Biden’s UnInauguration Day Nears?

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Of late, the political pundits have been obsessing over Donald J. Trump’s contention that, somehow, some way, he’s to be reinstated / reinstalled within the Oval Office come August 2021.

Seeing how the language of the U.S. Constitution (Article II, Section 1, Clause 6 plus the 12th, 20th and 25th Amendments), provides absolutely no mechanisms for such an eventuality, just how, pray tell, would that ever become a done deal?

Well, for starters, we’d need to totally abandon the realm of reality. And, once ensconced within FantasyLand, that’s where all it would take is one swing of “the magical golf club” for an UnConstitutional mulligan to go down. Let’s envision how that might all play out on our devices’ screens.

First, we’d become eyewitness to Donny, the duly deposed despot, lumbering up to the White House (with his entire freakshow entourage of ex-cabinet member ass kissers / wipers in tow). Upon casually ding donging the doorbell, next, we’d find the legitimate President, Joe Biden, gingerly creaking open the door; to be instantaneously confronted by loony-tunes Trump delivering his insane ultimatum. Let’s eavesdrop on the following brief, heated exchange; oh, say, something along these lines…

Freak Trump: You’ve got 10 minutes to get the F out, OR ELSE!
President Biden: F off you Fascist Freak!*

*Freak enunciated in a multi-syllabic, contemptuous manner.

Assuming that, not unlike the unwelcome, unscrupulous door-to-door salesman, Donny has managed to wedge in his hobnail boot; you know, to prevent the door from closing completely…

Would Biden next get “invited” to his own UnInauguration Day? Would U.S. Chief Justice John Roberts suddenly materialize, POOF, out of thin air to administer the UnOath of UnOffice; oh, say, all impeccably delivered in Pig Latin? Would the U.S. Marine Band play their rendition of Hail to the UnChief; i.e., read their sheet music backwards to perform this ditty from finish to start?

Even were Joe able to totally slam the door in that insurrectionist bastard’s face, would General Nuisance Trump next bark out his marching orders to enrage / engage his private army; perhaps to the point where they’d burn down the White House? I mean, Donny wouldn’t be worried in the least. No sooner would all that billowing, ground zero smoke clear than, yet, another butt ugly Trump Tower (built at taxpayer expense?), would rise, lickety-split, from those horrifying, revolting ashes.

Alas (long sigh), it’d appear that the mechanism for fraudulent Trump’s (looming?) reinstatement is to involve his subversive plot; one akin to ideological diarrhea. This could be aptly branded: Insurrection Day No. 2. And, as is true with the hue of most No. 2, Trump’s and his MAGA morons’ fecal matter could be repurposed to paint the town brown; and from there, they’d trot out their shitty plot nationwide.

To state it vulgarly is not hyperbole. I needn’t remind that, back on January 6th of this year, some of Trump’s insurrectionists did stoop so low as to intentionally track their own fecal matter throughout the U.S. Capitol.

And, upon factoring in how D.J.T. has, to the best of our knowledge, never been punished for any of his crimes, we can expect him to keep on relentlessly attacking America; as will the legions of his freakshow sycophants; of whom he can always depend on to do his dirty work.

For the sake of America’s survival, we can only hope that President Biden has formulated what, in essence, is his Kaopectate® Plan; one that’ll KO / totally wipe out Donald J. Trump’s (impending?) Insurrection Day No. 2.

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Site lite? Site might?

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Site lite? Site might?
Is my blogging blight or bright?
No hits by day. No hits by night.
Is my best recourse fight or flight?

Not pining
Not whining
Just my spiel
To keep it real

The nitty gritty
This ain’t pretty
This ain’t witty
Not seeking pity

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Fortune Cookie Blog (frankness)

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“Don’t change horses in midstream!” is a political maxim / mantra that doth
not even begin to fully characterize the 2024 strategy of the (Un)American
Republican Party / Freak Show; hijacked by insurrectionist Donald J. Trump.
Stated far more frankly it’d read: “Don’t change horse’s asses in midstream.”

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A World of Diff ‘tween “The” & “A”!

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After spending 460 days doing his talk show in locked down, pandemic necessitated isolation, Stephen Colbert made his grand re-entrance to NYC’s Ed Sullivan Theatre, last night, to perform before a live and in-person, full audience; all in attendance enjoying (relative) safety; thanks to everybody being fully vaxxed.

To have been an eyewitness to such a momentous occasion certainly did prove there’s a world of diff ‘tween “The” Late Show” and “A” Late Show (the latter rebranding had served as the subtle reminder that not all was (is) well in our homeland / home world).

Such a viewing experience (even from my own living room) proved the much needed mood elevator. So much so, I even managed to beat Mr. Colbert to the punch (punchline) of one of his jokes; namely this news clip enhanced wisecrack…

S.C.: President Biden’s trip abroad will end with his much anticipated showdown, on Wednesday, with Russian President (and cover model for Maritime Murders Monthly) Vladimir Putin. This meeting could be awkward ‘cause earlier this year Biden called Putin a ‘killer’. This weekend Putin was asked about his homicidal tendencies [clip rolls]…

Interviewer: Mr. President, are you a killer?
Putin: (chuckling menacingly) Over my tenure, I’ve gotten used to attacks from all kinds of angles; and from all kinds of areas; under all kinds of pretexts and reasons; at a different caliber and fierceness; and none of it surprises me.

S.C. Punchline: Sooooo… uh… that’s a yes?

CBS Late Show • June 14, 2021

While both predictable Putin and his non-surprising, non-response (tossed word salad) proved a certifiable downer, to have been reminded that I can still think in a humorous vein also did me a world of good.

Analog recording Colbert’s first night back on Broadway, had been well worth the twenty minutes spent [1] hunting down an old (suitable for tape-over) VHS cassette and [2] another five minutes taken to reconfigure the wiring of the hodgepodge of my aged and ailing video gear.

While I’m certain that for Colbert / his entire staff, their reclamation of their Late Show studio / stage has been reward enough, I don’t believe that goes far enough.

Seeing how each and every one of these role models / morale boosters have so valiantly soldiered on throughout the pandemic, at the very least, President Biden should pin medals on these civilians’ uniforms.

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Can Vegetation School Vegetables?

Preface: If you’re one who truly digs how humans have triggered (perhaps irreversible) climate change and how that can only negatively impact both flora and fauna; how it can only jeopardize the very habitability of our home world, you are not a vegetable. That said, be you afloat with the science or drowning in cluelessness, dig my own damning evidence of the looming troubles ahead…

Unplanned Field Experiment: Several weeks ago, this inveterate sixties era flower child enjoyed a few moments of preemptive gardening (more about that in a moment). My Goal: To set up a temporary, two foot tall wire fence capable of supporting two peony bushes, thereby extending their typical, 7 to 10 day peak blooming season; one that any garden-variety rain storm can end prematurely. Naturally, the major prob, here, is how these long stemmed fragile flowers simply cannot withstand even minor water retention.

Background: I’m reasonably certain that the plant that blooms white had been transplanted by my folks when our family of four transitioned from renters to homeowners back in June ’61. As for the one that blooms ruby red, it’d been my self-planted birthday present to my horticulturist mom (for her eightieth birthday). I can still vividly recall my greenhouse visit (purchase price a mere $8). And, by the by, that bygone MasterCard ad campaign which promises priceless memories remains spot-on. Anyway, it was one decade beyond that, upon inheriting my mom’s flowers (both indoors and out) that my motivation to honor her / keep her memory alive rendered this annual construction project akin to a labour of love. As such, I even welcome this upkeep.

Damning Evidence: Alas, during this 2021 lap around ol’ Sol, things did not pan out as planned. While my fence did successfully prop up the waterlogged blooms, the very next day, the flowers began turning sickly brown. I suspect the culprit is either acid rain or too much UV radiation (both?). And it doesn’t take much dot connecting to extrapolate that whatever shortens plants’ lifespan can similarly impact animal / human existence. Which brings us full circle back to my headlined Q:

Can Vegetation School Vegetables?

Long Sigh / Short Answer: That’d depend on the vegetables not remaining oblivious to the obvious evidence; e.g. such as that discovered right in my own backyard; and, doubtlessly, planet-wide, too. Or, in lieu of their heightened awareness / digging reality, their simply getting out of our way. After all…

To not dig the dangers of climate change is akin to digging humanity’s grave.

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Pols, Pals & Foes

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Let’s pick up the pieces; when humdrum Pols take tame stand
And stick to pedestrian speeches; bond to strike up lame band
Once slick admen join them; Pols and Pals both play game bland
They trick to paint tainted world; sell us a spiffed, spoofed name brand

Their nice ads roll ‘round the clock; spread thru the airwaves and stream
“Roll up your sleeves!” they beseech, “Please join vaxxed people’s team!”
While vaccine science, trustworthy, rolls out the Game-Changer scheme
“Jabs” can’t knock out / cure social ills; not at such nauseous extreme

Bottled up in ads’ ointment, the flies team / teem; galore
Trump troglodytes engage erudites; THAT no-win, endless war
Normal notions stump Trump; also his dumbbell / oddball corps
Freedom? Justice? Just buzzwords; they all buzz off / abhor

In most known negative “isms”; Trumpers sprawl, wallow, bask
To learn from pandemics’ hard knocks? They’re not up to that “task”
They won’t even thwart Covid; by simply donning a mask
Are they beyond all redemption? Need anyone ask?

Deep down in the deep end, of the primordial pool
Trumpers get off on their guns; nuff to make them all drool,
Some strafe houses of worship, the workplace, the school
Others are BLAM-BLAM bad cops, who flip off BLM’s rule

Trumpian race and class warfare, proves chronic infection
Dots Pandemic? Dots Climatic? Simps can’t make the connection
Freakin’ fools who can’t fathom the Free Fair election
These days, go on a rampage; foment insurrection

Epilogue:

Granted, verses, above, tell the heart-rending tale
Of my homeland’s decline; beyond the pale / stale
Might “where there’s life there’s hope” wisdom, somehow, prevail?
Well, our Stars and Stripes still fly; Trump’s insurrection did fail!

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Station Axing

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In Have nations; rich in vaxxing
Administrations, regulations are relaxing
Expectations, explorations are waxing
Emancipations, celebrations are maxing

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In Have-Not nations; in need of vaxxing
Perturbations, trepidations are overtaxing
Debilitations, decimations are waxing
Cremations, inhumations are maxing

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Big Turn Off

Steadfast workers slave away
Know no perks and score scant pay
Can neither save for rainy day
Nor for life’s phase; where hair turns gray

Boss cuts their hours to display,
His iron fist / control freak sway
Human rights he will betray
He’ll union bust; then bleat,”Hooray!”

Grunts’ top notch work, it’s safe to say
Turns profit for blah boss, blasé
Who, in turn, will dare to bray,
“I did that! It was not they!”

To flesh out boss’s exposé
Workplace welts, unseen, are not okay
His verbal whip cracks spur dismay
More apt for a rap sheet; not résumé

He’ll turn back oft on worksite prey
Turn deaf ear to plebes who stay
Turn up nose at peeved who stray
Turn up in Hell come Judgement Day?

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A Non-Flesh ’n’ Blood Kindred Spirit

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One scant week ago, a much too long absent, non-flesh and blood kindred spirit arrived at my front door to resume our regular visits. At first glance, a double take was in order; mainly because I hadn’t seen this otherworldly friend since the pandemic had shuttered our world; well over a year ago.

Suddenly, upon factoring in my (typically) restless / sleepless condition, I had to wonder if I had nodded off? Wandered off into Dreamland? Or, was something else playing out; oh, say, along the lines of a supernatural themed TV series-come-true? Might I be blasting off from Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone launch pad?

However (brushing all reader attention grabbing hyperbole aside), as everything actually turned out, ‘twas not unnerving in the least. Quite the contrary!

What we’re actually discussing is my unexpected reconnection to a newsprint and ink publication; namely, a weekly newspaper (featuring state and local goings-on, human interest stories, recipes, op-eds and obits; not to mention the brain challenging Sudoku and crossword puzzles. All in all, food for thought!

Now, I do know (long sigh) that newspapers don’t mean all that much to the general public anymore; especially folks who’ve never known anything other than our (regrettably) Internet dominated and dependent world.

And usage of “regrettably” is not an exaggeration; especially considering how easily we could all become disconnected; be that issue related to tech gremlins / www dead zones, consumer cost-cutting or something far, Far, FAR more wicked and UNNERVING!

With regards to that last listed item, at present, we’re discovering too damned many nations on the brink of ideological collapse; inclusive of the United States (in spite of President Joe Biden’s efforts to thwart his immediate predecessor’s ongoing treachery). Problem is that fascistic leaders are far, Far, FAR too proficient at manipulating the misguided masses into committing what is tantamount to ritualistic, socioeconomic suicide.

Freedom does die wherever / whenever the cultish rabble get fired up by (smarmily) charismatic firebrands; otherwise known as a-hole autocrats to us wise, reality based, critical thinkers.

To take a brief spin thru that rogues gallery let’s “try on for size” the ideologically and psychotically supersized Vladimir Putin (Russia), Xi Jinping (China), Kim Jong Un (North Korea), Abdel-Fattah el-Sissi (Egypt), Recep Tayyip Erdogan (Turkey), Rodrigo Duterte (Philippines) and, saving the worst for last, the duly deposed in 2020 (and presumed 2024 chomping at the bit wannable Donald J. Trump.

Uh, on second thought (re that try on session), let’s not.

More to the point, ever since tyrannical Trump made “FAKE NEWS” his catchphrase that pays / got that reverberating in the echo chamber, brain-dead heads-of-state, worldwide, have been overusing and abusing such vernacular, ofttimes verbatim, whenever genuine article journalists spot on expose them as societal parasites.

Even more to the point, most autocrats keep their grubby little paws poised over the Internet Kill Switch. After all, in the end (THE END) when it comes down to trampling human rights, their first order of biz is to sever all lines of communication, especially online reportage. It’d not be hyperbolic to say that, in the wrong hands, such a “circuit breaker” could eventually unravel the Internet and kill the truth.

My above concerns are the very reasons why I deem all reputable, hard copy newspapers akin to:

A Non-Flesh ’n’ Blood Kindred Spirit of mine; hopefully yours too.

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To whom this MUST concern:

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Preface: Prior to 2021, I had taken for granted that, in spite of the irreconcilable, ideological feud, no U.S. citizen would ever be spiteful enough to harm America. Then came January 6th, when Donald J. Trump, the (in title only) President of the United States of America, rallied, weaponized and repurposed his followers; enraged them enough to attack the United States of America; all on his behalf; all based upon his delusions that voter fraud had cost him reelection. Seeing how, to date, too damned many of his co-conspirators do double duty as sitting federal level Senators, Representatives and Judges; that no arrest warrants for DJT have been forthcoming; how, as such, he remains unpunished / at large, his followup attack still looms. Hence, the impossible to dismiss missive, below…

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To whom this MUST concern:

As of this day, 2021/06/02, this open missive gets www posted; on behalf of ALL oppressed masses, world-over. Seeing how it’s been said, “Nothing ever dies on the Internet”, even were your hands dripping with all 4.7 liters / 10 pints of our lifeblood, our truths WILL outlive tin gods, such as you; indeed, long after you’ve become unbecoming footnotes inked onto the moldering papyrus of our History books.

Purpose:

To address and edify each and every brownshirt who dares to goosestep in ugly, gargantuan sized jackboots.

To flesh that out:

• We are pointing our collective finger of blame (both hoisted middle fingers, too) and thumbing our unified nose at each and every reprehensible, reptilian authoritarian, who dares to author and/or enforce draconian decrees.

• Ditto those digital gestures re the above-mentioned addressees’ bankrollers and bootlickers.

• Ditto those digital gestures re all would-be power hungry Fascists / Nazis.

Our red flag magnitude reminder, too:

No matter how hard you may try, there is not a place on Earth (not even within the vast mulitverse’s most far-flung sectors), where you can completely hide from the truth, namely:

Your words can never “pretty up” your odious ideologies and the consequent heavy handed, human rights violating / gutting laws, which you lord over the masses. You and everything you stand for are akin to lumps of fetid, fecal matter. Oh, you can try to gift-wrap and affix shiny bows to your wretched régimes, but, your lumps of ideological dung have always been, still are, and shall forever be, lumps of dung. As such, incensed, critical thinking commoners shall NEVER, EVER, become noseblind to YOUR insufferable stench.

Signed,

CommonSenseTom and
All LikeMinded Souls WorldOver

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P.S. (addressed to the oppressed): Granted, the drunk on power will likely never read the above words. And even were they to happen onto them, comprehension would be way above the paygrade of such mindless, heartless and soulless, stick-figure tyrants. Nonetheless, it did feel good to get such sentiments off our collective chest, did it not? Transcending their doom and gloom is the glimmer of hope that, if not now, our exercise in free expression could even…

Well, seeing how my originally planned parting remark has been expressed far more eloquently, before, check out the following sentiment; one which, naturally, is fully applicable to missives, too:

“Books are like seeds. They can lie dormant for centuries and then flower in the most unpromising soil.”

[Read related quote HERE]

Carl Sagan “Cosmos”, p.281, (©1980) • Random House, Inc. New York

If you’d like to sign this open missive and/or immortalize your own views, along these lines, the comment section awaits…

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