With Friends Like That… Yadda… Yadda… Yadda…

 

Occam tells us that the easiest explanation is generally correct. IF… and that is a BIG IFIF so… THEN Donald Trump has proven his Singapore Summit, wheeling and dealing to be wildly successful. IF his inked agreement with Kim Jong Un actually turns out to be legit and far more than mere photo-op / fake news, THEN they’ve both eased the threat of nuclear annihilation and our thanks are in order.

YET… long sigh… who, of good conscience, could ever forget Trump’s hero worship of all things autocratic and his abysmal lack of ethics, empathy and relevant education. Such chronic character flaws mean that virtually everything he’s ever said and done instantly inspires both justifiable outrage and skepticism. Let’s flesh that out…

How is it even possible for two, hotheaded heads of state to suddenly… to miraculously… kiss and make up? Lest anyone forget, it was scant weeks ago when these very actors had stumbled onto the world stage to hose it down with testosterone… childishly compare the size of their “nuclear buttons” (vis-à-vis their manhood)… unconscionably and ignorantly threaten an-everybody-loses nuclear war, which could’ve downgraded humankind to irradiated cremains buried beneath mega-tonnage of radioactive rubble AND re-purposed our home world to that of an unmarked global graveyard and gigantic chunk of worthless, galactic real estate.

Were we to categorize all of that pre-summit era posturing as playacting, then both bad actors had turned in 5-star, Academy Award winning performances. BUT… lest that ever go to their heads… they had better not expect any thinking people to ever give them a standing O accompanied by boisterous yells of “Encore! Encore! Encore!”

Folks, it’s tough not to suspect yesterday’s summit-goers of collusion, too. After all, they are… politically speaking… strange bedfellows. Kim Jong Un revels in his role as the political strongman / international bogeyman. And there’s nothing fear monger Donald Trump loves more than trotting out such a exploitable, willful opponent / commodity. Furthermore, what better way to make yesterday’s negotiations appear more dramatic… more arduous than… in all likelihood…they had actually been?

Perhaps worse yet was… to borrow DJT’s own catchphrase… the ubiquitous fake news… most of it “courtesy” of the right wing dominated, MSM sycophantic propagandists. Always on hand to do the “prez’s” bidding, these storytellers did gin up that pre-Singaporean drama… you know… all of that “Is the summit off or on?” crapola / hoopla. It’s fair to point out that since the fake news occurred prior to the summit… it likely continued yesterday… and will continue to do so, unabated… in all our tomorrows to follow.

SIDEBAR: I don’t know about you, folks, but as I type out this blog, it feels as if I’m peeling away the layers of an onion. All that’s missing is the tear inducing chemical syn-propanethial-S-oxide. Of course… that’s not to say my pondering over today’s sorry state of politics won’t induce tearing later… i.e., once I post this blog. END SIDEBAR

Tearing away the next layer… let’s explore how DJT hasn’t really had anything meaningful to show for his first 500+ days in office. As such, he’s been desperate to secure something… anything… even remotely resembling a victory… even a diplomatic coup which, btw, conflicts with his chickenhawk nature. So, would any of us be shocked by the possibility that he may’ve even secretly granted KJU some extraordinarily unpalatable, inconsistent to core American values concessions… that he might’ve even sweetened the pot… by offering oodles of dirty cash-o-la and/or a “date” with a porn star? Or two? Or more? After all, what corrupt, billionaire businessman would not have easy access to both?

So… did hobnobbing with DJT bolster KJU’s status? Did the Korean dictator successfully manipulate his manipulator? Did these two autocrats truly become friends?

Returning to Occam… the easiest explanation is usually correct. In other words… whomever dares to deal with Donald J. Trump will drown in his swamp / suffocate in his stench, rarely win AND won’t have a snowballs chance in hell of ever being his best buddy.

If Kim Jong Un harbors any doubts, all he need do is ask for character references from any of America’s now ex-allies… the half dozen world leaders, who Trump had totally alienated and abandoned during 2018’s Canadian G-7 summit.

 

 

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Rising the Phoenix from the Radioactive Ashes?

 

It’d be an understatement to say January 2018’s events had been unnerving. It all started with a Tweet, posted by a cyberbully who, due to his well-known character flaws of self-importance, imprudence, impudence and ignorance, needs no further introduction. Said he…

 

“North Korean Leader Kim Jong Un just stated that the “Nuclear Button is on his desk at all times.” Will someone from his depleted and food starved regime please inform him that I too have a Nuclear Button, but it is a much bigger & more powerful one than his, and my Button works! — Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) January 3, 2018”

 

How reckless of “Tweetie” to further engage and enrage his temperamental North Korean nuclear nemesis… particularly considering how their past rounds of infantile squabbling have already left the entire world on the brink of WW-III.

And to what end? I mean, here we witness the so-called prez, perhaps obsessing over not measuring up below his own bloated belly’s bellybutton? Maybe compensating for that shortcoming by boasting, online, about the size of his “nuclear button”?

As if that weren’t already bad enough, on January 13th, Hawaiians faced down what they believed to be a nuclear nightmare-come-true. Indeed, they had (erroneously) received the stark warning that a ballistic missile was already en route, inward bound… that thermonuclear exchange and the annihilation of humanity was imminent.

Then, on January 15th, I had unwittingly exacerbated my own anxieties… i.e., by switching on my FM radio at precisely the wrong moment. It had been quite disconcerting to hear the Emergency Alert System attention signal already blaring away… likely the exact same menacing monotone that had needlessly scared the crap out of my Hawaiian compatriots. My first reaction… “WTF did that numbskull narcissist do now?” Yep, I actually had groaned that aloud.

Of course, in that instance, it had been an actual alert… an AMBER Alert to help track down the whereabouts of a missing, perhaps abducted child.

My nerves, nonetheless, had become a bit frazzled. I was more than ready for some much needed escapism… perhaps courtesy of the Comet TV Network? However, once more, this proved to be ill-timed. I was now watching their feature presentation: Panic In Year Zero… a low budget, post apocalyptic film… a production that would have never won any awards for special effects. BUT it sure as hell did offer up a plausible portrayal of nuclear war’s grotesque side effect… societal breakdown… e.g. the male characters, first, becoming hunter-gatherers and, next… once their testosterone poisoning began kicking in full force… they further devolved into little more than knuckle-draggers… their predominant MO being pillaging, raping and manslaughter.

Then… just about when I thought it was safe to go outside, again, and get on with my life… on January 16th, a totally unexpected flash over my home state lit up my nighttime skies and generated an accompanying, minor, sonic boom… wound up fully backlighting my closed, thickly insulated kitchen and dining room curtains and “rocking” my home’s brick, mortar and drywall. Once more I groaned, aloud, “WTF did that numbskull narcissist do now?”

All the sudden I found myself desperately searching though my brain’s “files” for some “plain vanilla” type explanation… oh… say… thundersnow. However, just as quickly as I had hatched that theory, I had to debunk it. True, there had been a heavy  snowfall on that day… BUT… the extreme cold air mass, which had descended immediately afterwards, certainly would’ve made wintertime lightening… already a meteorological rarity… even more so.

The good news was that night’s 11 o’clock news story, which fully cleared up the mystery… a meteor had plunged to Earth. Yet, I could not help but wonder. Had that rocky space debris’ flight plan, instead, sent it streaking over Washington DC, how would “Prez” Tweetie have reacted / overreacted?

Factoring in his repugnance for intellectuals and all time honored, scientific principles (e.g. recall how he stared… sans eye protection… at 2016’s solar eclipse after being warned not to), it’s easy to see how his response would’ve been to trust his (cheeseburger glutted) gut and “go ballistic”.

The late astronomer / author Carl Sagan postulated along similar lines. From his book, Cosmos… Chapter IV – Heaven and Hell… I’ve condensed his observations from pages 73 – 76 (inclusive)…

 

“In the early morning hours of June 30, 1908, in Central Siberia, a giant fireball was seen moving rapidly across the sky. Where it touched the horizon, an enormous explosion took place. It leveled some 2,000 square kilometers of forest and burned thousands of trees in a flash fire near the impact site. It produced an atmospheric shock wave that twice circled the Earth.

This remarkable occurrence is called the Tunguska Event [and] was probably caused by an icy cometary fragment about a hundred meters across – the size of a football field – weighing a million tons , moving about 30 kilometers per second, 70,000 miles per hour.

If such an impact occurred today it might be mistaken, especially in the panic of the moment, for a nuclear explosion. The cometary impact and fireball would simulate all effects of a one megaton nuclear burst, including the mushroom cloud, with two exceptions: there would be no gamma radiation or radioactive fallout.

Could a rare but natural event… trigger a nuclear war? A strange scenario: A small comet hits the Earth… and the response of our civilization is promptly to self-destruct. It might be a good idea for us to understand comets and collisions and catastrophes a little better than we do… this is a real possibility and underscores the dangers in an age of nuclear weapons of not monitoring impacts from space better than we do.”

 

January’s unsettling events have since compelled me to seriously evaluate how I’d react IF… more likely WHEN… “Tweetie” provokes WW-III. One certainty… we could never expect a “prez”, ignorant enough to use social media for such an antisocial purpose, to ever effectively cope with the resultant nuclear wasteland… and far more importantly, even begin to sense the “survivors'” physical pain, mental anguish and emotional drain. Nope, he could never rise that phoenix from the radioactive ashes.

Under those dire circumstances, the “survivors”, most assuredly, would need flawless leadership… someone possessing the resolve, resourcefulness and reasoning power of Sci-Fi botanist / astronaut, Mark Watney… portrayed by actor Matt Damon… in the Hollywood big screen film, The Martian. To synopsize the plot and Watney’s plight, after winding up marooned on the otherwise barren of life, totally inhospitable Mars, he was left to figure out… every single minute of every single “Sol” (day)… all that he’d need to accomplish to survive. He wound up summing everything up, thusly

 

“So, in the face of overwhelming odds, I’m left with only one option: I’m gonna have to science the shit out of this.”

 

 

So what would the Trumpian response be? Well, once the fallout had settled, the holed up in his underground “prez” would emerge from his lead encased bunker… utterly clueless as to how to cope with an unearthly, uninhabitable Earth. He could never possess even a minuscule fraction of Mark Watney’s textbook knowhow and survivor instincts.

Worse yet, the “prez” would know no real life “Watneys” and even if the scientific community did step forward to offer their advice and services, “Tweetie” would still turn a deaf ear… would denigrate and spurn them. Consequently, the “prez” would preside over his world… no strike that… rule over a shithole nation and planet of his own making. Even far worse than that, he would still expect high praise and applause from countless hordes of beleaguered walking cadavers who’d be sloughing off their burnt flesh, puking their guts out… and dropping dead.

Returning to the here and now… IF… more likely WHEN… our Emergency Alert System starts signaling the end of the world… I’ll be lacing up my Sketchers and jogging, full speed ahead, towards Ground Zero… not away from it. I mean, given the two options of…

A. Existing within Donald Trump’s virtually lifeless, hopeless, burnt to a cinder, irradiated shithole nation and planet.
B. Dying and taking my chances with attaining either eternal life or facing down godforsaken oblivion.

I’d opt-in to choice “B”.

So, my readers, my comment section is the venue to tell the whole world what you’d choose. It’ll only take a few seconds to type in your one character… either your “A” or “B”… response.

Of course, other lengthier comments are also welcome.