Monthly Archives: May 2018

The Americans Thread: Brothers In Arms

I expected a series finale curve ball from Americans honchos Joe Weisberg and Joel Fields and we got one. It was a curveball that Minnesota Twins super fan Glenn Haskard would have appreciated since his boy Bert Blyleven had the best hook in baseball history. I knew a curveball was coming but I wasn’t prepared for this particular break.

Even the finale title START was a curveball. It was named for the next generation disarmament pact that was finalized during Bush 42’s administration. But it sounds more like a series premiere. It’s The Americans way.

I “studied” for the finale by watching big chunks of seasons 3 and four in preparation. I’m not sure if I aced it, but I’m hoping to give Henry a run for his money grade-wise. Please grade me on a curve or is that curveball? You decide.

After several relatively silent episodes, music was prominent in the series finale. I’ll get to the use of U2’s With or Without You after the break. The dirge-like Brothers In Arms was brilliantly used in the episode and since it’s one of my favorite Dire Straits songs, I decided to make it the post title. It will also be burned on my mind as the theme song of Philip and Stan’s doomed friendship.

Let’s play it before the spoiler break:

Continue reading

Are We Sure It Can’t Happen Here?

boy_king_donald_3_flag_cross_2

Turns out I was wrong all this time. Contrary to what I’d thought (and yeah, haven’t read it yet, though it’s on my ever-expanding list) Sinclair Lewis didn’t coin the phrase “when fascism comes to the US it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying the cross.” But it’s hard to watch the latest bit of performance art in Nashville and not think, damn…this is deeply disturbing.

Gratuitous cruelty is official policy. Puerto Rico was abandoned last year, even as Trump flat out lied in bragging about his response to the two storms that devastated the island. Ever more contorted excuses are, what– tested/focus grouped?– by Ghouliani and others as they no longer bother to deny felonies like collusion with a foreign government or obstruction of justice but instead rehash the old Nixon defense of “if the president does it, it’s not illegal” (notwithstanding that collusion occurred before he “won” the election).

And that Trump spent a decade or more as a full service laundromat for mobbed-up Russian cash…not to mention having a personal life that evangelicals would condemn if they weren’t so eager to give him a mulligan…is little more than gossip column fodder. Michelle Wolf got that one spot-on. They just can’t quit him.

But we’ve got to. Trump might be a joke, but the direction he’s taking the country isn’t. It’s a race to the bottom that doesn’t end well at all.

 

Pulp Fiction Thursday: Rififi

In honor of last night’s series finale of The Americans, I’m revisiting Rifii. It began life as a novel by Auguste le Breton before being adapted for the big screen. It turns out that the movie was such a big hit that le Breton wrote more Rififi books. Our focus is on the original tome with this image of a rather battered early edition:

My father taught me to never trust a man in red suspenders. I made that up but he was not a fan of suspenders.

Let’s move on to some posters for Jules Dassin’s classic movie:

Yeah, I know the pictures are a bit crooked. It *is* a heist movie, after all.

Time for le trailer:

 

What About Me?

The president* has broken his silence about the Roseanne shitshow. He’s demanding an apology from ABC for every time they hurt his feelings. I am not making this up:

He even had his horrible press secretary demand an apology from Disney and ABC.  I’ve mocked this president* many times at First Draft so I have an apology for him. I’m sorry for saying that you wear a dead nutria pelt atop your head. The apology is to nutrias. I should be careful about the whole guilt-by-association thing.

In many ways, Trump is the ultimate twitter person. One of his few talents is an eerie ability to make everything about himself. We learned on Monday that Memorial Day is all about him.  Today it’s the Roseanne mishigas. What’s next? Independence Day? Yom Kippur? Ramadan?

It’s time to drop Ambien and play some Robert Cray in order to thwart the racist side effects of that drug.

Ambien Tweeting With Roseanne

I realize that some readers are rolling their eyes because I’m writing about the Roseanne freak show instead of more important matters. There’s been much tut-tutting about this on twitter, the home of overblown outrage and serial dumbassery. I’m multi-tasking: I *could* write about the latest wave of Trump scandals or horrible behavior by the president* but that’s what he wants us to do. As a creature of the New York tabloids, he thinks that all publicity is good. He’s a news cycle shark, convinced he’ll die if he’s not on page one every minute. I don’t feel like playing right now. I suspect I will soon enough. Like Levi Stubbs, I can’t help myself.

Yesterday’s psycho drama was both surprising and not surprising at all. Roseanne Barr has *always* been a horrible person. It’s why I rarely watched her original sitcom despite my fondness for John Goodman, Laurie Metcalf, and Darlene Gilbert. It’s why I haven’t watched the reboot. Additionally, her voice is annoying and she isn’t funny. Nobody should be surprised that she had a public meltdown and fired off a racist tweet about former President Obama’s right hand woman, Valerie Jarrett. In typical Roseanne fashion, it was the crudest insult imaginable as well as the stalest stereotype possible. Repeat after me: she’s not funny.

The surprise yesterday came from ABC. I *assumed* that high ratings would trump everything else and that they’d muddle through after the self-described “domestic goddess” apologized on twitter. I was wrong: ABC fired her bigoted ass. Score one for diversity: ABC President Channing Dungey, who is an African-American woman, wasn’t having it.  Given Barr’s dreadful track record, it was obvious that this would happen again and again and again. Her racism is the gift that keeps giving. Racism isn’t funny and neither is Roseanne Barr.

While ABC deserves kudos for giving the reboot the boot, they shouldn’t have brought Roseanne back in the first place. In the pre-social media era, the star’s malakatude was containable. In 2018, this sort of meltdown was inevitable. Besides, she’s not funny.

My favorite part of the Tuesday shitshow was Barr’s claim that she was leaving twitter, which was followed by a tweet and retweet storm. This instant classic was deleted by the former teevee star:

The tweeter tube is a dangerous place for people without impulse control. If you’re either well-known enough or a big enough asshole, it doesn’t matter if you delete, it will be screen shot and live forever. One thing I agree with Roseanne on, she *is* an idiot as well as a selfish creep: 300 people associated with her show were laid off yesterday. That’s not funny and neither is Roseanne Barr.

Album Cover Art Wednesday: Marvin Gaye Super Hits

This Marvin Gaye compilation was released in 1970 by a record company hungry for product. Marvin shrugged it off and went back to work on his greatest album What’s Going On.

I’m uncertain as to what Marvin thought of Carl Owens’ cover art but who wouldn’t want to be depicted as a super hero of soul?

I rarely post a YouTube playlist in this space BUT this one is so good that I’m breaking my own rule. Book me, Danno.

 

How to Rise

Screw Rudy and George and the pile of burning metal they rode into myth on:

The problem with this movie isn’t so much that Rudy was shitty and then wasn’t. It’s that anyone on earth can show up in a crisis and we think that proves anything at all.

Think about it. Think about an actual crisis. Yes, shit is on fire, but you have something discrete to do. Your job is to stand in front of the cameras and calm everybody down. Approve things someone else has thought of. Say yes and no. You can be calm in that, when everybody’s watching.

But the next day? And the next? And the next? The days after, or before, all eyes are on you? When there’s no galvanizing event, when there’s no movie playing in your head complete with inspiring soundtrack? Can you show up then?

Can you do it when nobody’s watching? When nobody’s taking pictures? Can you do it when you know nobody’s ever gonna throw you a parade?

It’s not even about “in adversity,” because adversity, too, is grounding and centering and motivating. When they’re throwing rotten fruit at you you can laugh and duck and give them the finger. Can you work for others when your work is ignored? When the response to your almost killing yourself is, at most, a shrug?

That’s the test. The hard, grinding, everyday bullshit of working for the common good, that’s the prize.

W. stood on the debris pile and yelled into a microphone and the whole country listened. Rudy held everyone in his hands and said the death toll may be more than we can bear. It’s hard to remember those moments honestly now because shortly thereafter everybody lost their whole entire minds, but in those moments they were needed, these two clown princes of public life, and they did a job.

They did a job and did it well. But it wasn’t THE job, and the problem with a redemption story is that it ends, redeemed. We get so angry and disappointed with our leaders and our lives because nothing is like that, nothing at all.

What is the story if it’s just getting up every single day and making the coffee? Where’s the soundtrack for that? For the long walk home after you cross the finish line, for the stretch and the laundry and the dinner the next night? What if you were judged by the public not on how high you rise in the moment but on where you settle down, at the close of the day, when you’re bone tired and all you want to do is sleep?

What if we judged based on what you did then? What would that look like? Just you, alone in the dark, working on something that nobody cares about, sanding it down and making it fine and true. No one will ever see it. No one will properly appreciate it. No one will even know.

Do you do the job then?

That’s your fucking Capra film.

A.

Not Everything Sucks: Gandalf and Magneto Edition

Ian McKellen, human treasure: 

The younger Dumbledore isn’t explicitly gay in the new ‘Fantastic Beasts’ movie. Why do you think there are so few gay characters in blockbusters?
‘Isn’t he? That’s a pity. Well, nobody looks to Hollywood for social commentary, do they? They only recently discovered that there were black people in the world. Hollywood has mistreated women in every possible way throughout its history. Gay men don’t exist. “Gods and Monsters” [1998], I think, was the beginning of Hollywood admitting that there were gay people knocking around, even though half of Hollywood is gay.’

A.

Memorial Day: Who I Remember

There’s nothing like a national holiday to make one feel ritualistic.This post was written in 2010 and is making its ninth annual appearance at First Draft. It was also published in our anthology, Our Fate Is Your Fate.

I realize it *should* be posted on Veterans Day since my remembered soldier survived the war BUT old habits are hard to break. Besides, I would face the wrath of both Athenae and Dr. A if I didn’t post it. So, here we go again:

The veteran I’d like to remember on this solemn holiday is the late Sgt. Eddie Couvillion.

Soldier Boy

My family tree is far too tangled and gnarly to describe here but suffice it to say that Eddie was my second father. He served in Europe during World War II, not in combat but in the Army Quartermaster Corps. In short, he was a supply Sergeant, one of those guys who won the war by keeping the troops fed, clad, and shod. Eddie was what was called in those days a scrounger; not unlike Milo Minderbinder in Catch-22 or James Garner’s character in The Great Escape. 

Eddie’s favorite military exploit was running an army approved bordello in France after hostilities ended. He always called it a cat house and bragged that it was the best little whorehouse in Europe. One can serve one’s country in manifold ways…

Eddie died 5 years ago [2005] and I still miss him. He was a remarkable man because he changed so much as he aged. When I met him, he was a hardcore Texas/Louisiana conservative with old South racial views and attitudes. At an age when many people close their minds, Eddie opened his and stopped thinking of black folks as a collective entity that he didn’t care for and started thinking of them as individuals. Eddie was a genuine Southern gentleman so he’d never done or said an unkind thing to anyone and confided to me that the only one he’d ever hurt by being prejudiced was himself. I was briefly speechless because we’d had more than a few rows over that very subject. Then he laughed, shook his head and said: “Aren’t you going to tell me how proud you are of me? You goddamn liberals are hard to satisfy.”

Actually, I’m easily satisfied. In 2004, Eddie had some astonishing news for me: he’d not only turned against the Iraq War but planned to vote for John Kerry because “Bush Junior is a lying weasel and a draft dodger.” That time he didn’t need to ask me if I was proud of him, it was written all over my face. It was the first and only time he ever voted for a Democrat for President.

I salute you, Sgt. Couvillion. I only wish that I could pour you a glass of bourbon on the rocks and we could raise our glasses in a Memorial Day toast.

JESUS TITS WHO CARES IF THEY’RE NICE?

UGGGGGHHHH.

Sean Spicer is a nice guy!

From articles I read, people who knew him (on both sides) said he wasn’t a bad guy even if they didn’t agree with him. So I can see where he gets the job thinking “OK, all that was just for the election but now it will just be a White House administration like any other.’ Then he actually has to do the job and is like “Fuck! This isn’t what I signed up for.”

Honestly, if that was the case he should have walked on Day 1 out the door but I dunno….maybe he thought others could reign Trump in a bit…Trump would realize he couldn’t just spout off whatever he thought & let his Press Secretary do his job…whatever. Spicey is someone you want to hate and then you see all this goofy stuff he does (like the van pic) and then don’t.

He was a part of this administration after “grab ’em by the pussy” and mocking disabled reporters and calling Mexican immigrants rapists.

That’s it. That’s enough. That’s all it should take to get you blackballed from polite society forever.

No takebacks after you quit. No book deals from legitimate publishers. No fucking jokey appearances among your fellow rich Caucasians at parties. No talk show appearances. You worked for a fucking criminal and liar, we’re done.

This goes double for half the #NeverTrump crowd, btw. Write an apology book and it’s like all those people dead in NOLA didn’t happen! Magic.

A.

Emphasis

Atrios gets close to something here that we talk about a lot: 

I get the objective pose in journalism, and it makes sense in a lot of contexts, but in political coverage it is inconsistently applied and, for normal people, completely inverted. It’s okay to express outrage that someone said something mean about John McCain. It’s “political” and “taking sides” to give a shit about brown kids being kidnapped from their parents. It would not be “taking sides” to give a shit if white kids were being kidnapped from their DC private schools. In other parts of journalism, the question of what to emphasize can be divorced from ideological leanings, but in political coverage it just can’t be. It is everything.

Which is the question of escalation. It’s a three-day crisis when a comedian kinda-sorta insults Sarah Huckabee Sanders, but call Hillary Clinton a “bull dyke” (as Roger Stone did) and not only will no one raise an eyebrow, you might even get invited on CNN as an expert source! Only some things get escalated to all-day-speculation-and-chatter status.

Only some things are worth examining or arguing about, and raising to the level of discussion that everybody and their hairdresser can have an opinion about it.

I sat at a table recently listening to someone very seriously make the argument that Democrats — currently our last best hope for keeping many people alive — just needed to “find a voice” that could “rise above the chaos” and somehow magically capture media attention, as if what gets made into a weeklong story is a matter of merit. As if, if the work is good enough, it will magically find its audience. As if none of this is true:

And built into most of the reporting are certain assumptions that at best make no sense and at worst are, themselves, highly ideological. Bipartisanship is good, even though usually the worst things in DC happen under the cover of bipartisanship. Deficits are bad, unless caused by tax cuts. Poor people get “welfare” and rich people get “incentives.” There is no racism, there are just things that are “racially charged.” The only poor people in America are white people in coal country. Black people don’t exist in the South or, really, anywhere. Cops are good. The military is unquestionably good. Republican style patriotism is good.

We have deeply lazy, stupid people in charge of our public discourse, and they will twist themselves into knots rather than admit something counter to their narrative does in fact exist. Maggie Haberman’s all over Twitter yelling that the word “lie” doesn’t matter and Politico’s “analysts” are calling Trump’s goat rodeo in North Korea some kind of secret brilliance and it’s all to avoid having to do things differently. We act like there are rules stopping us from doing or saying anything.

There aren’t any rules. At least, none that we didn’t make up, and can un-make.

A.

Sunday Morning Video: TCB

TCB is a 1968 teevee special produced by Motown in association with the guys who made Laugh In, George Schlatter and Ed Friendly. TCB was a then popular acronym standing for Taking Care of Business.

Saturday Odds & Sods: A Mess Of Blues

The Star by Benny Andrews.

There’s a system forming in the Gulf, which has led to the inevitable widespread panic on social media. And I’m not talking about the jam band either. It’s a bit early for this but when did the weather care what I thought? I do wish people would stop Chicken Little-ing. That never makes anything better.  Ya heard?

Dr. A and I celebrated our anniversary at one of our favorite local eateries, Gabrielle Restaurant. It’s a reboot of the beloved restaurant owned and operated by Greg and Mary Sonnier before Katrina. They revived it some 12 years after the original Mystery Street location flooded. The food is fabulous and the new space on Orleans Avenue is warm and inviting. Grace and I know Mary and her charming daughter (some would say clone) Gabie aka the girl for whom the joint is named. Put it at the top of your list the next time you’re looking for a great meal and fabulous service in New Orleans. Greg is one of the best chefs in the Gret Stet of Louisiana and that’s saying something. That concludes this brief commercial announcement. Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

This week’s theme song was written in 1960 by Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman for Elvis Presley. It was the b-side of It’s Now Or Never but it also charted at number 32 in the US and number 2 in the UK. It was recorded at the same time as Elvis’ post-army comeback LP Elvis Is Back but was not included on the original album, a common practice in those days: you wanted the kids to buy both the 33 and 45. Colonel Parker knew how to shake down the suckers, y’all.

We have two versions of A Mess of Blues for your listening pleasure: the Elvis original and a 1995 cover from the great John Hiatt.

Now that we’ve messed around with the blues, let’s jump to the break.

Continue reading

So Much For That Nobel Peace Prize

The cancellation of the “two madmen for the price of one” summit was the least surprising development ever. The summit was conceived on an impulse and cancelled on one as well:

Early Thursday morning, after a flurry of calls with a handful of senior advisers, an angry President Donald Trump personally dictated the three-paragraph letter to North Korean leader Kim Jong Un that canceled the scheduled summit between their two nations.

It had been less than 12 hours since Trump and his team began grappling intensely with the prospects for shelving what would have been a historic meeting between the two heads of state.

But the president, fearing that the North Koreans might beat him to the punch, wanted to be the one to cancel first, multiple officials told NBC News.

The president’s* fatal lack of impulse control has bitten him in the ass again. After weeks, of fulsome flattery, the two sides started trading barbs. I kept waiting for the D-word: DOTARD. Instead, the North Korean side used a different D-word, calling Vice President* Pence a political DUMMY. It’s an apt analogy: he *is* a dummy and his ventriloquist is an Insult Comedian with a dead nutria pelt atop his head. It reminds me of the venerable ad:

Infighting between Mike Pompeo and John Bolton also doomed this misbegotten venture. Once Bolton used the phrase “Libyan solution,” the ill-conceived summit was bound to be flushed. The kid with the bad haircut wants *his* family business to survive unlike that of Colonel Gaddafi. Knowing Bolton and his mustache as I do, it was a deliberate act of sabotage. Is there anything Trumpier than self-sabotage?

I almost called this post “Trump’s Dear Jong-Un Letter” as a pun on a Dear John letter. The missive he dictated to the dictator sounded like a spurned lover. He may have wept bitter orange tears for all we know. I dig Josh Marshall’s take on the break up letter:

The words resonate with a genuine hurt and anguish, mixed with moments of menace and still hope for the future. It reads needy. It’s like a letter you write to a romantic partner who has abandoned you without saying so. You write, hurt, finalizing what is already clear.

<snip>

There’s one other point worth noting. We often discuss how President Trump seems to see diplomacy in highly personal terms. Things depend on how he and the other man or woman get along personally. There’s his military, his diplomats, his cabinet secretaries. He has little sense that the US and other states may have foundational interests that trump any personal chemistry between the leaders. This letters suggests (unsurprisingly) that this feeling of personal investment is quite real, not only on the ‘positive’ side but on the negative side as well. He seems truly hurt and angry. “A wonderful dialogue was building up between you and me” … “that was a beautiful gesture” … “please do not hesitate to call me or write” … “We were informed that the meeting was requested by North Korea, but that to us is totally irrelevant.” It’s not good to have a President who is this emotionally needy or one that conducts dangerous foreign policy on whims and ignorance. The entire thing is a ridiculous and embarrassing chapter in our history.

Another striking thing about the demise of the “two madmen for the price of one” summit is that the White House made the decision without consulting anyone. Not only were the Chinese, South Korean, and Japanese governments not informed in advance neither was Mike Pompeo. This is no way to run a railroad or a foreign policy. It reminds me of the Kissinger-Rogers, Brzezinski-Vance, Rice-Powell duels between the NSC and State Department. Hell, at least McMaster neither baited Tillerson nor served him poison tea.

Back to the post title. Despite the fervent wishes of Trump’s sycophants in the House of Representatives, the Kaiser of Chaos was never going to win a Nobel Peace Prize. The Swedes are not zany enough to do such a thing.

A different administration would learn from this mistake. It’s no fun wiping egg off your face and pretending it’s an omelette. But they won’t learn a damn thing. Trump will continue to think that foreign policy negotiations are akin to real estate deals and that winging it is okay. Past presidents have learned from their mistakes, this one won’t even admit to making one.

Friday Guest Catblogging: Laser Cat

I like to complain about social media but I enjoy some aspects of it, especially the chance to get to know my readers. Today’s catblogging features a cat who rooms with two of my favorite internet people, Lex and Carroll. I’m omitting the last name to protect the guilty: Lex who is a Crack Van regular and blogger on the run.

I’ve enjoyed following the exploits of their tabby Tracy Lee Kelly. I call him the Many Named Cat for obvious reasons. When I first saw the picture below, my first reaction was DEVIL EYES. I was swiftly corrected and told that they call them LASER EYES. Hey, it’s their cat. I’ve got my hands full with the krewe of cats named for Perry Mason characters.

 

The Americans Thread: Topsy Turvy

We’ve reached the penultimate episode of the final season of The Americans: Jennings, Elizabeth. The title refers to a FBI data base search run by Stan, which comes up empty. I was not surprised: the many wigged spy has always excelled in staying off the radar screen. That time, however, has come to an end. It’s time for the end game of this great series. My withdrawal symptoms increased dramatically after re-watching the episode.

I try not to use anachronistic music in my Americans recaps.  But every rule was meant to be broken, especially when a title is so spot on. From 2001’s Houston Kid, Mr. Rodney Crowell:

It’s spoiler break time. See you on the other side.

Continue reading

Swamp Things Don’t Drain Swamps

trump_swamp_thing

It’s become a dreary slog to keep up with the sleaze and rot. Revelations that Michael Cohen got paid $400K by the Ukrainian government in exchange for allegedly arranging a meeting between their president and ours — and the subsequent decision by Ukraine to cut short an investigation into Paul Manafort — get the “in other news” treatment for the most part (imagine the level of fury from the noise machine if this had happened with a Clinton or Obama associate. Actually, you don’t need to imagine, because the Clinton Foundation was attacked by the usual suspects for this very reason.)

I think the most frustrating aspect is that it shouldn’t be, and really isn’t, any surprise at all that Team Trump is functioning more or less exactly as expected. Trump’s always been sleazy and more than a little crooked. About all that’s surprising is, despite being corrupt to the core, he’s still kind of a pipsqueak in that world. A competent crook would have really raked it in … but I digress. Trump’s crookedness wasn’t even an open secret. It was in plain view for any news organization to report on…but throughout 2015 and 2016 the only thing deemed newsworthy by the elite press was…Hillary Clinton’s email.

Nice going, media.

Oh, and we can forget about any Republican heroes. They’re either all-in…or heading out like Jeff Flake.

Two more years…

Pulp Fiction Thursday: Unhappy Hooligan

Happy Hooligan was an early comic strip character. I guess this bloke is his evil pulp twin.

Crossfire Hurricane: Deep State, Deep Doo Doo

I pinch myself almost every day that a minority of the voters (with help from Russian intelligence) elected an Insult Comedian with a dead nutria pelt atop his head to the highest office in the land. We’re bombarded with this fucking moron’s nonsense and stupidity on a daily basis. One of the things I find most disconcerting is Trump’s continuing reliance on bizarre conspiracy theories when, in theory, he should be the best informed person in the country. While it’s true that most of the conspiracy theories are self-serving, the dumb fucker believes them.

Things have gotten even weirder since the failing New York Times published its big story about the FBI counter-intelligence operation Crossfire Hurricane. Against all evidence. Team Trump insists it was an Obama administration operation aimed at undermining their campaign and/or overthrowing Trump in a Deep State coup. I guess that’s why it was secret until last week. #sarcasm. Instead, it was the least intrusive way to investigate some serious allegations. Of course, we know that the Trumpers are denizens of the Derp State, so why should anyone be surprised by this meshuga crapola.

I am mildly thrilled that the Feebs used the opening line of the Rolling Stones classic Jumpin’ Jack Flash as the code name for the investigation. That would never have happened in the Hoover era when rock and roll was considered subversive, especially the Stones who were bad boys then, plutocrats now. Jumpin’ Jack Flash it’s still a gas, gas, gas.

Vanity Fair’s Gabriel Sherman has great sources in the alternate universe known, to me at least, as Trumpistan. He has a wild piece today at The Hive about the latest conspiracy theories and even got our old pal Roger Stone to go on the record:

According to people familiar with Trump’s thinking, his team is attempting to build the case that anti-Trump forces in the F.B.I. entrapped his advisers using informants to plant evidence about Russian collusion. The theory goes that the F.B.I. later used these contacts with the Russians to delegitimize his presidency. Trump’s advisers say the intelligence community believed Hillary Clinton would win the presidency, but in case she didn’t, they concocted this elaborate plot to remove Trump from office. “Just when you think it can’t get stranger, it does,” a Trump adviser told me. Stone claims the anti-Trump conspiracy includes senior intelligence officials from the Barack Obama administration. “The guy who will end up burning in all this is [former C.I.A. director] John Brennan,” Stone told me. “If I were him I’d break the capsule and swallow it now. That psychopath is going down.”

Brennan is a psychopath now? It takes one to know one, Rog. I’ll see you on the Dark Stone of the Moon, dude. The lunatic is now on the sinkhole laden White House grass. It’s time to revive this meme from the October 20, 2016 post referred to above:

I’m curious as to how the CIA director was pulling the strings at the FBI. The Feebs have always zealously protected their independence up to and including the Comey era. You don’t have to be Mark (Deep Throat) Felt to figure that one out. The only reality in the Derp State is what helps Trump save his worthless ass from prosecutors.

I’m back to pinching myself. What disturbs me is that there are people out there who believe that the so-called Deep State is why our country in trouble when it’s really the conspiracy theorist in the chief who put the derp in deep, which is why we’re all in deep doo doo. Hopefully, we won’t sink before the November election, which is when we’ll have a chance to elect a Congress that will do its job and rein in these crazies. But it will take years for the country to regain sanity after losing its mind on 11/8/2016.

The last word goes to the Stones and two of my favorite covers of Jumpin’ Jack Flash. It’s still a gas, gas, gas.

Album Cover Art Wednesday: Let The Sunshine In

Are you ready for an art nouveau Motown cover? That’s the best description of this 1969 cover for the Supremes 16th studio album. I wasn’t able to learn who designed and executed it, which is a pity since it’s pretty darn swell.

Here’s the title track: