I’ve never used a Tweet in this feature before, but this video taken by Little Buddy’s human is priceless:
Cat ownership? Kyle is confused: Little Buddy owns him, not vice versa.
I’ve never used a Tweet in this feature before, but this video taken by Little Buddy’s human is priceless:
Cat ownership? Kyle is confused: Little Buddy owns him, not vice versa.
I’ve gone on about NOLA rain in this space this summer. It was the wettest July in recorded history, and it happened without any tropical systems getting too close for comfort. That much rain can be inconvenient, but it keeps the temperatures down. That concludes this brief weather report. If I had a green screen, I’d go on longer, but we don’t have the budget for it.
Like everywhere else in the country, life has been grim in New Orleans of late. Small businesses, especially restaurants have been failing daily. It’s estimated that up to 50% of restaurants here will close for good. They need help and since the government ordered them to close, it should come from them. I am not optimistic that Moscow Mitch and his merry band of miscreants will reconsider and ride to the rescue. In the immortal words of Mel Brooks:
This week’s theme song is an ironic choice for this moment in time: ain’t no bands on the run or even on the road.
Paul McCartney wrote Band On The Run in 1973. It was the title track of Wings’ smash hit album, Band On The Run. Was that a run-on sentence? Beats the hell outta me. I’ll stick a band-aid on it just in case.
We have two versions of this Macca classic for your listening pleasure: the Wings original and a raucous cover by Foo Fighters.
Let’s run to the other side of the break. I think I hear band music in the distance.
There’s a lot of punditting to be done and only so much time. Hence this potpourri post. It’s hard to keep up when things change so rapidly. Here’s some sage advice from Dwight Yoakam:
We begin with a humble brag. I noticed I was getting a lot of hits on a post from late October of 2019: The Latest Smear Campaign. It was about attacks on Col Vindman and I mentioned Rick Wilson’s role in smearing Max Cleland.
I took a closer look and realized that all the hits came from a piece Charlie Pierce wrote about The Lincoln Project. I nearly swooned when I realized that Pierce had linked to little old me. My life is now complete. Thanks, for inviting me to the shabeen, Charlie.
Let’s get back to business for, as you’re aware, the business of American is business so let’s take care of business with a song written by a Canadian:
Tweets Of The Day: We’ve all had beans on our minds because of what one could call the Goya Annoyas. Team Trump decided they hadn’t violated the Hatch Act enough recently, so the Princess posted this in support of the Trumper who owns Goya food products:
The Kaiser of Chaos posted his own ad for Goya on Instagram but I’m not on it because I waste enough time on two social media platforms. I’d rather show Chris Cuomo’s response to the presidential* message on the Tweeter Tube:
I’ll never call Chris Fredo again.
I don’t, however, regret making this image:
Back to the Goya Annoyas. I wonder if this happened at the White House last night:
Stepien Up: The Trump campaign made some major changes yesterday. There’s that C word again. In a sign of Slumlord Jared’s waning influence, his lackey Brad Parscale was removed as campaign manager and demoted to serving cocktails to Javanka. Parscale had never run a campaign of any sort before and was in way over his head.
This is what losing campaigns do: fire the campaign manager when the problem is a terrible candidate with a horrible record in office. It can’t be the Impeached Insult Comedian’s fault; nothing is. #sarcasm.
In another sign of Slumlord Jared’s waning influence, Parscale was replaced by Chris Christie protege Bill Stepien. He’s best known for his role in Bridgegate, which was one of my favorite pre-Trump era scandals. Kushner, of course, hates former Governor Asshole, which is one reason the latter lucked out and wasn’t appointed to a Trump regime job.
There are only two reasons this story is of any interest to me: the chance to mention Bridgegate and the new campaign manager’s punny name, which makes for a snappy title. Bill is Stepien up, not out.
The last word goes to Fred Astaire and Oscar Peterson:
I rarely participate in “you can all join in” type things on twitter. I broke down last night because someone asked the world to post a picture of “your pet and what it’s named for.”
I tried to cut and paste the original tweet but the end result was too damn long so here are the Paul Drakes:
The last word goes to Traffic with a Dave Mason song:
The Summer Of Sam Fuller continues here at First Draft. The new Fog Of Scandal image is how the murder of Tolly Devlin’s father was shot in today’s PFT film noir, Underworld U.S.A. What’s more noir than shadows? Not a damn thing.
You’re probably wondering what this has to do with the ruling by SCOTUS in the Trump tax cases. Not a damn thing. Don’t jump my shit or I’ll have a Tolly Devlin moment:
The post title is not 100% accurate but it’s what I predicted yesterday so I’ll stick with it:
I’ve never been compared to a Dutch seer before. I kinda like it. Thanks, Paul. Hmm, I wonder if the Dutch Dude wore seersucker…
The following analysis is as instant as it gets.
There was a clear victory for the Manhattan DA’s office in its case, which re-established the obvious principle that any POTUS is NOT ABOVE THE LAW. Trump’s legal team made preposterous arguments that made him either a king or a deity. The Kaiser of Chaos is neither; that nickname notwithstanding.
Both the New York case and the Congressional case have been remanded to the lower courts to address the details of the complaints so as Yogi Berra probably never said, “It ain’t over until it’s over.”
We may not see the records as soon as we might like but President* Pennywise is a loser in the long run. And he hates losing. Neener, neener, neener. I never get tired of Trump losing.
Other than the rule of law, the real winner today was Chief Justice John Roberts who, like any sensible Chief, prefers to stay out of the political thicket, which is as thick as it’s ever been. Thanks to a president* who is truly as thick as brick, which means as smart as a lump of shit. Make that orange shit and it fits…
Even Justice Bro believes that presidents DO NOT HAVE ABSOLUTE IMMUNITY. The Impeached Insult Comedian is already whining like a stuck pig, but he hasn’t attacked Kavanaugh. Yet. The clock is still clicking.
The cases have been remanded to the lower courts to handle the details. Congress may still prevail if they narrow their subpoena. Btw, that’s a word I can never spell without resort to a spell checker. The mere thought gives me a series of Tolly Devlin moments:
Finally, here’s summation of the case written in the style of Mongo of Blazing Saddles fame:
The last word goes to Steve Winwood with Joe Walsh:
The pandemic has driven me to spend more time on the Tweeter Tube. It can be annoying as hell but sometimes I see swell stuff. I used Captain America punching Hitler as the featured image because I can never get enough of it. It’s also relevant to the post as you’ll see directly.
We have three pictorial tweets for your amusement. They’re good enough that I’m using a Kinks song as part of the title. I assume you’re familiar with my Kinks Theorem: there’s a Kinks song for every occasion.
Our first entry is dedicated to readers and viewers of The Plot Against America:
Oy just oy but who among us doesn’t love Theodor Geisel?
Next up is a sign of the times:
A little-known fact about me. As a child, I loved Mary Poppins so much that I made my father sit through two big screen showings. That’s probably why my mother became the movie parent from then on.
I feel a song coming on:
The last word goes to The Kinks with a double dose of Picture Book:
I had not originally planned to spike the ball over the Tulsa fiasco but it’s turning out to be a landmark in the decline and fall of the Trump cult.
I received a nearly hysterical fundraising email from Move On yesterday. It proclaimed that Trump *would* win if I didn’t give them money. The timing was bad after only 6,200 people attended what I will hereinafter refer to as the Tulsa Trainwreck. I feel a segment header coming on.
The Tulsa Trainwreck: The excuses are flying. This admission of failure made me chuckle. No, make that cackle:
Now, some White House officials said the campaign was being dishonest about what had gone wrong, and they conceded that many of the president’s older supporters had decided attending the rally was too risky amid coronavirus fears that Mr. Trump has repeatedly played down.
Dishonest? Ya think? Dishonesty is a given with these people. Delusional is more like it.
Team Trump also trotted out the “it’s just a joke” defense over this comment:
This time the joke’s on them.
The Tulsa Trainwreck is a signal that the vaunted Trump base is neither as dedicated nor as large as everyone claims it is. It’s also a signal that some of them are starting to realize that they’re being used and that President* Pennywise does not give a shit about them. Stay tuned.
Pirating Bolton: In my John Bolton Can Go Fuck Himself piece I urged people to post pirate copies on the internet. Apparently, I missed the fun this weekend as my wish came true. If anyone has a copy they’d like to share, please let me know.
It reminds me of the days of Pirate Radio:
Be Careful Out There: COVID-19 numbers are on the rise. Magical thinking seems to have seized the populace as reports of large gatherings became ubiquitous this weekend. New Orleans is particularly vulnerable as drive-in tourists from Texas, Mississippi, Alabama ,and Florida are showing up to party like there’s no pandemic. Playing American Roulette is for suckers.
This Twitter exchange sums up my feelings as this point:
We’re in the wack-a-mole stage of the pandemic, which is made worse by all the wishful thinking. At least we know who to blame:
Perry Who? I was excited about the Perry Mason reboot with Matthew Rhys in the title role. I even thought I might recap it. Then, I saw the first episode.
It was a trainwreck; there’s that word again. Other than the character names, it has nothing whatsoever to do with either the Erle Stanley Gardner books or the teevee series with Raymond Burr. I *expected* it to be different but not disconnected.
HBO’s Perry Who is a sleazy gumshoe living on his deceased parents’ farm outside Los Angeles. Worst of all, despite being played by a smart actor, he came off as a depressed dolt. Perry Mason was always the smartest guy in the room, not the most depressed.
If anything, Dr. A hated it more than I did. I’m willing to see if the series gets any better because it has such a stellar cast but whatever it is, it’s not Perry Mason. I’ll try and watch it as a period private eye show. Hopefully, future episodes will be better, they can’t get much worse.
Whoever thought that Perry Who should be a mediocre private eye, not a lawyer should have their head examined. Then there’s the matter of character age, Perry Who is a depressed Great War veteran in a series set in 1932. Matthew Rhys is 46 and Raymond Burr was 40 when cast as Perry Mason. In the books, Perry read for the law in his twenties. That makes sense. Perry Who as a 40-something gumshoe does not.
There was a lot of room left by the Gardner books and the Burr teevee series to do something interesting with the Perry Mason characters. The makers of Perry Who dropped the ball.
In the immortal words of the Men on Film of In Living Color fame:
That brings us back to the post title. The joke is a sick one and it’s not only on them, it’s on all of us.
The last word goes to Steve (not Steven) Miller:
It’s rally day in Tulsa for the Impeached Insult Comedian and his delusional supporters. After months of believing in the pandemic, he’s changed his mind, but his lawyers are still making attendees sign a disease waiver. That’s a wise idea because they’re cramming people in that arena like MAGA sardines. What could possibly go wrong?The term clusterfuck was created for moments like this. O is for Oklahoma and Oy, just oy.
This week’s theme song was written by Walter Becker and Donald Fagen for Steely Dan’s 1976 album Royal Scam. The studio original features a brilliant guitar solo by jazz man Larry Carlton.
We have two versions of Kid Charlemagne for your listening pleasure: the Royal Scam original and a live version by the Dukes of September a combo that Fagen formed with Boz Scaggs and ex-Danman Michael McDonald.
Now that we’ve gotten (gone?) along with Kid Charlemagne, let’s move along to the break.
It’s a crazy news day even for the Trump era. It’s Juneteenth, which the Impeached Insult Comedian claims to have discovered or some such shit. It’s much like Christopher Columbus sailing the ocean blue in 1492 and “discovering” lands populated by indigenous peoples.
Trump’s comment is so moronic that it should be preserved for posterity or stuck up his posterior. It’s a coin toss as to which:
“I did something good: I made Juneteenth very famous. It’s actually an important event, an important time. But nobody had ever heard of it.”
In the same Wall Street Journal interview, President* Pennywise also said that some people wear masks not for safety reasons but to signal disapproval of him. Seriously? Everything is about him
Trump was for preventive measures before he was against them. Oy just oy.
In other mask news, the story that gave this post its title popped up on the Tweeter Tube:
Too late, dude, You stuck your foot in a massive pile of dog shit and now it’s stuck in your mouth. Yuck.
I wasn’t planning to attend the movies until there’s a vaccine anyway, but it won’t be to an AMC theatre. We have three locally owned and operated cinemas so I’m sticking to them.
AMC does, however, have comfy reclining chairs:
Repeat after me: Not Taking Sides Is Taking Sides.
There was some good news yesterday. Minnesota Senator Amy Klobuchar removed her name from Joe Biden’s Veep list. She urged the former Veep to pick a woman of color as his Veep. This should boost Senator Kamala Harris’ chances, but like Klobuchar she’ll have to deal with questions about her prosecutorial past. I’d use the reformed sinner/it takes a thief argument; meaning that only those who understand the criminal justice system can fix it. Stay tuned.
Finally, New Orleans writer Megan Braden-Perry has compiled a swell Juneteenth listicle for those of you who have heard of the holiday that the Kaiser of Chaos made “very famous.” Enough with the verys, dude. We’re very sick of them. Yea, verily.
Speaking of masks, the last word goes to Graham Parker:
Repeat after me: Not Taking Sides Is Taking Sides.
I wish I could say that the Impeached Insult Comedian’s attack on Buffalo activist Martin Gugino showed that he’d hit rock bottom but there is no bottom with this fucker. It’s merely the latest new low.
Yesterday, Trump applied his unique brand of Twitter crazy to what happened in Buffalo:
I’m surprised he didn’t call it a flop, which is what an exaggerated fall to draw a foul is called in the NBA:
Flopping used to work but eventually the refs caught on; much like the voters with President* Pennywise. Everything he does, says, or tweets strikes the wrong note. His aides are said to be despondent over the how the flopping tweet flopped. Good. They *should* be despondent about what the Trump regime is doing to the country.
The reason I’m bringing up yesterday’s example of cluelessness, insensitivity, and cruelty is the nature of what happened. I’ve spent a lot of time around elderly people in the last 15 years. The thing they, quite rightly, fear most is falling. A broken hip can transform a spry old man into a broken one. Hopefully, Mr. Gugino will bounce back but he’s unlikely to ever be quite the same after being pushed around by the police.
I just came upon this tweet from a friend of Martin Gugino:
President* Pennywise is spiraling as his failures mount. In the past, he was able to recover from his missteps because the crises were largely self-inflicted. This time, events are in the saddle, riding him. It’s about fucking time.
The sharks sense blood in the water. Suddenly, NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell is willing to stand up to the Kaiser of Chaos. When the kneeling shit hit the fan in 2017, the NFL was paralyzed with fear. Goodell is not mouthing Black Lives Matter rhetoric out of conviction; he’s blowing with the wind. The prevailing breeze is NOT coming from Trumpistan. Hell, even Drew Brees is suddenly a repentant sinner.
The White House somehow thinks that an oval office address on race and policing is the cure for what ails it. Such a speech has never helped Trump before and this one is being written by neo-Fascist Steven Miller. It’s unclear who will translate the text from the original German. Maybe William Hermann Goering Barr can lend a hand. He should change his name to Wilhelm.
Finally, it’s time to pitch a new theme song to President* Pennywise. It’s a tune that fits the moment even if it’s 53-years-old. That’s still younger than Martin Gugino. The last word goes to The Hollies and CSNY:
I debated what title to repeat today: I’ve used State of Confusion twice and That’s Why I Call Him The Kaiser Of Chaos thrice. I settled on an encore performance of Ball Of Confusion because “that’s what the world is today, hey, hey.” The great thing about arguing with yourself is that you always win.
Yesterday was chaotically eventful even for the Trump era. We’re not used to presidents threatening to declare war on the American people. That’s all it is as of this writing: a threat.
My default position is that the Kaiser of Chaos is lying. He claims that he’ll invoke the justifiably obscure 1807 Insurrection Act to allow him to send in troops without federalizing the National Guard. Is this mere bluster and a bluff? Beats the hell outta me. But the man is a habitual and constant liar. I refuse to believe anything that comes out of his lying mouth without supporting evidence.
Trump’s church trip photo-op is the latest in a long line of new lows. Breaking up a peaceful protest in order to wave a bible is in a word: despicable.
I’m pretty sure that I’ve never quoted a Jesuit before but these are weird times:
I understand that emotions are raw but getting sucked into Trump’s deranged fantasy world without confirmation is a sucker’s game. Sowing chaos and confusion are part of this criminal’s modus operandi. That’s why I call him the Kaiser of Chaos.
We’d be well-advised to follow the advice of two of my heroes. First. the fictional one:
Then there’s the Maddow Doctrine:
Rachel’s advice should be heeded. President* Pennywise says extreme shit almost every day. He typically caves after getting bad press or he loses interest; one of the few advantages of his short attention span.
A reminder that a cornered and desperate liar is still a liar.
Events are so fluid that I hope that this post will not be instantly “inoperative.” That’s Watergatese for never mind.
The last word goes to the Temptations:
Good morning, all! The shitshow that is Freeperville is coming undone at a pace I haven’t seen since the Romney Purge.
Bonus “Untergang” Hitler parody at the end of this post, if anyone cares…
First up – Clique Bait!
FR is run by cliquish Mods and Freepers that hurl insults and falsehoods who FB you if you don’t agree.
Posted on 5/28/2020, 5:36:32 PM by fightin kentuckian
The rules say “be considerate” most of the Freepers are anything but, constantly hurling innuendo, names, and insults. But it’s my fault or something like that so my threads get pulled without any explanation. And then the mods call me “thick”. That’s considerate?
I’m a rock solid conservative, retired, 24 year Army Vet, and still work for the Army. I’m a lifetime member of the VFW and NRA. I’m a 20 year contributor to FR and the mods wont even answer a question, but instead call me names and insult me.
To: fightin kentuckianWaiting for the ZOT!
To: fightin kentuckian
To: Ann Archy
To: fightin kentuckian
I saw the start of the post. It concerned posting rules and guidelines and how few there were. When I went in to read the rest (cuz I’m kinda interested in that myself), the mods had deleted the post and the explanation they gave was “You’re thick”.
Kinda Facebook-y, that. QUICK! PULL SECTION 230! 😉
To: fightin kentuckian
To: fightin kentuckianI don’t agree. I’ve been here for years. I’ve generally followed the rules/guidelines (stick to the Pirate’s code).I believe I’ve been given more slack than I have a right to expect. The few times I’ve gotten my wrist slapped I have very much deserved it.
To: fightin kentuckian
President* Pennywise has been a busy boy of late: pitching fits and issuing orders left and right. Far right.
It’s unclear how meaningful Trump’s social media executive order will be. I was initially dismissive but the good people at TPM think it will, at the very least, cause chaos and confusion. It’s all the Trump regime seems capable of right now. That’s why I call him the Kaiser of Chaos.
One group that seems likely to benefit are lawyers, which is ironic given all the Republican fulmination about trial lawyers, especially here in the Gret Stet of Louisiana. Phony Eddie Rispone spent much of his losing campaign attacking billboard lawyers. So it goes.
As with so much of Trump’s recent flailing about, the twit taking on Twitter is a sign of weakness. Twitter was afraid of Trump until recently. His inane and untrue rantings put the platform on the map: people who wouldn’t know a twit from a tweet have heard of it thanks to the Impeached Insult Comedian.
The fact that Jack Dorsey and his minions have turned on Trump is a sign that he’s losing. So much for all the winning the Kaiser of Chaos promised his supporters. It’s another sign that he’s following in the footsteps of Charlie, not Martin Sheen. The latter played a fictional president who was re-elected. That prospect is slipping away, which brings us to a brief musical interlude;
That song should be inapposite as it’s about a lost love, but Trump is acting like a scorned lover rejected by the Tweeter Tube. Oh well, he’ll always have Mark Zuckerberg.
I stumbled into a piece this morning that perfectly captures Trump’s latest toddler tantrum:
And what kind of president issues an executive order only to defend himself? This action is only because his feelings were hurt. This executive order doesn’t have anything to do with protecting anyone except Donald Trump. While the Trump cult and Republicans label liberals as ‘snowflakes,’ they are the most vicitimed and whiny people on the planet. Their leader is such a snowflake that he’s issuing an executive order because his feelings were hurt. In case you’re a Republican, THIS is why there’s a great big giant Trump Baby balloon. And the worst thing is, Twitter hasn’t even restricted him. He can still lie and defame people on Twitter without any empathy.
In short, Trump is what a friend of mine calls a whiny titty baby. He should stick a pacifier in his big fat bazoo and STFU. We all know he’s incapable of that, but I can dream, can’t I?
The last word goes to Richard Thompson with a song that fits Trump’s current losing streak:
The nerve of some people. I don’t know who you think you are.
This entry was inspired by a reader’s tweet in response to last week’s Dave Brubeck cover:
Kid Baltan and Tom Dissevelt were respected Dutch jazz musicians who were commissioned to record this 1959 album with a great cover and a clunky title.
Here’s the whole damn album. It may have you dancing like Dieter on Sprockets. Warning: Never touch his monkey.
I’m out of the habit of posting the Impeached Insult Comedian’s tweets. He spends so much time preening, posturing, bragging, and lying on tevee that his Twitter feed feels redundant. I wish *he* were redundant in the British sense: out of work. Let’s make it so in November.
Back to President* Pennywise’s latest weird tweet. I’m not sure if he wrote it himself since there are some big words in it but it’s revealing nonetheless:
Invigorating? Too fancy for the Kaiser of Chaos who speaks and “writes” in what the late Philip Roth called “jerkish.” Or as Truman Capote said about Jack Kerouac, “it’s not writing, it’s typing.” Capote’s beatdown of the beat writer was rooted in jealousy. Like Trump, he always had to be the center of attention.
The tweet is also vague as to which version of Mutiny on the Bounty Trump prefers:
Trump seems to identify with Captain Bligh. He’s under the mistaken impression that Captain Bligh was the hero of the piece. That’s another figment of his fertile fantasy life. The American Film Institute named Captain Bligh the #19th most loathsome screen villain ever. Btw, the feature is interactive: another time killer for the pandemic.
I suspect most governors would be glad to be identified with the big screen Fletcher Christians except for the one on the right in the triptych below:
Fletcher Christian was the bull goose mutineer and the hero of the first two bounteous films. The 1984 movie was more ambiguous properly befitting a movie starring anti-Semitic nut job Mel Gibson. Not that President* Pennywise and ambiguity are on speaking terms or even passing acquaintances. I’d pass on meeting him myself…
Marlon Brando over-identified with Fletcher Christian. He staged his own mutiny against original director Carol Reed. Brando denounced the maker of Odd Man Out and The Third Man as a hack unworthy of sailing on the same tall ship as the great Marlon Brando. He engineered Reed’s firing in favor of the more pliable Lewis Milestone. It was a tantrum worthy of the Kaiser of Chaos or even the original Kaiser Bill:
What’s the purpose of this post? Other than making my readers laugh? The proof is in this pudding: the Kaiser of Chaos has delusions of grandeur and fantasies of exiling Andrew Cuomo and Gavin Newsome to Pitcairn Island. If, that is, he had a clue as to what I’m talking about. Maybe I should make a Survivor exile island analogy instead, the president* and Mark Burnett are bosom buddies, after all. Not to be confused with Tom Hanks and Peter Scolari in the sitcom of that name:
I’m terribly fond of the novel by Charles Nordhoff and James Norman. It was the first grown-up book I ever read. I recall devouring Mutiny on the Bounty while bedridden with some malady when I was 11 or 12 years old. I never for a second identified with Captain Bligh. Just as I’d rather walk the plank or swing from the yardarm than vote for Donald Trump.
The last word goes to Bugs Bunny in Mutiny on the Bunny:
Bugs morphed into Captain Bligh in Buccaneer Bunny:
Given the Impeached Insult Comedian’s aversion to the truth, it’s remarkable that Dr. Anthony Fauci still has his job. Fauci is a blunt truth-teller whereas Trump is a verbose liar. In the immortal words of Johnny Mercer, “something’s gotta give, something’s gotta give, something’s gotta give.”
The divide between Trump and the eminent physician has been there all along but the cracks widened noticeably last weekend. Fauci conceded that the federal response should have come earlier. That led President* Pennywise to retweet some noxious nonsense about the good doctor. We’ve gone from government by tweet to government by retweet. Oy, just oy.
When I was a young political junkie, the media landscape was populated with Kremlinologists who spent their time interpreting signals coming from the Soviet Union’s gerontological leadership. In 2020, we have Trumpologists who spend their time parsing Trump’s tweets and predicting his next tantrum.
Trump is more predictable than Brezhnev and company. He’s likely to fire Fauci in a fit of pique, then regret it immediately since the doctor is among those he’s setting up to be a patsy for the decreasing number of dolts still buying his bullshit. Like a demonic child pulling the wings off a fly, he’s likely to torment and insult Fauci before firing him.
That brings us to the Fauci conundrum. Should he stay or should he go? I think he should stay. Thus far, he’s been able to prevent Trump from making an even bigger mess of things. The Kaiser of Chaos is contemplating a premature reopening of the economy, which could lead to another huge wave of the virus. Someone inside the administration needs to tell him no. Who else will do so? Mikes Pence or Pompeo? Peter Navarro?
Besides, Tony Fauci has been in this spot before with Ronald Reagan and AIDS. So much for everything in the Trump era being unprecedented. Fauci was among those pushing Reagan to acknowledge that plague. It took Rock Hudson’s death from AIDS to get Reagan to admit that it wasn’t just a gay disease. But he did so grudgingly and mostly because of pressure from his wife and children. Unfortunately, Melania is no Nancy and Don Jr. is no Ron Jr. Holy grotesque understatement, Batman.
The more things change, the more they remain the same.
The last word goes to Frank Sinatra:
I’m sure you’ve heard Trump’s captive Surgeon General compare the pandemic to Pearl Harbor. Sounds good on the surface, right? A week which will live in infamy and all that shit. George Takei took the words right out of my mouth:
I was a history major with a minor in art history. I’ve been mocked for those
impractical choices. They’ve come in handy in my life as a pundit. History is almost invariably misused and misrepresented by those in power. In this case, the Surgeon General’s intention was to rally the complacent Trump base around the flag. Telling the truth about the pandemic from the start would have been a wiser strategy. But wisdom is antithetical to Trumpism.
The Trump regime’s response to this crisis has made Team Bush’s response to Katrina and the Federal Flood look masterful. BUT there *are* some similarities: they played politics too. Karl Rove was the tip of the White House spear as they blamed Governor Blanco and Mayor Nagin for New Orleans’ plight. Meanwhile they favored Mississippi and then Governor Haley Barbour a former RNC Chairman and fat cat lobbyist. I’m not horsing around so I need not mention Brownie at great length.
There was a great deal of disaster capitalism in the months after Katrina. It’s happening now in the person of Slumlord Jared who is applying his King Midas in Reverse touch to the pandemic. Heckuva job, Trumpy.
I’d like to thank George Takei for being a stand-up guy and continually fighting the good fight. If only life imitated Star Trek. Starfleet would know how to handle this. Unfortunately, the executive branch is populated by nitwits, sycophants, and people who hate government. That’s a helluva way to run a railroad as it were. Heckuva job, GOP.
The last word goes to the Hollies with the unofficial anthem of the Trump regime. It works just as well for the Kaiser of Chaos as the Dauphin-in-law.
In a time of tension and fear, Paul Drake can be counted on to relax:
I’ve been known to sing to my cats. They’re particularly fond of Yes. I think they like Chris and Jon’s high harmonies. I tweeted about it recently:
The last word goes to Yes:
Fear is almost as contagious as the virus. It’s everywhere on social media, which is why I’m rationing my use. I’m also tired of listening to know-nothing amateur epidemiologists who think they know it all. Access to the internet doesn’t make you a scientist, it makes you someone with too much time on their hands. Oops. That’s all of us right now.
The old NOLA Bloggers email list has been resurrected. I’ll explain why in a moment but a comment there gave rise to this post title. Cliff Harris asked if there would be a Rising Tide Social Distance Conference, Karen Gadbois replied that it should be called Rising Anxiety. I have no interest in a conference reboot, but I like the phrase Rising Anxiety, so I stole it.
Back In The Saddle: The OG NOLA bloggers are rising from a protracted slumber. After Maitri the Magnificent announced the return of her VatulBlog, George Loki Williams asked aloud if he should revive Humid City. In response, I quoted this passage from my recent Bayou Brief column Love In The Time Of Coronavirus:
I started blogging a few months after the levees broke. I didn’t expect to still be writing on the internet 15 years later, but I found my voice. I’m glad that I’m still at it: It’s therapeutic and reduces my anxiety level during this unprecedented crisis. I’d hate to be reduced to venting on social media like some other OG NOLA bloggers. I wish more of them would resume writing. Consider that an invitation, y’all. If you do, I’ll spread the word hither and yon.
I’m a man of my word. Loki announced the comeback at Zuckerville:
Good luck, y’all. Not sure about that whole blame thing but it gives me an excuse to post this Del Amitri song:
The Fantastic Florida Flim Flam: Trumper Governor Ron DeSantis followed the lead of his hero President* Pennywise and announced his state “borders” were closed to cars from New Orleans. Too many people took this illegal, unenforceable, and unconstitutional order seriously. It’s a clumsy attempt to divert attention from this:
The flap is based on a “blame New Orleans for having Mardi Gras” controversy that raged online. I’ll let my friends Stephanie Grace and Clancy DuBos shoot it down. I prefer to save my ammo for higher hanging fruit.
I do, however, agree with the parade route book signer and Herriman biographer:
The Tweet Heard Round The World: Athenae’s boyfriend John Kerry is obviously not planning to run for office again:
I’ve always heard that Big John could be salty in private. Glad he’s shown off his “out of fucks to give” side in public.
That reminds me of a song. I know what you’re thinking: everything reminds me of a song.
Unimaginable: Gal Gadot and some other celebrities have collaborated on a quarantine version of John Lennon’s Imagine. I hate Imagine. It’s one of Lennon’s worst songs.
Here’s a better tune for these trying times:
Bored Boris: The British Prime Minister’s anti-pandemic efforts were just as feeble and late as those of the Impeached Insult Comedian. Adding insult to the injury he inflicted on his country, Bozza is afflicted with the 21st Century plague. Karma is a bitch.
I hadn’t planned to write about the oafish PM until I got a text from my good friend and Spank krewe mate, Greg Hackenberg: “If you aren’t working on a post about Boris Johnson that does not include Peter Gabriel’s I Have The Touch, I’m not sure I know you anymore.”
You still know me, Greg:
Shake those hands, shake those hands…
Finally, Project Novel will begin in earnest at 3 PM today. There’s enough interest in my legal murder mystery, Tongue In The Mail, for me to proceed. I’ll be posting two chapters at a time on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It even has its own category, Project Novel: TITM.
Pondering Boris Johnson’s bad karma gave me an instant earworm. The last word goes to Warren Zevon and John Lennon with another song that’s much better than Imagine: