and/or commentaries, we're confident that we're as qualified as the next guy or gal that offers observations, opinions and commentaries to offer observations, opinions and commentaries.

Because thanks to social media, of course, it's become irrefutably obvious that everyone either you and I know is an expert on pretty much everything there is to observe, opine or comment upon.

Including, of course, you and I.

And me and my friend, and fellow opinion enthusiast, Dave Simmons.

We make an effort to keep the conversational topics diverse, eclectic, hopefully entertaining and, even if only accidentally, informative.

Because while we are both very personally opinionated, and not afraid to 'em, we are both more than aware that the average human attention span is, currently, like Congress' approval rating, at an all time low.

And while the show may just be "two guys talkin'", the two guys talkin' have, at this writing,  125 years, give or take, of life experience. So, to paraphrase, if not rudely rough up, actor JK Simmons's fun insurance commercial catchphrase.....

"We know some shit...cause we seen some shit.."

And inevitably, if only because it is the exceptionally bloated, mutated elephant in the room these days, politics has a way of sucking up a lot of the oxygen in the studio each week.

In the interest of both fairness and full disclosure, I'm usually the guiltier of the two of us when it comes to steering the Blab bus back into the muck and mire of 'Murican political muck and mire when it appears we're done with politics for that evening's program, but only because, of the two of us, I've got a decade or so on Dave and, paraphrasing Kathy Bates paraphrasing JK Simmons, "I'm older and I've got more insurance....and I've seen a decade's more shit..."

Make no mistake, though, Dave's a smart and insightful fellow and gives as good as he gets. No small feat, by the way, and I have ex-wives lined up to freely and liberally add "amens" to that.

But, being, say, Obi Wan to Dave's Luke....or Wally to Dave's Beaver (yes, he said Beaver....inside joke for all you Blab fans out there), I'm usually the one being asked for political perspective with Dave doing the asking.

I admire and respect that he thinks enough of me and our friendship to come to me for that perspective while, of course, admiring and respecting that he's a thousand miles past smart enough to know that I'm gonna give it to him whether he asks for it or not.

Bright guy, that Beaver (yes, he said Beaver, again)

Here's a question he offered on a broadcast recently.

"So, who do you think the Democrats are going to nominate?"

While that seems like a pretty simple and direct question, it's worth noting here that, in fact, Dave showed remarkable savvy in asking it, because he knows me well enough to know that when it comes to simple and direct questions, simple and direct answers just aren't my thing, baby.

Hey,if Trump gets away with his landfill sized pile of shit under the cloak of "that's just Donald being Donald", then, I'm claiming my God given right to just be me.

And I've been me almost as long as Donald has been Donald.

One key difference, though. My answers really are a concoction of thought, consideration, reflection, relying on a life time of reading, research, listening, learning, observation and contemplation, with a confidence that while I'm never shy about expressing my own point of view, really wise people know that other points of view are essential, even critical, to the process of making what, ultimately, will be intelligent and productive decisions.

While Donald, of course, says whatever what passes for a brain shoots down his synaptic yellow brick road and out of his mouth, or Tweeting fingers, before you can say "tippy top shape".

And the only other points of view he ever, ever, listens to are those coming out of the Rhodes Scholars disguised as Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels on the hilarious sister station to the Cartoon Network, Fox News.

Meanwhile, back at my answer to Dave's query (yes, he said query, but it's not that kind of query).

"I don't know yet. And don't have any firm predictions to make yet. I need two things to happen before I can give you any prediction. Iowa and New Hampshire. Let's have this conversation then."

Then, and only, then, will it be possible to measure actual prevailing winds.

And not just the 'too much air time on their hands' yammering of some political weather forecaster.

That's the what of the answer to the question.

Here's the why.

Game shows. And reality television.

Given the election of Trump in the first place, 2016 is looked back upon as a unique, if not phenomenal, year in American electoral history.

And that's not phenomenal as in, say, Beatlemania or the singing voice of Susan Boyle or the Cleveland Browns actually winning six games this past season.

But, phenomenal as in its synonym sisters...uncommon, unbelievable....inconceivable.

But, when it comes to 2020....cue Al Jolson, circa 1925....

"...you ain't seen nothin, yet..."

Political prediction is always a slippery slope in the best of times. And nobody with a medulla in their noggin' would label these times as the best of times.

And 2020 presents an even slippery-er slope than ever before. Because prediction, at least reasonably intelligent prediction, is based on factors that, however bent and dented they might be after generations of use and abuse, are still tried and true, if not positively dependable, then, at least plausible...possible.

2020 finds the tried and true off the table, down the rabbit hole, deep in the nebula,

All bets are off, baby.

And those holding on to their slide rules, pie charts and bar graphs like grim death, those who are already ready to call this thing in favor of Donald, The Nightmare Continues or Democrats-The Reckoning, are well advised to remember one word that will forever stand as a testament to the pitfalls of ever, ever, counting your chickens before the hatching is a wrap.

Hillary.

As for me and my chosen methodology of prognostication?

Game show.

To be more precise....talent competition.

Cue the honorable Mr. Webster.

"a variable in a given situation that could have the most significant impact on the outcome."

That's what it is.

Here's what it's called.

X Factor.

Here's how it applies to what's coming.

It's both reasonable and logical to suggest that there are hundreds of thousands, if not, literally, millions of people, of voting age, registered to vote, whose vote in the election of 2020 is going to be impossible to predict until sometime on, or even after, November 3. Which isn't to say that the predictions are suddenly going to fade away, We all know that they will not only continue but, given the unprecedented volatility of the coming contest, predictions will fly like footballs on second down.

Because prediction is interesting, intriguing, even exciting. And they serve as the statistically teasy equivalent of "if it bleeds, it leads" in media.

Even though if history has taught us anything, it's that prediction, based on statistics, based on pre election polling, is as reliable as promises of new jobs for coal miners, quality, affordable healthcare for everyone and, that oldie but goodie, a great wall on the border, paid for by those folks on the other side of the border.

And if it isn't history that has taught us anything, once again, we would refer you to that which has taught us everything we need to know about predictions, stats and polls.

Hillary.

But back to the millions. 

In Nixon's time, the phrase "silent majority" came into fashion. While the context of its use in those days differs from nowadays, the premise was the same. 

Millions of people with nothing to say, except for the expression of their choice of who should be in charge, said choice to be expressed only upon the closing of the curtain behind them in that little booth come November.

This time around, meet the new booth, same as the old booth.

But here's the X factor.

Fatigue.

Even exhaustion.

Nixon's misadventures, although historic, at the time, were, in hindsight, little more than a little out of the ordinary bending of the rules and regs resulting in reckoning...and resignation.

And memory serves, a lot of people got weary of the whole day in, day out Watergate yada yada up to the day that Nixon wrote that "effective noon tomorrow" letter that now resides in the national archives and a kabillion photo copies to see in Google Images.

But, again, memory serves, weariness wasn't really fatigue and it came nowhere near exhaustion.

This time around, nobody knows the trouble we seen. Nobody knows our exhaustion.

'Ceptin', of course, them's of us what's exhausted.
 
The blurry, blunt blotch on the timeline that is the 'presidency' of Donald Trump has 
been a philosophical, psychological, even physical drain on the national, even global, psyche that makes that salt creature sucking unfortunate Star Fleet ensigns dry on that early episode of the Shatner/Nimoy Star Trek series look like an impish kissing bandit.

And exhaustion may, or may not, have any credible effect on a poll, but, bet the farm, Nadine, exhaustion takes a toll.

And that toll could very easily result in those exhausted, for the time being, silent millions showing up in record numbers in November and letting it be known, with their closed curtain voice, that they've seen enough, heard enough and had enough and want to end the days of an America that has, for four years, been a divorcing mommy and daddy either treating each other with cold contempt or screaming at each other....every hour....of every damn day.

Will it matter who's running against Trump?

Anybody who has experienced divorce, either as a child watching their mommy and daddy stabbing at each other from Hell's heart, as a mommy or daddy being stabbed at from Hell's heart or have even simply endured deep, long lasting, chronic pain will testify to this set in stone truth.

Whatever it takes to make the contempt and the screaming...and the pain....stop.

Whatever.

Is there any way to predict how many there are, how much enough is enough they feel, how many of them will show up?

Nope.

That's why it's called an X Factor.

Speaking of which, there's a second, less complicated, but just as legit factor of X.

God is great, beer is good.

And people are crazy.

Shit happens.

It ain't over till its over.

Once again, the dictionary def of "x factor".

"a variable in a given situation that could have the most significant impact on the outcome."

Notice that there is no insertion of the word "predictable" between the words "a" and "variable".

There are, in any kind of contest, but, most especially in political contests, always variables that have a significant impact on the outcome.

And, not to muddy the water or induce an ice cream freeze headache, but we also have to account for X factor of realizing that there are, as yet, unpredictable, additional X factors to take into consideration.

I'm standing pat and going all in, though, on my personally theorized X factor of what, in the spirit of infamous acronyms like STFU, LOL and MAGA, we'll satirically acronymize as PDSDT.....

Pretty Damn Sick of Donald Trump.

Beyond that, Iowa and New Hampshire.

And then let's carry on with the conversation.

Oh....and the reality television thing?

Well, first of all, reality television really is an oxymoron, can't we all agree?

And whether you think of it as essential viewing or the darkest form of fictional comedy, there is no denying that it has, and could very easily continue to have, an immeasurable impact on your life...and the lives of your kids and their kids and maybe even their kids.

Not feeling it?

I would refer you to the one reality television program that has, thus far, had a staggering impact on your life, the lives of your kids and maybe even their kids....and their kids.

A comedy competition program that just doesn't seem anywhere near funny anymore.

The Apprentice.