my jaundiced eye

the absurdities of life

the fawning of america

the fawning of america-1

MJE continues to be flabbergasted at what lengths the conald will go to quench his insatiable desire for adulation. The latest incident involved a cabinet meeting that was presumably meant to be an important discussion of pressing matters of state but was perverted by the conald into a cringe-worthy display of political masturbation.

Generally speaking cabinet meetings are pretty weighty occasions and not thrown open to the press, but as we all know the conald never misses an opportunity to exaggerate his accomplishments or seek affirmation. With that in mind, the meeting opened with the conald blathering at length that he has accomplished more than any other president in us history (he threw a bone to fdr and his handling of the depression, etc) so early in his presidency, despite any actual legislative action. He extoled his many take charge executive orders like rolling back job and people killing regulations. The reduction of government’s obligation to preserve clean air and water is a twofer, it reduces government expense and if people die, hey they are no longer jobless! The art of the deal indeed.

The cabinet members were reduced to fawning toadies. For all intents and purposes it could have been a collection of north korean lackeys addressing their dear leader. One by one they tried to outdo each other in a bizarre limbo land of how low can you go.

VP pap declared that even jesus’s miracles pale in comparison to what the conald has done. Water into wine, meh, what good does that do for teetotalers like el presidente, way more impressive is keeping religious competitors out of our country. Rinse Prebot, chief of staff declared that he had changed his sixteen year old son’s name from madison to donald and is working on a combover in tribute to his incredible boss. Wrecks Dullerson, our reclusive secretary of state, announced that he was divorcing his boring wife of 38 years and was actively wooing young eastern european beauties via tinder. He was happy to report that he has several great prospects lined up and effusively thanked the conald for being such a fantastic role model. Round and round went the revolting group grab ass, each expression of adoration eliciting a nod and smile from our own dear leader.

So this is what america’s top dogs have been reduced to, a bunch of bootlicking flunkeys who have abandoned all self-respect and permanently tainted their reputations in obeisance to a person who deserves absolutely none of it. Yo, what about their obligations to the american citizens whom they are duty bound to serve?

Get off your damned knees, stand up and speak truth to power, you cowards.

let the word games begin

let the games begin-1

So let mje get this straight, the conald is going to get into a pissing contest about who’s more trustworthy, him or saint james comely, recently fired head of the fbi. Hmmmmm….that’s a tough call for sure. On the one hand you have a 6’8” boy scout who has decades of public service experience and an irritating habit of doing what he believes is best for the country and on the other a glorified used car salesman from queens who never says anything that isn’t either self-aggrandizing or deflects attention from his shaky relationship with reality and or the russians.

As anyone with a tv, radio, computer or a brain now knows, director comely testified before the senate intelligence committee last week and recited chapter and verse his every interaction with the conald. After his first meeting with el president elect, director comely, who presumably has seen his fair share of liars and swindlers, immediately recognized that he’d just met with a con man of truly historic proportions. A grifter so skillful that he made enough americans believe that he was going to give them everything they ever wanted no matter how contradictory or impossible and got himself elected president. Jobs for the jobless, cheap (really) great health insurance for the sick, tax breaks for the rich, a balanced budget for the nitpickers, a reduction in the deficit for the frugal, a withdrawal from the paris accord for the climate change deniers, a travel ban on muslims for the racists, a wall for the people who blame undocumented immigrants for their lot in life, nixing nato for the isolationists, increasing defense spending for the pugnacious, slashing federal research grants for the evangelical faith healers, cutting off funding for planned parenthood for the fetus firsters, and a shot at a time share in a trump property for the morbidly moronic.

Comely documented his meetings in excruciating detail in order to ensure, in his words, that the actual truth of their interactions were on the record. When queried as to why he did that his response was something like, because of the setting (trump tower), the topic (loyalty pledge and or something vis a vis russia) and the person with whom he was interacting who would be the chiseler in chief. And just to be crystal clear, because he believed that the conald would lie. Yep used the l word folks. All laid out in the placid unemotional just the facts ma’am demeanor of a consummate g-man.

Well glory be and lordy, someone finally has the balls to declare the obvious: this pompous, embarrassing, bombastic ignoramous of an emperor we are now stuck with ain’t got no clothes on his fat ass. Not a stitch.

During comely’s testimony the conald huddled with his cabal then shoved his personal (the white house counsel and his staff all staged an extended sickout after the first few minutes of the comely testimony) super expensive, super sketchy, ill informed new york defense attorney out before the cameras to refute each and every allegation, in form and substance. Yo! connie, lawyering up is, in the irritating newspeak of today, “bad optics.”

Furthermore, and even better, the conald has now declared that he will gladly testify under oath that every word comely said is untrue, never said it, never happened, no way no how.

Let the word games begin.

howdy saudi

 

howdy saudi

Whew, the trump circus has skipped town, and not a moment too soon. Literally the entire white house staff is going along on this trip, it makes one wonder who’s left in dc to run the ship of state, oh right, pap’s here. Every one of the white house toadies are clinging to our ape in chief like those iron filings that clump around a metal stylus to form a beard on a cartoon man’s face. They are terrified that the moment they are not right next to el presidente one of their colleagues is going to finger them for leaking or lying or even worse telling the truth to some news outlet.

Most experienced politicians who are elected president plan a soft-ball trip as their first foreign state visit, to get to know the territory, protocols, logistics, brush up on the culture, etc.  however, in true trump fashion it’s balls to the wall and screw all that crap. He’s hitting saudi arabia, israel, italy and the vatican (a two fer) and belguim which he once described as a “beautiful city.” If he weren’t coming bearing billions in military contracts, aid or other us largesse I suspect that his reception might be less than cordial considering he has offended most of the people in most of the countries he’s visiting.

On touch down in riyadh the conald was greeted by king salmon himself resplendent in dazzling white (800m thread count egyptian cotton) robes and a head dress held in place by a classic basic black bungee. Trump’s attire for his first foreign state visit did not vary from his go-to navy men’s warehouse suit because why mess with success? Melanoma opted for an all black wide legged onesy, sort of like an abaya but with a bit more panache and a clue to the fact that women do have two legs, and something super special in between too! I suppose black was a respectful nod to the local saudi custom of wrapping their women in dark polyester, but the squint eyed fashionista of fifth avenue couldn’t resist a bit of bling, accessorizing with a foot wide gold lame belt. As much as the conald loves all things gilt, I doubt even he can match the saudis, and frankly it’s really not good manners to try to beat your hosts at their own game. King salmon awarded the conald the gilded collar of abdulaziz al saud, saudi arabia’s highest civilian honor, which dazzled him bigly, probably unaware that there might be a connection between it and the $100B military sales package he inked a few hours later. I did see a video of him and the (male) members of his cabinet awkwardly swaying to a traditional ardha saudi sword dance. Wincing in embarrassment, and perhaps pain at having to keep lifting a pretty heavy sword, he looked like a clumsy adolescent at his first co-ed, but since the intent of the dance is to “re-pledge allegiance to the king” he really should have been partying like it’s 1999.

In his speech to the assembled gingham shrouded heads of state he sounded almost rational, albeit heavily medicated, making just the right noises about how terrorism is a perversion of islam and we all just need to be friends to combat these bad eggs, yada, yada, yada. It was what a cd of trump the campaigner would sound like if it were played backwards. Mind you he does have that muslim ban on hold out in the 9th circuit…wouldn’t it have been a hoot if just as he was speaking, al jazeera interrupted with breaking news that the ban had been re-instituted. AWKWARD.

Stay tuned.

seven days in may…

what a week

MJE has been recently compelled to work triple time, which I resent, to find anything humorous about what the hell is happening in our country at the moment. It wasn’t bad enough that the lily livered, mean spirited repubes folded like cheap suitcases to take health care coverage away from millions of americans. Admittedly under tony soprano worthy muscle from the congressional brute squad led ironically by nerdroid ryan and our scary clown president, who knows about as much about the legislative process as he does about setting the thermostat at mar a lago.

In typical trumpian fashion, our dear leader demanded that this poorly drafted wealthcare bill be jammed through the house minus a CBO score or even having been read by the people who voted for it. Furthermore, this craven bunch was subsequently feted at a celebratory kegger in the rose garden hosted by el presidente, apparently unaware that it takes two to tango when it comes to actually passing legislation. It is perversely comforting that the sniveling scrooges in the house who voted for this bill now cannot even go back to their districts for fear of being jeered off their town hall stages by their constituents.

But it gets so much better, or worse. These guys (literally, almost entirely, white men) walked the proverbial political plank to give a “win” to a president who, before the beer pong table was even cleared, fired the head of the fbi without cause, an act which is virtually unprecedented in american history. He then reverse-engineered the dismissal to justify his action with some sort of fig leaf memorandum drawn up by a.g. assassions (who had pledged to recuse himself from anything regarding russia and trump) and the formerly well respected deputy a.g. ohnosenstein. Trump’s true rationale, in his own words a few days later, was that comey was already a gone pecan because wouldn’t quash the “fake news” probe into russian involvement with his campaign. Inevitably and almost immediately, his inconsistencies and prevarications were promptly outed, resulting in, what else, a series of looney trump tweets, which will henceforth be referred to as twurps, making veiled threats aimed at anyone who might be tempted to leak information contrary to his fictional assertions. Dicey spicey was thanking his lucky stars that he was away from the podium during this debacle fulfilling his national guard obligation. Unsubstantiated, but entirely credible reports are that as soon as he his commitment was concluded he made a beeline to the army recruiting station to re-up for four years on the front line in our new offensive in afganistan. In his absence honey boo boo huckabee was trotted out to spread trump’s gospel of the alternative fact. Lordy girl yur pappy is a preacher, you had better log some hard time in the pew this sunday.

MJE is not a trained fire fighter, except with regard to domestic flare-ups, but even I know that it isn’t wise to throw gasoline on a smoldering fire that you wish to extinguish. Trump however, who in his own mind is a master salesman who can control any narrative, made a boner move in believing that sacking the director of the fbi would somehow divert attention from the mushrooming evidence of russian collusion. But like a lemming racing for the cliff, he just could not put on the brakes, in fact he stomped on the accelerator with his contention in comey’s letter of dismissal, the nonsensical assertion that comey had assured him, on three separate occasions, that he is not under investigation. MJE strongly advises that you give your gawping shovel mouth a rest and quit digging.

Conald, conald conald…this isn’t the sleazy new jersey real estate market you used to game. You have landed yourself unwittingly, in the oval office as the leader of the free world, god help us all. It is arguably the single most powerful position on the planet, but one whose authority, as designed by the framers of the constitution is constrained by two other co-equal branches of government. Too bad they didn’t write that document in a series of tweets, in which case you might be aware of that.

MJE is setting the impeachment clock. Tick tock, tick tock.

 

 

field trip the light fantastic!

field trip

In the interest of seeing for myself the state of contemporary culture, MJE decided to emerge from my bubble and personally experience just what the heck the modern world is up to, other than what I read in the failing new york times’ style section. To wit, MJE took the bold and virtually unprecedented (at least since 1973) action of attending a concert off the rez. And I’m not talking about some old fogey classical music thing, no ma’am, this is a band revered by millenials, the ultimate arbiters of what is hip and cool, like those jeans caked with fake mud that sell for $475 at barney’s.

So MJE and an intrepid clutch of other grey beards trekked to the nearest thing that might be described as a population center not too far from “ancient oaks” where the OB&C and I reside among an eclectic community of well heeled, attractive and extremely active seniors. In my estimation, not to rag on the young college grads living in their parents’ basements and playing super mario brothers 24/7, they probably get more done in a day than those millos do in a year. That said, because MJE is so very young at heart and interested in staying au courant, I’ve adopted a millo schedule and do only that which is absolutely necessary to ensure my perpetual contentment. Onerous duties such as paying bills, answering the telephone, getting out of my pajamas or pausing mid-binge watching the first season of fargo, or the latest episodes of better call saul are forestalled as long as possible. So the mere act of getting dressed, being chauffeured (the FOM, or friends of MJE, are well aware of my irrepressible bon vivantness and understand that my ability to competently operate heavy machinery or drive a car after I’ve exhausted myself delivering alcohol fueled witty repostes is not in anyone’s best interest) to a pre concert cocktail party, and walking to the venue involved an herculean effort on my part. However, there is no rest for the weary, because once I arrived at the entrance I had to elude four levels of security measures designed specifically, as far as I could tell, to separate me from my cup of non-house wine. Look, MJE didn’t get where I am by being intimidated by some adhd twenty something in a breezy spring frock and kitten heels, nor by the subsequent older larger, more intimidating uniformed security person who searched my purse, nor the metal detectors followed by yet one final security drone whom I easily ditched in the crowd. Just to be clear, this place paid about fifty security people and rented half a dozen scanners to maximize the sales of three buck cups of crappy wine? Not cost effective, my friend. And a real buzz kill.

Returning to the metal detectors, as I said MJE don’t get out much, but since when does a small town music concert in an old theatre require security worthy of the entry to the tel aviv airport? Perhaps all that screening should have been an early warning sign of what lay ahead, that maybe whatever we were going to experience in the next few hours might evoke passions from the audience so heated that actual violence might ensue. However, because MJE was intensely focused on skirting the authorities and hanging onto my vino I didn’t give it much thought. But next time, assuming there is one, if I see that number of security hurdles I need to vault, I’m just gonna amble over to the nearest bar and catch up later.

Hailing from a different era, when schedules actually meant something, our gang of geezers arrived promptly at 8:00 found our seats and and perched attentively waiting for the music we had paid to hear. Instead, some young person of indeterminate gender who appeared to have just rolled out of bed, came onstage and began what we later realized was a lengthy introduction to the opening act. Words like psychedelic, avant garde, and stream of consciousness were part of the delivery but none of it made any particular sense so we just sat there. Then the phenomenon that we had just heard described, shuffled in from stage left. Man this guy looked like he’d just been dragged from his refrigerator box under the overpass. If this was part of his schtick then he totally nailed the homeless, drugged out, burned out, crazy person character you avoid making eye contact with. A couple of trombone players silently crept onto the very back of the darkened stage. Now I don’t know about you but I bet if you’d bought a ticket to hear what you thought was sort of an R&B band and instead you got a homeless guy and two trombones you’d be weirded out too. Then he began to speak.

And speak and speak…and speak. Meanwhile he slowly made his way to a synthesizer and started to bang away.  Whoever programmed this instrument was either the crazy guy whomping the keys or someone who deserves a grammy for best comedy album because most of the racket it made sounded more like animal noises than musical notes. There was a high pitched terrier, a parrot, maybe a cat or two and then some that I just couldn’t quite put my finger on. All the while the guy continued to ramble on above the din about what I know not, I wasn’t even sure what language he was speaking. My compadres and I sat slack jawed, completely flummoxed. One thing’s for sure, I didn’t want to side eye any of them because I knew that would result in a meltdown of uncontrollable, disrespectful guffawing. But he finally went one terrier over the line sweet jesus and the dam broke…it was all out muffled hysteria from then on. The rest of the audience was dead silent, either in on the joke or pretending to get it to demonstrate their total hipness. MJE however had had enough and made a bee line to the bar, where everyone else in line agreed they too couldn’t stand it anymore and really, really needed a drink. After a minute or so the rest of our pack stumbled out into the lobby looking like dazed hobbits emerging from mirkwood.

When we rallied and re-entered the venue the musical act we had paid to hear, st francis and the fractured femurs, were entering the stage. The fractured femurs featured an impressively eclectic collection of musical instruments not traditionally played ensemble: flute, snare drums, a cannonball thumb piano, balalaika, jews harp, harmonica, accordion, bass, triangle, and most impressively the rarely heard aztec death whistle. A white-hot spotlight trained on the standing mic center stage. Finally out flounced st francis, who looked freakishly like truman capote, wearing a cape that was less liberace and more like the lead thing the dental hygienist lays on you when you get a tooth x ray. He dramatically shed that to reveal a sparkly purple jacket, black pants and blinding golden slippers. The band struck a chord and st francis went to work, howling and growling into the microphone, striding around the stage and working his limited dance moves like his life depended on it. To MJE he came across as a suburban white kid trying to sound like a seasoned black 60’s soul singer while executing lame knock offs of routines little richard and james brown killed fifty years ago. Bless his heart.

That said, a good time was had by all, a night to remember, for sure. MJE needs to get out more.

ptsd 2.0

ptsd 2.0

MJE likes to peruse the diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders periodically to determine whether I have acquired any new professionally sanctioned psychiatric conditions. I try to remain abreast of the latest and greatest in this area, but just to fully ensure that I have updated my psychiatric disorder content page in a fair and balanced manner I cross reference webmd for symptoms and meds to alleviate them. MJE feels that multi-sourcing disorders, psychiatric or otherwise is always the most prudent path.

In my latest review MJE found two new disorders with which I am undeniably stricken. The first:

PTSD 2.0 (post travel stress disorder)

Symptoms: anxiety, depression, hypersensitivity to odors, claustrophobia, rashes about the groin area, acrophobia, nut or pretzel allergies, coprastasophobia, diarrhea, numbness in the lower legs, unusual bruising of the elbows and fore arms, shortness of breath, anger management issues, and occasional hair loss, or rarely, an unusual development of freckles over the buttocks, pudenda and or (please respect the transgenders among us) scrota.

PPTSD Pre and Post Travel Stress Disorder (a rare acute form of PTSD 2.0)

Symptoms: serious physical and or mental trauma including but not limited to: broken bones, bruises, contusions, concussion, dental damage, abrasions, loss of dignity, intense fear of large armed men wearing black skirts, blue jeans and sketchy security badges, heightened notoriety and loss of income due to unmet professional commitments. Additionally, you may incur large medical, legal and public relations related expenses.

Not to fear monger, but MJE believes that any person, or giant rabbit, who has had to resort to traveling via a seventy five ton cylinder full of compressed oxygen stuffed cheek by jowl with masses of other nominally humanoid species traveling at 500-600 mph at 30,000 feet above the earth for any period of time probably suffers from ptsd 2.0. However, this syndrome begins to present itself well before boarding the aircraft or even entering the airport terminal, when you try to park your car and are confronted with the exorbitant airport parking lot fees. Once you enter, you are for all intents and purposes, simply a very large lab rat in a dark circular maze which could aptly be described, in the immortal words of matthew arnold in his incredibly depressing opus, dover beach …

” for the world (or parking tower), which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams,

So various, so beautiful, so new,

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;

And we are here as on a darkling plain

Swept with confused (car) alarms of struggle and flight,

Where ignorant armies (of minivans) clash by night. “

From there you have a miles long trek, dragging your luggage, backpacks, electronic gear, offspring and their attendant junk to reach the gleaming, welcoming beacon of light in the far distance: the terminal. Alas no respite there. The doors whoosh open and you are presented with a teeming mass of ill dressed, unruly, rude, pushy, lost, bad tempered people and their detritus through which you must muscle your way to finally reach:  “the kiosk.” If you are able to successfully interact with that bot, you then must slowly shuffle like along like a homeless person with all of your worldly possessions in tow in a disney world worthy line covering the entire square footage of the your airline’s allotted space. At long last you reach a disgruntled airport agent who demands your tickets, identification, first grammar school, mother’s maiden name, best friend from childhood, favorite song, automobile vin number and the date you lost your virginity, with whom and where. In a family feud type gaggle you put your heads together and hope to come up with the correct responses (except for the virginity thing which you and your spouse or partner are permitted to write down separately on small scraps of paper and slip to the agent.)

If by some miracle you clear that hurdle you are released to try to find your way to the security area. Your destination is the tail end of another long snaking line of increasingly fatigued, frustrated and irritated travelers. An hour or so later, your group of already weary companions reach the bored bully of a security officer who demands identification, tickets, high school gpa, primary health care provider and whether you eat pork. If you manage to get past that humorless blue clad clod you then must speed walk as fast as is possible to a stack of plastic bins into which you are required to deposit your shoes, belt, jacket, electronic devices, infants in car seats, prosthetic limbs, pacemakers, breast implants and anything else which you might hold dear. As you watch your existence get slowly sucked into the dark lair of the eye of sauron who sees all including that 4.3 oz bottle of volumizing shampoo you forgot to pitch, you start to feel your life force start to seep onto the filthy floor on which you stand in bare feet. Then the final frontier, the full body scanner. You are nearing the end of the beginning. Beeeeep…goes the alarm and you are whisked off to be given a complete physical in full view of everyone by some blue rubber gloved vogon. After you have been relieved of your iud and nipple ring you are released to descend into the fifth circle of hell via an escalator that is so long you literally cannot see the bottom. Then you wait for “the train”, which will transport you to a distant galaxy far far away known as terminal b.

Now you have a completely new alien terrain to navigate: which way to gate 843, where are the bathrooms, do you have time to buy a neck pillow and where’s the cinnabon place. Those are all deeply personal decisions and far be it for MJE to tell you how to make your life choices but just so you know, if you happen to arrive at the gate 61 minutes prior to scheduled (but highly improbable) departure time you will be denied boarding and must go back to square one. If you do manage to get to the gate in time you will need to break up the herd as there are only single seats available in the waiting area because many passengers choose to let their luggage chillax in seats designated for paying passengers. MJE advises to just let that pass, you may win in the short term but the probability that you will be in the middle seat next to this person are calculated to be around 97.3%.

After an interminable wait, during which you are relentlessly subjected to cnn breaking news, the gate agent announces the boarding call. Attractive people, medallion members, people with screaming infants, people in wheelchairs, people who look like they are at the breaking point, and other random passengers are allowed to board first. Then you board by seat section, and under no circumstances should you try to deviate from the boarding order because you will go to the end of the line and probably get bumped from the flight and rendered unconscious. You finally make it to the jetway! Inexplicably, people are at a total and complete standstill like those ranks of ancient terra cotta chinese warriors you see in national geographic. However, once you make it onto the plane it becomes crystal clear. The smug jerks in first class are sipping mimosas but beyond the dividing curtain to steerage it is like black friday at walmart.

People stumble down the aisle thoughtlessly twacking every previously seated passenger with their bulky baggage, which they try to in vain to cram into overheads bins. They then stumble around searching for their seats like they are lost in a sand storm (Heads up: the seat rows are numbered 15-34, each with six seats labeled a to f. You are not the minotaur wandering around in the knossos labyrinth, for god’s sake.) You finally get to your 14” wide seat where there is no storage space left so you have your carry on bag, purse or briefcase or both, computer case, etc. jammed between your legs, only partially under the seat in front of you. When the flight attendant comes by to inspect things before takeoff you press your knees together like a seventh grader trying to ward off a sophomore in the back seat of his dad’s car. If she tweeks to that baggage storage violation of faa rule 8047210563391526.0863, section a. part g, you can kiss your stuff goodbye, it’s going down, even if your life saving meds are in it.

People finally settle in, the cabin doors close and you heave a way too premature sigh of relief…because out come savory containers of braised curried goat and cauliflower, kung pao pidgeon, cabbage florentine with chick peas and whatever other foul smelling delicacy purchased in the food court prior to boarding, followed by the inevitable miasma of intestinal distress.

You are of course seated at the very back of the plane next to the galley. You hear the flight attendants loading up the drinks cart with cold refreshments, ice and peanuts and you look forward to enjoying a coca cola product and a 1.5 oz bag of nibbles. Out of the corner of your eye you see the cart, you are so close you can touch it….but like a mirage, it fades away toward the front of the plane and you realize that you will not see it again until it whisks by when the pilot comes on the intercom to say they are starting the final descent and are suspending cabin service.

By this point you have fully surrendered yourself to the slings and arrows of outrageous air travel misfortune and sit like a zombie, undead but unable to move. You now no longer have any idea where you were headed or why. Yet there is no rest for the weary, the cleaning crew is coming and you have to get to carousel 10f before someone makes off with what’s left of your baggage and your dignity.

MJE will cover in a later post  ptsd 3.0 (president trump stress disorder). It is not only far more serious but potentially fatal.

give me religious liberty or give me death by a thousand duck bites

religious liberty or death

It’s a damned good thing that MJE took her cholesterol meds this am because reading the crawling chyron of trump’s speech in the rose garden prior to signing the “religious liberty” executive order just about blew a hole in my aorta. When trump utters “religious liberty” surely MJE’s readers, who are a pretty sharp bunch, understand that he is speaking exclusively of christians’ liberty, particularly those of an evangelical stripe, to legally discriminate against “the others.” Trump is demonstrably a man devoid of either religious or moral convictions, a person whose behavior in his personal life and business dealings is anathema to the tenets of virtually every faith. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you (don’t stiff people who provided honest work for you) thou shalt not steal (hard earned money from innocent people for a worthless real estate certificate), thou shall not commit adultery (marla, marla, marla…) thou shalt honor the sabbath (does 18 holes of golf count?) thou shalt not make or worship idols (tax exempt ten foot high portrait of himself in tennis togs or gilded “trump” spelled out in 50 foot high letters slapped on as much as possible) thou shalt not bear false witness (obama born in africa, popular vote, inauguration numbers, wire tapping etc etc etc). That is some shameful track record for sure and as far as MJE is concerned, clearly demonstrates that donald trump is pretty much the last person on earth you could possibly dig up to deliver a sermon on the sanctity of religion.

Obviously prince albino pence, pap smear, hobby lobbied for and probably penned this load of pandering claptrap. He might have been able to pull off delivering this divisive, mean spirited announcement without irony because of his incredible sense of self-righteous piety, but coming from trump it is about as believable as hitler sitting shabbat with the frank family.

Trump intoned that we are a nation of “believers (unless that is you are a believer in islam.) He went on to add that people of faith (again only e-vangels) may no longer be “silenced” “targeted” or “bullied” by the government. And people should be free to speak from the pulpit (unless it’s in a mosque.) “Free speech does not stop at the steps of the house of worship” presumably referring to those located in pearly gated communities of like-minded christian believers. He droned on unenthusiastically from the teleprompter surrounded by the feverish faithful, declaring that he is taking “historic steps” to protect religious liberty (like banning muslims from coming into the country.) But the nirvana-worthy cherry perched on the top of this steaming pile of hypocritical excrement was his solemn pronouncement that “tolerance is the cornerstone of freedom.”

In the immortal words of janis joplin “freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”

the first 100 days

first 100 days

MJE has been looking back at these past 100 days of the trump administration’s frightening bumbling ineptitude and marveling at how the country has held up under the pressure. Those snooty brits with their snide stiff upper lips have nothing on us.

Right out of the gate trump declared a ban on muslims or anyone who might look like one, entering the country, alienating a pretty huge chunk of the earth’s population, by which I mean humans. Fortunately that little bit o’ racism was shot down fairly quickly. Trump’s team, undeterred, took another bite at that poison apple and again got squashed. 0 for 2

So moving on to repealing obamacare, which for god’s sake should have been a slam-dunk. The congressional republicans have voted to do just that every day they’ve been in session for the past eight years (about 83 working days in toto by my count.) They now have control of both houses of congress and the white house (if you think that this white house can in fact be controlled) yet it turns out that lots of people who never had health insurance before obamacare (presumably many of whom voted for trump and the republican congressional candidates) have it now and they don’t want to give it up…gee, who knew? 0 for 3

But, let’s not forget all those executive orders flying out of the oval office. Gutting regulations, waiving ethics rules, eliminating funding for scientific research, etc. But what about the big stuff? Jobs! Infrastructure! Tax reform!

MJE proposes the following bold actions to quickly accomplish a number of trump’s fantastic goals and huge campaign promises:

Eliminating funding for the restoration of the great lakes and chesapeake bay is all well and good, but what about jobs? Why not kill two (endangered) birds with one stone. Put forth the largest most phenomenal job creation project in the history of the country: fill the damned things in. Talk about shovel ready infrastructure! Imagine millions of americans dumping tons upon tons of tar sands into those huge aquatic money pits. Once complete, it would be ideal terrain for low-income housing developments, again, more jobs!

What about the beautiful wall? Turns out it’s a bit more expensive than anticipated and the government can’t use corporate tax loopholes or stiff sub-contractors to bring the cost down. So how’s this for a plan, all those lead pipes in flint michigan have to come out, right? They gotta go somewhere…how about piled up along the mexican border, and bonus points!!! all those illegals scrambling over them will probably get lead poisoning. But then, bummer, we’d be stuck with a whole lot of undocumented immigrants too sick to hang dry wall.

Tax reform is simply too boring for MJE to think about. I’ll leave that to jarred, he’s got a 2pm on thursday open.

all in the family

all in the family

In the interest of cutting back governmental spending and streamlining bureaucracy, the conald has opted to appoint his son-in-law, jarred to replace the entire cabinet, joint chiefs and white house landscaping crew. Although he has no governmental, diplomatic, military or horticultural experience, jarred, in the conald’s words, “brings a really, really great combination of ignorance, hubris and entitlement” to the tired washington establishment. All other senior governmental duties will fall to daughter e-vanka, a woman so placid that MJE wonders if she might just be on some sort of anti-seizure meds. Reports are that both kids will donate their chump change government salaries to their favorite (totally tax deductible) causes like unplanned parenthood and meals on heels. They will not however be entirely cost-free to u.s. taxpayers who will foot the bill for their staff, offices, secret service protection, travel expenses and refurbished government issued galaxy 7’s. Ditto new understated mid-price wardrobes for jarred (men’s warehouse) and the lady (steinmart) in an effort to avoid having their underlings resent the fact that the bosses’ typical attire costs more than their annual take home pay.

Even though jarred and e-vanka are assuming the lion’s share of the responsibilities, there are still a number of areas which will require management. Sons donju and ferret have their hands full pretending they’re running dad’s businesses plus squeezing in daily clandestine meetings with him to find out exactly what he wants them to do. That leaves tiphoney and barren and he doesn’t seem to be cut out for a high profile position.

Since all the good stuff is already taken, poor tiph will have to settle for sloppy seconds, as she has throughout her life. However, what with the budget cutbacks and all, there aren’t that many lower tier jobs left. EPA? No need for that now. Health and human services, ditto. NOAA, nope. FEMA, at best a part time job. National endowments for humanities and the arts, gone unless they teach the art of the deal…

The conald may have underestimated his little also ran, bigly. In hindsight he really should have given her more of a role in the campaign because the girl has over 300,000 followers on instagram. If they’d all gone to the polls and voted for him he might have actually won the popular vote. SAD!

 

 

game of clowns

game of clowns

MJE is in a state of exhaustion watching the frenetic pace at which the president and his goon squad are digging such a massive political sinkhole. I am also deeply embarrassed at the level of ineptitude exhibited by the aforementioned bunch of birdbrains. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect they were deliberately trying to make themselves appear as stupid as possible.

Of course this all stems from the chowder head in chief whose itchy thumbs started the most recent debacle, tweeting that obama wire tapped trump tower. The tweet was designed to divert attention from the ever-rising tide of suspected russian entanglements with his campaign, transition team and now white house staff. That is what might be aptly described as shooting oneself in the foot because it trained a laser spotlight on exactly what he didn’t want people to examine.

Devin nunes, the head of the house select committee on intelligence (which is in and of itself oxymoronic in the extreme given that he appears to be an exceedingly dim bulb) is a button-eyed toady previously attached to the trump transition team. Wow, excellent non-partisan choice speaker ryan. Nunes exudes guilt with every twitch. His black eyes dart from side to side avoiding contact as he nervously shifts from one foot to another. If he were in a police line up there is no way he wouldn’t get fingered by anyone with halfway normal vision.

And surprise, surprise, surprise, he did do a naughty! Nunes sprinted over to the white house in the dark of night to supposedly review classified information which was intended to back up the president’s unfounded accusation of wire tapping. He was in such a big fat hurry that he didn’t have time to inform the ranking democrat on his committee, a boner move by any standard, but he managed to top even that by refusing to disclose what the materials were or where he got them. He did however manage to squeeze in two separate press conferences to declare that innocent people had been swept up by incidental monitoring by the big bad intelligence community, a group you really shouldn’t piss off. Devin, devin, devin, just stop! You are embarrassing yourself and by extension the rest of us here in the good ole us of a. I have no idea where the hell the 22nd district of california is but please do us all a favor and scuttle back there. asap

But things continue to get worser and worser for the conald and his cronies with every passing hour as the purveyors of fake news like the nyt, wapo, cnn, etc. close in and the wobbly ship of state continues to leak like a sieve. Don’t look now, but there is a pack of ballpoint pen wielding bloodhounds right behind all you nincompoops, baying and clawing at the west wing portico. They’ve caught the scent of deceit and will not be stopped until they get to the truth. You can prop dicey spicey up every day in the briefing room tying his hangman’s rope in knots trying to explain all of this away but, fyi, not gonna happen.

Did those guys not learn anything from richard nixon and his handling of watergate? Everyone else in the country that witnessed it remembers the cardinal rule of politics: it’s not the crime, it’s the cover up, stupid.