514. The Banana Split Hero Dadwich

Related imageYup, that is not a typo up there. It’s a memory story, like an out of focus old Polaroid picture that has faded over decades in a scrapbook. Sulfurous yellow and green gas seems to have gotten between the colors and fuzzed them.  Once the colors were vibrant and novel as they developed in front of your childhood eyes, spit out of the bottom of a boxy camera. A funny chemical smell  wafted off the print as the shooter waved it slowly for sixty seconds to encourage the drying process.

JFK in Medford Pear Blossom ParadeMid 1960’s. JFK was dead.  Northern Virginia suburbs, before the Beltway was completed and Telegraph Road funneled into Alexandria, patiently pinched into one lane under what would become the Beltway. Route 1 was the main artery up and down the East Coast but it was giving way to all the alternate routes as Washington, D.C. mushroomed in population and wealth. Little houses dotted the hills and dales like the headstones at Arlington Cemetery, going on past the horizon.Image result for faded polaroid photos of 1960's life

At the bottom of hilly South King’s Highway lay a shopping center built in the late 50’s or early 60’s, anchored by a grocery store called CO-OP. An odd structure reminiscent of an Army Quonset hut or an airplane hangar. There were apartments on the South side where Mrs. Basham, our former neighbor across the street, moved after she and Jerry divorced. She took her oldest daughter, B.J., leaving two boys and a girl home with the dad. Doubly odd for those days. On the north side was a Sunoco gas station, a state liquor store, and the local police station that I would visit briefly ten years later on a summer’s night with my friend Richard and a case of beer.Related image

Connected but down a flight of stairs to the right was a ten pin bowling alley. Bowling was probably in its hey day back then. Penn Daw Lanes, where I had escaped the baby sitting room with my little brother years earlier, was on the other side of the spider-like intersection of Route 1, S. King’s Highway, and North King’s Highway that ran past Jefferson Manor and reconnected to Telegraph Road. Google maps shows me that the entire shopping center is under new construction, perhaps for the second or third time. Who knows? The ten year old inside my brain cannot comprehend this.North Kings Highway Intersection Improvement Study

My beleaguered mother would grocery shop at the CO-OP occasionally. It must have been a discount place behind Giant and Safeway and A & P for prices. My dad would be left with one or all of us four boys to divide and conquer the chaos of childhood wants. Thanks to television advertising, name brand cookies and bread and animal crackers and comic books were familiar and desirable. We could spot them aisles away and strategize how to obtain them. Generally we were conditioned to keep our expectations low.Image result for 1960's grocery store images

One night, as I recall, my dad broke the usual wartime economy slogan of “NO” and asked me and at least two of my brothers if we wanted a banana split. It was shocking on many levels. I don’t recall ever before or after this incident being asked such a princely question by my Depression Era father. It was in the p.m. hours, not in summer. And I don’t think my dad smoked pot back then, just Camel filters, which I would borrow in a couple of years. We squealed in the affirmative like piglets in front of fresh apples.Image result for banana split picturesAt the back of the CO-OP was a dining area with a stainless steel soda fountain. The lone greasy attendant looked like he was ready to leave when our tribe showed up. My father said he’d like two or three banana splits. It must have been quarter till the hour Mr. Greasy was hoping to leave. He pointed to the clock. My dad, not known for being assertive, pointed back, “Yahr still open, right?” he asked rhetorically in his Boston accent.

Mr. Greasy tried a different ploy. “Yea, but we’re out of bananas.”Image result for hh holmes pictures

My father breathed hard through his nose. He had worked for two decades with prisoners at Lorton Prison, and I’m sure he’d been given lots of false excuses over the years by lots of cons. “I see. No bananas. I’ll be right back.”

Very authoritatively with purpose and power my father marched to the produce section at the front of this store. He picked up a bunch of bananas and marched victoriously back to Mr. Greasy’s smug station. “Heyah. I got yah some bananas. Now make’m.”Image result for a bunch of bananas pictures

Mr. Greasy backed down and our delighted eyes and watering mouths were rewarded with the sight and taste of banana splits; but more importantly our ears and hearts were rewarded with the strength of my father’s heroic words and actions. However briefly he exhibited courage and resolve, I could feel pride rise up in me. In so many boy words, my dad had whipped that coward’s ass on my behalf. Not a big deal for some readers, I’m sure, if their fathers were large and in charge as a general rule and not the exception as with my dad. Fifty some years later it stands out like a single cactus flower in a barren landscape, drawing my rapt attention. Rarity creates value, eh?

Image result for hero statues

Maybe not Ted Williams or John Wayne or John Kennedy, but I’ll bet that none of them ever put his life on the line for a banana split. No monument towers above that hallowed spot, Nope. My parents are interred less than a mile away, up hill in Mt.Comfort Cemetery, the one I caught on fire with Chris Young. The same cemetery we ran through on summer nights on summer teen dares. In the northeast corner where lesser heroes are buried, I need to place a banana split and my belated thanks.

Image result for ironic gravestones

Advertisements

513. Stable Genius

Image result for thomas jefferson picturesImage result for einstein picturesImage result for mozart picturesLet’s begin with the noun, genius. Think Jefferson, Einstein, or Mozart.

gen·ius
  1. exceptional intellectual or creative power or other natural ability.
    “she was a teacher of genius”
  2. a person who is exceptionally intelligent or creative, either generally or in some particular respect.
    “one of the great musical geniuses of the 20th century”
    Now think Trump.Image result for donald trump pictures

Since our fearless leader’s records are hidden away, we don’t know the metrics that back up his claims of genius, or if they even exist. One of his professors at the University of Pennsylvania said Donald Trump was one of the dumbest students he ever encountered.  What we do know is startling. He was/is a well known real estate mogul who has declared bankruptcy multiple times. So, was he a genius for running his companies into bankrupt positions or was he a genius for filing bankruptcy and avoiding full payment to his creditors? Or was he never a genius?

He lies daily if not hourly, which is not part of the genius definition.

He apparently did not know Frederick Douglas was dead. Long dead.

He apparently did not know Puerto Rico was a U.S. territory and Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens.

He apparently did not know Namibia is a real country in Africa but Nambia is not.

He apparently does not know the meaning of consensual, which is a very ironic coincidence since he has been repeatedly accused of non consensual sexual contact with multiple women. Thus he either does not know what misogyny is or does not care to avoid it.

 

I know I don’t want him on my Trivia Night team. We’d have to clean the bar to pay off our stupid tab.

Image result for trivia night pictures

He apparently does not know his campaign managers or national security advisers once he is finished with their service or they are charged by the FBI. See Manafort, Gates, Papadopolous, Flynn… strangers in a strange land now. Sing it Leon Russell.

He apparently does not know the U.S. Constitution or the concept of separation of powers.

He apparently does not know that repeating lies does not become equivalent to telling the truth, nor does he know that a free press guarantees the dissemination of truth. Or maybe he does.

He apparently does not know what the word racist means, since he refers to himself as the least racist person you have ever met, despite speaking in support of white supremacists and Nazis while defaming Haitians, Africans, Muslims, Mexicans, women and transgendered folks.

He apparently does not know anything about voter fraud despite unproven claims of illegal aliens voting in the millions for Crooked Hillary.

He apparently does not know anyone from Russia.

He apparently failed to learn the Golden Rule.

He apparently can’t accurately count people in a crowd.

He apparently can’t understand figures and charts about complex stuff, like how many bills he has signed into law, since he consistently misrepresents these facts and statistics.

He apparently does not understand the meaning of collusion.

He apparently does not understand the difference between correlation and causation, e.g., claiming responsibility for zero commercial airplane deaths in his first year as president. A 99 year old great grandma can make the same claim from her comatose state in a nursing home bed and be just as correct, as well as a modern day miracle.

He apparently does not know how to read murder rate statistics since he claimed murders in the U.S. are at a 47 year high. They are not.

He apparently does not know that printing fake covers of Time Magazine with his portrait and displaying them in his golf resorts does not make it real news. Actually this constitutes the very fake news he decries daily.

He apparently does not know what mockery or ridicule are, or even look like since he mocks many public figures and once mocked a disabled reporter.

He apparently does not know what justice is, especially when it comes to the Department of Justice and the obstruction thereof.

He apparently does not understand that the cause of something cannot follow its beginning but must precede it, e.g., the claim that Obama/Clinton caused the birth of ISIS.

He apparently does not know the difference between conspiracy theories and verifiable truths, e.g.,the birther opera and Ted Cruz’s father killed Oswald or Kennedy or Ruby. It doesn’t matter. The beauty of conspiracy theories is that they cannot be proved or disproved because secret Illuminati control the Dark Swampy Web of D.C.

He apparently does not know the difference between a university and a marketing scam for business. Selling vodka and board games and steaks and ties is not equal to a university degree.

Do we even have time for Sta-, Sta-,  STABLE? Hold on to your dentures and loose change now folks.

STABLE, adjective

(of an object or structure) not likely to give way or overturn; firmly fixed.
“specially designed dinghies that are very stable”
synonyms: firmsolidsteadysecurefixedfastsafe, moored, anchored, stuck down, immovable

“a stable tent”
  • (of a patient or a medical condition) not deteriorating in health after an injury or operation.
    “he is now in a stable condition in the hospital”
    (of a person) sane and sensible; not easily upset or disturbed.
    “the officer concerned is mentally and emotionally stable”
    synonyms: well balanced, of sound mind, compos mentissanenormal, right in the head, rationalsteadyreasonablesensiblesoberdown-to-earth, matter-of-fact, having both one’s feet on the ground;

    informal all there

    I apologize if you just spit Diet Cola all over your computer screen. Take a minute to wipe it up or it will fry your keyboard. Okay?

    Stable just should not be mentioned anywhere near Donald John Trump unless you are trying to get a buddy to blow a mouthful of beer out of  his nose to avoid choking on the oxymoron. You could be charged with the illegal use of an adjective once it was determined that genius was in reference to DJT.

    Dr. Evil, on the other hand, was a famous evil genius, so he thought. I’d be down with the Donald claiming that title if he would then leave thinking people alone.

    Image result for dr evil pictures

“The details of my life are quite inconsequential… very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with a low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen-year-old French prostitute named Chloë with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament.”

512. You Wouldn’t Dare!

Image result for michael corleone kissing fredoSo many memories come with and without prodding to my porous present state of soft cheese mindlessness. Having been a middle school teacher for too long, many incidents and conversations filter through me. The lightest pressure on the thinnest neural thread will lead me back to a yarn, then to a cognitive rope, and finally to a bridge cable made of many mental strands. Or not. Sometimes it’s a single thread with nothing more than a frayed end. ‘Fraid so. Or for Godfather fans, Fredo. “You broke my heart, Fredo!”

Image result for middle school kids in classroom picturesSo years ago, fifteen or more, I was coasting through another Friday with a group of seventh graders in study hall, I believe. It was June 3. I can be sure of this fact because it was my wife’s birthday. I was noodling around with something or other at my desk across from 13 year old Erin, all elbows and kneecaps below a pale face usually buried in a good book. Her dad worked in the same school and was pretty laid back. He took me sailing on his boat just after 9/11 as I recall. Erin was on the boat that day also.

She asked me what my plans were for the upcoming weekend.

“I’m not sure. It’s actually my wife’s birthday today, so I guess I’ll do something nice for her.”

“Oh, what did you get her?”

“Actually, I haven’t gotten her anything yet. But I’ll get right on it after school.”Related image

This response put a snarky mouth curl on her face. It sounded to me like she was lecturing her dad, and maybe she was without knowing it. “Well, if you had planned ahead, you’d have a present already!”

“Yep, you are so right, Erin.” I might have feigned a line from Streetcar Named Desire, “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” Maybe not. In any event I said, “We’ll have to see what shows up.”

She wasn’t having any of it. She went to champion for my wounded yet unaware wife. “I can’t believe you didn’t get your wife a present. Gosh!”Image result for pouty 13 year old girl face

“Erin, believe it cuz at this moment, what time is it… 2:20 pm, I have no present for her.”

“Unbelievable.” She smoldered in a cloud of disgust. I chuckled to myself. I wondered how life was in her parents’ marriage. Hmmmm, don’t go there.

A few moments passed. There was a knock at my classroom door. The mother of a former student stood there with a lovely potted plant and flower arrangement in a ceramic pot. “This is for you. Thanks, Mr. Burrito. Jenna got that scholarship, full ride to college, and I wanted to thank you for your kind letter of recommendation.”Image result for pictures of florist delivery person in action

“Oh, well, thank you. This is so lovely.” We chatted briefly and then said good bye, good luck, etc.

Naturally Erin was intrigued that Mr. Scumbag Who Forgot His Wife’s Birthday Present might have a tumor of decency in his charcoal briquette heart. “What’s the card say?”

“Something sentimental full of heartfelt gratitude.”

“No really, what’s it say?”

I read aloud, “With heartfelt gratitude, thanks for all you did for Jenna.”Image result for eye rolling girl face

“Oh.”

I could see Erin was disappointed that I might escape the gallows without a proper hanging of guilt and/or shame. “It’s really lovely. That’s really nice.” I thought I detected some doubt cross her face. Maybe she had been too hard, too fast to condemn me.

“Yep. See, I told you something would show up.”

Squinting, she questioned my meaning. “What do you mean?”

I smiled at her and pointed to the flower pot.

Surprise and anger and righteous indignation all rose in her face and bulged her eyes out. “You wouldn’t dare!” she proclaimed.Image result for outraged 13 year old girl face

“Sure I would, will, am doing”, I said as I ripped the cutesy note into little pieces and got out another blank card. “My dearest loving wife…” I said aloud as I pretended to write on the card.

“Ahh, no, you!  You can’t. That’s wrong!”

I laughed a little too much, but her expression was priceless. It was innocence being pick-pocketed by experience. Robbery. Stop. Thief!

“What is wrong with me re-gifting a lovely floral arrangement for my dear wife on her birthday? It was mine and now I am giving it to her.”

“But you did nothing, no shopping. You, you didn’t spend any time or money on your poor wife!! She’ll think you were thoughtful and, and caring, but you weren’t.”Related image

“Yes I was. See?  That card said so. You heard the dear mother.”

Anger flashed again. “Arrrrgggghhh. That’s something my dad would do.”

“He’s a very special man.”

She crossed her arms and stared laser beams through my head.

Ah, youth! Wasted on the young. Langston Hughes’ poem “A Dream Deferred” came to mind.

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode? 

Perhaps one day Erin will smile at this memory instead of gagging in disgust and contempt. I’d just say that one must dare to be lucky. And the righteous, hard working, saltines of the earth hate luck, grace, and coincidence. Damn it!! They want JUSTICE not a happy ending. That dream has to be deferred indefinitely while they live in the world they are in. Otherwise, idealists become leaders of genocides when dreams fail to materialize and outrage feels so correct as they squeeze the trigger.Image result for genocide pictures

 

511. When I nod my chaos filled head, you hit it.

Image result for trump with big smile pictures

So, I wanted to correct the false misrepresentation of my very bigly immigration statement.  First of all , I never said what I said, unless you are in my base of inbred cretin racists. In which case, yeah, of course I said it. I’m keeping it real. You guys love me cuz I’m one of you. Victims of the failed “America Last” politics. Right? But, I have two butt sucking Republican political hacks who have never spoken a true word to verify the truth of my assertions for those who don’t drink the Trump Kool Aid and two others sworn to secrecy. Secondly, my tough language hinges on the nuanced difference between hole and house. In Africa ( I don’t know if you know this or not, but a lot of my rich friends are making a lot of money in Africa, especially Nambia) telling someone they live in a shit house is a compliment because many hut dwellers live in houses made of dung or as we call it in America, shit. So, telling someone in Haiti or Nambia that they live in a shit house, it’s like telling an American that they’re built like a brick shit house. Ya know? Remember that Commodores song, Like a Brick House? I love it. Played it at my second and third weddings.

Image result for commodores photos 1970

Everybody, DJ El Presidente Biggie, calling the shots….

Image result for trump dancing gif

Ow, she’s a brick house
She’s mighty-mighty, just lettin’ it all hang out
She’s a brick house
That lady’s stacked and that’s a fact
Ain’t holding nothing back

Come on, Kelly Anne, Melania, Ivanka, get my back… harmonize up high…Image result for melania ivanka and kelly anne conway together photos

Ow, she’s a brick house
Well put-together, everybody knows
This is how the story goes
Now the boys, who’s left, uh, General Kelly, McMaster, Steve Miller, go deep…Image result for stephen miller, mcmaster and kelly photos
She knows she got everything
That a woman needs to get a man, yeah, yeah
How can she lose with the stuff she use
Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six oh what a winning hand.
Wunderful, wunderful. Gonna be a HUGE HIT.  I feel like Lawrence Welk. He kept it white, kept it right. Love that guy. That’s what I’m talking about with immigration. We need more Germanic Ukrainians from South Dakota, Minnesota, one of the sotas, which I won by twenty points. That was better than a double cheeseburger, folks. Thank you, Fargo, Bismark, Detroit. Madison. I love you because you loved me with a deep, racially pure love.Related image

On the other hand a shit hole is the insulting name of an outhouse in Africa, that is if it is not covered. You see, if you have studied other cultures, ethnic groups and racial divisions as I have, you know that sophisticated folks refer to indoor plumbing apparatuses as toilets, sometimes with running water but only if they are under a roof.

Related image

The roof is very important to other nations and hemispheres. As a real estate mogul I learned this lesson very early in my career between bankruptcies and draft dodging ploys. “Oh, these bone spurs are killing me, Doc. I played baseball and hit fictitious home runs, but I can’t march in “Nam. I might have a seizure.”  I’d grab my head like I did in the campaign when I mocked the guy with C.P. And they bought it. You know, I am an accomplished actor, better than Reagan, so a very famous movie director told me. Actually I bought them like Jared bought Harvard, but that’s neither here nor there. That was the joke at Ivy League admissions conferences, ya know, when an officer was showing off jewelry or a watch, the women would say, “He went to Jared’s”. Always bigly laughs on that, believe me. Where was I? Love that kid. Should’ve been a funeral director or a dictator in Romania.Related image

Oh, yeah, the shit hole thing. So, calling someone a resident of a shithole country would be like telling an American not from Puerto Rico that he/she had an outhouse and not a toilet. See? Are you feeling me for a change?  Cuz I’m so used to feeling beautiful, you know, when you’re a star, they let you.  Uh, so, there’s the consensual misunderstanding, like when I said cofefve. No one understood it was Swahili for “I have a golf club in my ear”. Dicky Durbin didn’t know the first thing about race, so he naturally got it wrong. Just like Obama did on his birth certificate. Kenya, can you say “Kenya”? Hey, I was born in Queens, so, you know, Nairobi, Queens. You decide. Who knows geography? Not Crooked Hillary, that’s for shure.  They are germy, bad, those slimy Clintons. “Lock her up. Lock her up.” Everybody, it’s like a polka for the folka.

Related image

So the whole racial profiling and intolerance stuff is all fake news. Sure, I settled with DOJ back in the 70’s for putting a C for colored on rental applications. But I never rented to Coloreds, so the whole thing was rigged. Like the election until I won. Then it wasn’t. How can you say I discriminated against Blacks when I never rented to Blacks? I mean, who would do such a thing? It’s disgusting how my words and intentions are twisted by the fake news media who are conspiring with Crooked Hillary and Obama and Colbert and Romney and McCain and Comey and Mueller and Oprah and Saturday Night Live and Meryl Streep and Losers everywhere like Megyn Kelly and those women on The View. Only Spicey and Mikey Pence and Sarah Sanders burn incense in front of my portrait correctly.  I gotta give it to Little Rocket Man– you cross him, even think of crossing him and WHAM, you’re dead. You gotta love it.

Image result for kim jong un gifs

So, yeah, the distinction between hole and house is not a difference. I heard someone smart on t.v. say this. I don’t know what it means, but I know a winner when I see one. She was hot, so she had to be right. And I know I’m a very stable genius playing three dimensional chess with shakes and burgers. I have beaten the painting of Andrew Jackson ten straight times now. So, I think we have a deal here, and we’re gonna get immigration done like NAFTA cuz he HAFTA. Ha ha ha. So, like Moe of the Three Stooges once said, “When I nod my head, you hit it.”

Image result for three stooges pictures when I nod my head you hit it

510. Un-abandoned Warehouses

Image result for abandoned warehouse pictures

Most old towns have an abandoned warehouse or two… a dozen maybe. They are not hard to come by in this post-industrial era. The darn things might be 100 years old, and yet they are still standing, probably because they’d be too expensive to demolish. Perhaps the ground under them is not valuable today. And why throw new money after old ideas? Hipsters know why. The new thing is the old thing repackaged, like fashion trends only in real estate. What was once the marvelous new look has become dated and underappreciated. Glass buildings with lots of concrete and metal replaced the old solid brick and mortar buildings from the turn of the twentieth century. A little Bauhaus goes a long, antiseptic way, friends. Like t.v. dinners in the 1950’s and 60’s, instant zippy architecture has lost its sexy way. Restored warehouses have an organic quality suggestive of lives spent within them. Faint traces of sweat and machine oil saturate old oak beams and floor boards. Human stories are ground into the walls and pipes as surely as the old lead based paint chips clinging to them.

Lately these places have been re-purposedImage result for harrisburg millworks pictures into mini-malls and restaurants, breweries, dance clubs and condominiums, or cool modern offices. Yeah, it’s great to see this trend instead of another ugly modern building erected on the outskirts of town, overlooking the 1960’s interstate highway system.  Here in central Pennsylvania our local municipalities have all sold their architectural souls and open fields to trucking firms and distribution centers like Amazon and Target, K-Mart, Proctor and Gamble, Alta, etc. Hideous concrete bunkers line up around interstate exits like huge bloated carp feeding on the easy food pellets of modern commerce.Related image

In fifty years maybe we’ll park airplanes and helicopters, maybe even whole trains in these vast atrocities in the post-post-industrial era. The end of their hideous existence cannot come soon enough for me. Image result for warehouse pictures

See any soul in this beached whale monstrosity? Compare to the character of this delightful space below.  Above, lifelessly sterile and efficient slabs of prefabricated concrete house emptiness. Below, breath and sunlight warm the hardwood floor.  Texture seeps out of the varying mortar joints. A bricklayer spent hours, weeks and months in the latter edifice, whistling a polka tune he’d heard at the Union Hall on the weekend.

 

Image result for old warehouse pictures

In the old warehouse factories, things were produced and/or marketed. Garments, lumber, canned goods, yarn, machinery, leather goods, etc. I like to think they were busy like beehives back in the day, with worker bees bringing in raw materials on one side and consumers gaining value-added products on the other side. Order and discipline produced honey combs to be further refined. The new warehouses are simply mammoth storage units which hold the overflow crap (which is carp with a typo inversion) we have imported from Asia. Nothing is produced; it’s simply parked briefly to be removed later on. I suppose that is why the warehouse jobs pay so minimally– no value is added, productivity is simply measured in speed of movement. These modern buildings reflect this impoverished minimalism. No trace of humanity is found inside or out. They are built by machines for machines.

Image result for mar le nie dance studio picturesMiss Charlotte’s Dance Studio occupies one of these old spaces. My daughters all took tap and jazz lessons there, upstairs in the old mustiness of what had been a sewing factory, I think. Interior walls were built to hold up mirrors and benches for the girls to change shoes while sitting down. My oldest daughter spent years there under Charlotte’s tutelage.  Again, something was produced; value was added in that vibrant space. It was not simply a storage unit for equipment and costumes. Girls’ lives were changed an hour at a time amidst the staccato tapping and youthful chitter chatter as Charlotte whispered directions to each girl or the very outnumbered boy.

Related imageOn the first floor beneath Miss Charlotte’s is a craft beer brewery, Roy Pitz. Same deal, the old plank floor and massive thick support beams, along with original handles and industrial type doors makes for instant time transport, back to the days when a pub served their own homemade brews. Beer, glorious beer surrounded by brick, glorious  brick! Image result for roy p itz brewery pictures

On the other corner of the same building is Nathan Miller’s Chocolates, where fabulous chocolates are manufactured and coffee and pastries are served carefully.

Image result for nathan miller's chocolate pictuersRelated image

But wait!  There’s more across the back parking lot, beyond the cold storage building, over at Janzell Winetasting room, the former Grant Street Train Station. Nice, huh?  Image result for janzell wines tasting room pictures

You should come inside and taste the vinos. Not too shabby and only getting better.

Keep walking or crawling up the alley and you come to the Gearhouse Brewery. Same deal, the modern touches overlaid on sturdy studliness. I’d say it screams of masculinity, except that’s probably not politically correct nowadays. At one time it served as an auto body shop!  Why?

Image may contain: indoor

This concludes our little brick walk way tour of Chambersburg, PA. You probably noticed the character difference between the cheap modern warehouse and the classic 19th century brick cathedrals where work was the religion celebrated. Even Stevie Wonder could see the vast difference. He opened the Target Distribution Center in 2002 with a big pair of industrial scissors. When asked what he thought of the Center, he quipped, “It’s ugly.” Image result for stevie wonder pictures

In disbelief reporters asked him how he knew. “It smells like floor cleaner and formaldehyde and feels like an undertaker’s steel tray. Flat, cold, deadly.”

Later on at the brick walled pub, he was asked about the environment. With his famous smile he rocked back and forth like he was warming up a keyboard. Luckily the band for that night was setting up and offered Mr. Wonder their keyboard, and he let loose how it felt away from the highway and amongst the blessed bricks…

No New Year’s Day to celebrate
No chocolate covered candy hearts to give away
No first of spring, no song to sing
In fact, here’s just another ordinary day
No April rain No flowers bloom
No wedding Saturday within the month of June
But what it is, is something true
Made up of these three words that I must say to you
I just called to say I love you
I just called to say how much I care
I just called to say I love you
And I mean it from the bottom of my heart
No summer’s high No warm July
No harvest moon to light one tender August night
No autumn breeze No falling leaves
Not even time for birds to fly to southern skies
No Libra sun No Halloween
No giving thanks to all the Christmas joy you bring
But what it is, though old so new
To fill your heart like no three words could ever do
I just called to say I love you
I just called to say how much I care, I do
I just called to say I love you
And I mean it from the bottom of my heart
Can we sing it one more time please
I just called to say I love you (I just called to say, I just called to say I love you)
I just called to say how much I care, I do (I just called to say, I just called to say I do)
I just called to say I love you (I just called to say, I just called to say I love you)
And I mean it from the bottom of my heart, of my heart, I love you from the bottom of my heart

Photo of GearHouse Brewing Co - Chambersburg, PA, United States

509. Call me D.J.

Image result for melania and donald trump picturesNot long ago I had a bizarre counseling encounter with a glitterati couple on a dark Friday night in January. Banania and D.J. Krump. They paid in cash with no forwarding address except this, Casablanca, c/o Mooch. It was so strange… unbelievable really.

Related imageA Cadillac SUV idled in the parking lot with two men in the front seat, while a large Aryan dude in a suit stood just outside in the waiting room with a blue tooth earpiece glowing in his ear like an electric blinking sapphire. My keen nose smelled gunpowder residue on him. The couple were understandably anxious, telling me that for confidentiality reasons they had driven one hundred miles to avoid detection and fake news paperazzis.Image result for paparazzi pictures

DJ: I call them “dapper Nazis”. Heh, heh.  I make up funny names for people I hate. But there are good people mixed in with these serpents of Satan. When they get so tired of winning that they can’t cash in their dividend checks, they’ll love me like I love me. I know, I’ve never been wrong. Not once. Just ask my ghost writers, all of whom signed non disclosure agreements.

Banania: Shhhh!! Vood you just shut up for vonce? He is like zees all zee times, only ven zee cameras are on us, I must pretend to adore him. You know? Me, Ivanka, Mike, and that salamander Jared. He should have been undertaker. For zee ratings. Plus also, he has my own dear parents tied to a vall in Slovenia preeson to, how it go in Engleesh?  Black male? I don’t comprehend because Donal… I mean DJ, does not like Black males. He feels his hands shrink up around dem. He get very nervous and talk even more around Black mens.Image result for melania and donald trump pictures

DJ: Shhhush yourself, Banania. You don’t want your mom to lose another finger, do you?

Banania: Uhhh!!! I hate dees man! No, BOY!!  Oh boy! He is like child, alvays trying to play vith my titties like ten year old boy.  He make me dress up in Nazi Gestapo boots and vip with zee fancy hat and lots of medals to excite heeem. Like zat time in Moscow… in dat dossier.Related image

DJ: He doesn’t believe a word you’re saying, Banania. (Aside via Twitter post: her last therapist said she’s delusional and a p-a-t-h-a smogical liar. Toxic waste in Slovenia.  Sad, really. Brain damage. You know I rescued her from a shit hole hovel next to a land fill. And while we’re whispering, you are a registered Republican and a Fox Newser, right? #MAGA)

Banania: I can hear you, Donald. Vee are on love seat, you know. Zo I don’t know vy. Ve are, how you say, de-ranged couple. No love just force. I gag ven his valks out of shower. No voman should must  have to see zat Play Doh man. ( Aside: He sinks I means Playboy, but I know I mean Play Doh. Yellow Play Doh vis leetle penny vistle below his belly whale.) His lawyers hold my passport so I cannot escape zis hell hole. Very sad. I cry tears of clown. He is clown.Image result for trump in clown suit pictures

DJ: There you go again, Banania. I don’t know who Donald is; I’m DJ, remember. All my friends and employees call me DJ or Sir or Sir DJ. Can you help us, Doctor?

Me: DJ, I’m not a doctor.

DJ: What? You’re Fired!! 

Me: DJ, can we get to why you came here tonight?  There are thousands of therapists, most of them closer to your CASA BLANCA and MOOCHI, whoever he might be.

DJ: Never mind. I’ll release my personal info when my audits are completed. I hate to waste the time. I could have been watching t.v. Okay, here’s the thing: Banania has been cheating on me. Can you believe it? No woman has ever cheated on me. I invented cheating. Just ask my first two wives or the women I felt up on airplanes. First class all the way. That’s how I fly. I can’t resist beautiful.

Banania: You are vulgar beeest, DJ. You don’t know how to love a voman, only yourself. Maybe your own nasty medicine taste beeeter now, eh? How you like its taste? Huh? How you like dees? [Pinches DJ’s lips]Related image

Suit Man enters: Mr. Pres, uh, I mean…DJ, you all right, man?

DJ: Yes, Kirby. We’re just joking like we do. You know how I love to play with Banania.

Suit Man closing the door: Yes, Mr. , uh, DJ.

DJ: This is how she gets. Spoiled princess. No loyalty. Loyalty is very important to me. It almost causes me pain when I slander my former friends.  I try very hard to practice favoritism and nepotism, but, believe me, it doesn’t always work. Sometimes the other party doesn’t want the deal like I want it. When I’m finished my second term, I’m sending her back to the Lower Sava Valley and her loooser parents. Image result for lower sava valley images

Banania: I vish. Vy not tonight you send me, eh Bigly Boy? Admit Vy! Tell dis man vy, Donald.

DJ: It’s DJ. Doctor, it’s DJ, trust me. I know my own name my father gave me. She’s delusional. [Aside: I was hoping some quiet ECT treatments might help her F-O-G-E-T.]

Banania: You imbyseal! I can spell even ven you can’t.Image result for melania and donald trump pictures

Me: What is it that you want Banania to F-O-G-E-T, DJ?

DJ: See, Banania. The doctor spelled it right just like me. He’s Bigly in my book.

Me: DJ? The what…?

DJ: It’s, uh, National Security. Very big. Huge. If the Russians knew, they could tell Rocket Man and he could tell Saturday Night Live and Kimmel and Fallon, and they would tell Colbert, and he would mock me more. And there’s the 25th Amendment which I just recently learned about from Mitch McConnell. I,uh, sniff, sniff, need some water. Related image

Banania: Stop vimpering, fool! I vill tell de dokter.  DJ, I know law. As your vife, I am same as you in court eyes…which deeskust me ven I sink somevone see you ven dey see me. (Spits dramatically) I vill not remain silent no more!!

DJ: No, Banania, please. We can make a deal. That’s what I do– I make deals.

Banania: Is too late, DJ. Dis is not like kindergarten ven you snapped Kelly Anne’s falsies and said “Fake boobs” vile keeking Moochi in his undescended testicles place. Today de verld must hear dis… I, Banania Krump… I have two lovers on side.

DJ: No, No!! Banania, think of all the DACA kids, the hopeless Haitians, the shitholes and bad dudes everywhere, drugs, the gangs, murder. Don’t do this to me.

Banania: Is too late, Donald. Somevon needed to vip your ass long time ago. Lover boy von is, drum roll please, beeeg reveal now like mindless show biz Apprentice… Marco Rubio.

DJ: But he has little hands and can’t handle his water like me.

Banania: But so gentle and arousing for me. Lover boy number two isssssss…. wait for it, Donny Johnny, Pumpkin Face… Oprah’s boyfriend, Stedman de Studmuffin.Image result for trump in tears pictures

DJ: [Stunned into six minutes of silence.] Kirby, call the detail. Doctor, thank you for your time. We must be going. This visit never happened. The words that were said in here, though tough, were not the words I said. Is that clear? I mean Bigly Clear. Goodbye.

Image result for melania and donald trump pictures

508. Down by that River, Heroin

Neil Young’s song “Down by the River” was cranking as I trod the treadmill this morning. Nine minutes and twenty seconds long, it’s a bleak song with a huge guitar break in the middle. Depressing and haunting… and gripping as well. For some reason I pondered an alternate meaning from the literal understood meaning of the lyrics. Knowing Neil Young was a heroin addict for years, I wondered to myself if the Lady his narrator shot was heroin, pointing not a gun outward but a syringe full of smack inward.  Huh? So I chewed on those lyrics as the famous guitar apocalypse riffed on and on… around the two minute mark until the third verse kicked back in at five minutes. That is a three minute rush of two electric guitars weaving a smoky garment over the steady heartbeat throb of the bass.

“Down By The River”
Be on my side,
I’ll be on your side,
baby
There is no reason
for you to hide
It’s so hard for me
staying here all alone
When you could be
taking me for a ride.

Yeah, she could drag me
over the rainbow,
send me away
Down by the river
I shot my baby
Down by the river,
Dead, oh, shot her dead.

Image result for wood nymphs images

There she is, enticing, captivating yet aloof. Unignorable.

And away go the lyrics for a three minute roller coaster instrumental ride.

I imagined a hopeless man tying off and finding a vein while sitting on a sandy shoal by some lonely Canadian river.  Alone, alone, alone in black and white slow motion. The river is humanity flowing by– people loving, working, having children, pulsing with life. And there is Neil, injecting death juice in his bared arm, trying to find a sweet spot where joy might be released to run across his vacant happy synapses. Lou Reed, Billie Holiday, Ray Charles, Dylan, Clapton, Keith Richards, Jerry Garcia, the list goes on and on. Hendrix, Cobain, Belushi, Chris Farley…. all seemed drawn to the same river.

Image result for billie holiday pictures in addiction

I’ve never been to the edge of that River, but the River Styx comes to mind from Greek myths. It could not be crossed alone. The irascible boatman Charon had to be paid to ferry the souls across the river and into a judgment zone. The realms of Hades were mostly terrifying, but there was a place called the Elysian Fields, reserved for heroes and great men. What a long shot risk to take, to visit the opposite shore of that river. Very few heroes ever came back to tell of their journeys. Perhaps a few on my list can speak to this at their next N.A. meeting.

Here is Charon above, and below doing his work– beating the dead into his overloaded ferry boat

This is how Neil Young explained the song’s meaning.

The lyrics are apparently about someone who kills his lover by shooting her, as in a murder ballad. The reason he gives for the killing is that she takes him to emotional heights from which he cannot bear to go on. Young has provided multiple explanations for the lyrics. In an interview with Robert Greenfield in 1970 Young claimed that “there’s no real murder in it. It’s about blowing your thing with a chick. It’s a plea, a desperate cry.” Introducing the song in New Orleans on September 27, 1984 Young claimed that it depicts a man “who had a lot of trouble controlling himself” who catches his woman cheating on him, then meets her down by the river and shoots her. According to Young, the local sheriff comes to the man’s house and arrests him a few hours later.

Related image

Okay, that fits literally, but my flights of fancy have found a portal to other meanings. On this side of the river she is the syringe which turns into a grave marker once injected into the singer’s vein. At that point I see the river turn to blood with corpses bobbing along until they find an open grave, marked by their last empty syringe. R.I.P. beloved one.

Image result for gunshot into a syringe

And with the current opioid epidemic, vast graveyards expand on the horizon, as far as one can see, plungered by these poisonous, unholy works. Out runs their blood, in goes formaldehyde. Appalachian streams run thick with young red blood.

Image result for endless grave markers pictures

Picture an aerial view of such graveyards as those guitars battle one another. A picture book of page upon page of such death quilts, each top page on fire until its ashes blow off and reveal another page on fire, and so on, burning up with every picked out lick.

Back to the literal words,

You take my hand,
I’ll take your hand
Together we may get away
This much madness
is too much sorrow
It’s impossible
to make it today.
I picture his hand with infected puncture wounds reaching out for her closed hand, closed around a full syringe. She releases another dose, and drags him over the rainbow. After all, drugs do drag people along, like a man in shackles dragged to a gallows.
Related image
[Drug, verbChiefly Midland and Southern U.S. Nonstandard.
1. a simple past tense and past participle of drag.]

Yeah, she could drag me
over the rainbow,
send me away
Down by the river
I shot my baby
Down by the river,
Dead, oh, shot her dead.

Here’s a lesser known meaning of drug…
[Drug, nounZoroastrianism.
1. the cosmic principle of disorder and falsehood.]
Hey, it fits.

Be on my side,
I’ll be on your side,
baby
There is no reason
for you to hide
It’s so hard for me
staying here all alone
When you could be
taking me for a ride.

Yeah, she could drag me
over the rainbow,
send me away
Down by the river
I shot my baby
Down by the river,
Dead, oh, shot her dead.

Call me sentimental, but I picture the final shot being the addict destroying the syringe with a .44 slug at close range. Literally shooting the LADY of Heroin.
Related image
Unlikely,  I know, but in this sort of tragic dynamic, someone’s gonna die.

507. Joeltron

Image result for Marvel heroes picturesI am not supposed to leak this info, but I can’t help myself. It’s just too bladder-exploding exciting. Marvel Comics in conjunctivitis with Universal Studios is releasing a new super hero in 2018 in theaters nationwide and everywhere. Uh, actually he is an antihero. What? Let me define the term using Wikipedia’s words…

An antihero, or antiheroine, is a protagonist in a story who lacks conventional heroic qualities and attributes such as idealismcourage, and moralityAlthough antiheroes may sometimes do the “right thing”, it is often for the “wrong reasons” and because it serves their self-interest rather than being driven by moral convictions.

Image result for adrian monk pictures

Yep, that’s my guy. After much popular polling and focus group meetings, Universal Studios found the perfect name for this unlikely super hero. Are you ready?  Well, of course you are; you read the title: JOELTRON, THE BLOODY BARRISTER. He is loosely modeled on the detective Adrian Monk played by Tony Shaloub; Peter Sellers in “The Pink Panther”; and Chance the servant from the movie “Being There”, also played by Peter Sellers. These bumbling characters stumbled into greatness through a series of wrong turns, just like JOELTRON.

Image result for peter sellers pink panther pictures

I have documented a sampling of his innumerable highlights in this blog. Some were actually true. He fought crime in Charleston, S.C. with amazing cunning and ninja skills, tripping a sprinting shoplifter with a hotel wing chair. Then subduing said thief with his bare hands and a three hundred pound sidekick named Biscuit. The Charleston police gave him a free plaque removal system and dental floss for life as a sign of their admiration. His face appears on their version of the Scrabble game board, naturally in the center star position.

Related image

He led a Second Amendment crusade on an interstate ferry boat, supposedly on behalf of a pile of bikers crowded behind him, itching for a good bar fight. Forgoing bare knuckle nunchucks justice, JOELTRON exhibited a rarely seen super power– maritime law, to defeat ignorance at the helm of misguided coastal transportation power. With his droll delivery of international waterway legalese, he took down a stubborn, self important villain without a shot being fired. The Cape May Crusin’ Corpses still speak in whispery awe about this incident over two dollar Bud Lights in Marie’s Diner and Bar on Tuesday nights during Happy Hour and Fish Taco Palooza. The bikers always play the Allman Brothers’ “One Way Out” in JOELTRON’s honor. Awe clouds the dance floor like a leaky fog machine. No one dares dance out of respect.

Image result for Being There movie still pictures

Never one to rest on his laurels or settle for the low hanging fruit, JOELTRON fought for civil rights in Danville, Virginia during the tumultous and yet sensuous Sixties. Our then youthful hero suffered a broken collar bone during a tussle with Confederate-minded police in southern Virginia. JOELTRON walked into a fire hose stream with a German shepherd attached to each ankle. Our hero had calculated the raw force of the fire hose as it scoured the little patch of chest hair he had growing there, but he had not figured on the added weight of the dogs. As he was thrust into a backward somersault, he reached out to break his fall and became entangled with a No Parking Here if You Are Black sign in front of the old G. C. Murphy’s General Store. His left collar bone snapped, leaving him helpless as a one-winged eagle.

Fortunately our hero’s fellow demonstrators packed him into a 1963 copper colored Rambler station wagon and whisked him off to the Danville Emergency Room. Unbelievably he was met with the same “We don’t like your kind around these parts” attitude by the ER receptionist. Related image

“Ya’ll been demon straightening down ’round here, huh Boy?”

“Madam, I’ll have you know my great grandfather fought at Gettysburg and defeated your rebellious ancestors!! I am an American citizen and I demand you treat me here and now. Give me surgery or give me death!!”

“At there is real good talk, Boy. I’ll take option B, uh, what’s zat?  Oh, Death. Now git on outta here a fore I do the killin’ myself, Yankee vermin.”

“You will be getting a strongly worded letter in your personnel file, my mediocre woman.”

“Wow. I’ll be sure to call the bomb squad a fore I open that letter, Sonny Boy. Now, if I aint mistaken, yur Momma’s callin for supper. I think y’all’s havin’ cheekin again. Ha ha ha.”

“‘Surly Madam, I turn my buttocks toward your face until we meet again.”

Image result for man's butt hanging out of a hospital gown

Back in the Rambler wagon, as JOELTRON tried to settle into a position where his collarbone did not stick into his chin, his love interest Lolita hovered above him tenderly, pendulant, attentive to his every whimper. JOELTRON thought all the pain and inconvenience was worth it as he attempted to fondle Lolita’s cantelopic femininities. Tragically, as he reached for the forbidden fruit, excruciating, deep marrow pain fired through his pulsing brain, disabling his reach. Like a modern day Tantalus, every time he cravenly sought his Aphroditic delights, he fell back into more thirst and hunger than before the reach. This longing caused the sweetest pain JOELTRON had ever experienced, that is, since that time his lips froze to the tuba mouthpiece in the Veterans Day Parade in 1959. Pleasure and pain were millimeters away from each other; he learned the lesson again.

Related image

The Freedom Riders followed the faintly glowing North star until they crossed the Mason Dixon line and returned to safety. JOELTRON realized he could not seek public medical help or his super hero-ness would be exposed, and everyone would know his secrets and expect him to unclog toilets or thaw frozen pipes. He was not a plumber/savior. His calling was higher, farther, more pecuniary. Justice called him on his hotline and he answered without fail. So he swore his G.P. to secrecy and the bone was reset.Image result for broken collarbone pictures

I could go on and on with the unbelievable true stories of JOELTRON, but I don’t want to ruin your movie experience. Aloha.

Related image

 

506. Dis- traction

Image result for light snow picturesJust enough precipitation expected here today to make moving cars disobey the usual rules of physics that apply when the temperature is above 32 degrees F. Usually friction is that force (brake shoes on drums… A car in motion has a lot of kinetic energy, which is energy of motion. To stop a car, the brakes have to get rid of that kinetic energy. They do so by using the force of friction to convert that kinetic energy into heat. wikipedia) So friction slows and eventually stops an object in motion,which is full of kinetic energy or momentum. Gravity is part of this slowing down process too. It’s another force acting on the momentumalized object, trying to keep the object at rest. Funny that a  tenth of an inch of ice can overcome all the safety systems in modern cars and trucks, leaving them upside down in a ditch. Image result for snow plow picturesSurely salt and sand can melt ice and provide temporary traction until the moisture refreezes. But that’s where the dicey comes in icy driving. Whiplash spins of 360 degrees just happen suddenly when you touch your brakes at 15 mph.  Whoosh!!! Inside your vehicle things remain in focus while outside all the lines and forms blur into rushing horizontal color swaths. Trippy.Related image

Strange how just a little bending of the rules can bend your mind, causing you to gasp and cling to simply surviving. Adrenaline floods the mind and body, causing all sorts of physiological reactions. Let me copy from Lance Armstrong’s website, LiveStrong.Related image

Adrenaline Rush

When you perceive something as threatening or exciting, the hypothalamus in the brain signals to the adrenal glands that it’s time to produce adrenaline and other stress hormones. The adrenal glands produce adrenaline by transforming the amino acid tyrosine into dopamine. Oxygenation of dopamine yields noradrenaline, which is then converted into adrenaline. Adrenaline binds to receptors on the heart, arteries, pancreas, liver, muscles and fatty tissue. By binding to receptors on the heart and arteries, adrenaline increases heart rate and respiration, and by binding to receptors on the pancreas, liver, muscles and fatty tissue, it inhibits the production of insulin and stimulates the synthesis of sugar and fat, which the body can use as a fuel in fight-or-flight situations.

Image result for car sliding on ice memeSo there you go, sliding tractionlessly on a gritless surface, slicker than cat poop on Teflon, and your life flashes before you in milliseconds while your heart beats so hard that time actually seems to crawl by. Sort of like super fast film captures a bullet firing as if in slow motion; the witness is in hyper mode, which makes the observed reality seem slow somehow. In the swirling spirals you don’t typically think about the dishes you left dirty in your sink or the dry cleaning you need to pick up. No, rather, your mind goes to crucial items, like your loved ones, or the great goals in your imagined future, to God for salvation or forgiveness. Often fear rockets up into wild panic since death or dismemberment seem likely in the microcosm of trauma’s slivers exploding your former reality.Related image

“So what?” you ask. “Where is the application, Burrito man? Your trick is usually to lay out a real thing and then riff on it metaphorically, trying to tie together something less tangible with the material example, parabolically, even chiasmically. See, we know big words too.”

Image result for pictures of why? people

Nice, Scrabble Master. You have been paying attention. You have noticed a pattern. Yes, the underlying thoughts about losing traction have to do with our current state of affairs in the White House. In figurative language, it’s as ifffff a thin layer of ice  has been applied to our institutions and civil discourse in general. In previous times folks in high office exercised a sense of decorum, recognizing the office was greater than any man; that the rule of law was non-negotiable. Our genius government structure ensured a balance of  powers among the judiciary, executive and legislative branches, but our free fourth branch press has kept a watchdog eye on the other three branches to keep them honest. Yet, in this winter of Trump, it’s as if our Narnia has been frozen by the Ice Queen/White Witch, Jadis. All traffic slides into dysfunction and demise.

Jadis was born on an unknown date long before the creation of Narnia. In The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe she is identified as a descendant of Adam’s first wife (Lilith) and the giants:

The Donald brings to mind all the icy characteristics of Jadis. It’s uncanny.

A natural-born sorceress and a cunning strategist, Jadis is arrogant and cruel, considering herself above all rules and viewing others as tools to be used or obstacles to be demolished. After she eats the Fruit of Everlasting Life, selfishly and against the written admonition on the gate, she discovers that her sense of inner power and life is amplified. Her callousness and sense of entitlement is most clearly demonstrated when she uses the Deplorable Word in Charn to vanquish her sister, even though the Word would eradicate all life in that world but her own. She prefers to destroy that entire world than submit to her sister’s authority, and shows afterward a remorseless pride in her actions.

And what is Donald’s secret weapon, his thin layer of ice that distracts all who interact with him?  A thin veneer of ice that is his steady stream of self serving lies. Jadis speaks his language,

Image result for narnia ice queen pictures

“You must learn, child, that what would be wrong for you or for any of the common people is not wrong in a great Queen such as I. The weight of the world is on our shoulders. We must be freed from all rules. Ours is a high and lonely destiny.” 

As our modern Narnia continues its tail-spinning, the Donald plays the population like some roulette game in Vegas. His “brilliant” strategies are bouncing along like the roulette ball seeking a number to rest upon, doesn’t matter if it’s red or black or green. Donald tells us it’s a winner. That thin layer of icy lies keeps us skidding along, safer from shark attacks and exploding manhole cover deaths since he showed up. However, we should not get too comfortable and lower our collective guard. Transgenders and DACA children will swoop in and destroy us if we are not painfully vigilant. Sacrifices must be made, by the powerless. Meanwhile we must swear fealty to this new White Witch or be frozen by a thin layer of lethal ice.Image result for trump sneering pictures

 

505. I don’t know him/her/them or you

Image result for robert mueller picturesLeaked excerpts from Robert Mueller’s recent deposition of Donald J. Trump…

So, let’s see if we can establish a timeline here. Is your name Donald John Trump?

Yes it is, and one of the most impressive names in the anals of history, believe me. It is both strong and sexy like a powerful building bulging up out of the Manhattan Skyline… trumpets signal troops to charge in battle or to announce an emperor’s arrival, but they also can play a seductive solo to accompany a pole dancer in a gentleman’s club… and that is me,  a trumpet guy.

Mr. Trump, chill!

Okay, got any water? I’m a little dry. 

Was you father Fred Trump?

Well, yeah but I hardly knew him. He sent me away to boarding school when I was in my teens. Later in my twenties when he saw my brilliance, he apologized and sought my forgiveness. Fred passed in 1999, enormously proud of me, and why not. I showed him my Midas touch and irrepressible charm. So, he was long gone before the Rusher thing.

Mr. Trump, it’s Rush A, not Rush er.

No, Bob, you don’t mind if I call you Bob, do you Bob? I actually have never mispronounced a word in my life. My mother and wet nurses told me that much like Kim Young Fool’s father and grandfather, and like Jesus himself,  I spoke fluently at birth. In fact I recited the Gettysburg Address at birth. No one had ever done that before, not even Einstein. Crooked Hillary never did that. And Obama was born in Kenya to Rosie O’Donnell’s mother and a Black man. He never did anything bigly like that. I mean what did Obama ever do that was bigly?Image result for trump pictures

Ahem, Mr. Trump, there is no such word as “bigly”. I know you like to say “Big League” often, which may be appropriate for a sixth grade boy. But really, can we use grown up words here?

Oh Bob, little Bobby Mueller. I fired Jim Comey for less, and pardoned Sheriff Arpaio for more. I have one of the bigliest vocabularies in human history. I just use common words and come across as vulgar to keep it real. So coal miners and autoworkers, waitresses and steelworkers, dockworkers and tow truck operators feel my authenticity, my realness. My vocabulary got me elected by my base– angry white men and those who love or fear them. The fact that I surround myself with Ivy Leaguers and celebrities does not disconnect me from the little people who love me, God and the flag. God save the Confederate monuments and misogyny.

Mr. Trump!!! The campaign is over. We are here to find out how in God’s name you came to be where you are. Who did you know and when did you meet them?  My investigation is charged with finding any linkage or collusion between your campaign and foreign powers, specifically Russia.

Rusher.

No, Mr. Trump. No matter how many times you misspeak the truth, it does not make your mistakes truth.

Does too. Hit me and I hit you back harder, Bobby. I’m rubber, you’re glue. Your jabs bounce off me and stick to you. Just ask Jeb or Carli, Teddy Boy Cruz ,whose father killed JFK, Little Marco, Megyn Bloody Kelly. Rusher. It’s all true when I say it. My nannies told me I have the divine power to make words mean what I say they mean. Rusher. In the beginning was the word, and the word was Donald. Image result for trump pictures

Okay, sir. Now back to the matter at hand.

No problem with these massive hands, let me tell you. Melania says they’re the biggest she’s ever…

Mr. Trump!!! Please, some decorum.Image result for trump pictures

I don’t drink alcohol. Gotta stay in control. Why would I want to alter this state? I’m in a Donald State of Mind…

Oh my aching butt cheeks! Did you ever meet with George Papadopolous during your campaign after you named him one of your foreign policy advisers?

No. We never met.

Mr. Trump, you are under oath. Here is an undoctored photograph of him sitting between you and Jeff Sessions at a meeting.Image result for trump papadopolous pictures

That’s not me.

What? Clearly it is you and all the other members of your team are…

It’s a fake, one of my butt doubles. Now this is secret, right Bobby?

Yes, sir. We are sworn to secrecy here until the time of my final report.

Okay, you remember Saddam Hussein? He and other Middle Eastern despots employed dozens of look alikes to reduce assassination attempts, like that shell game where the guy hides the pea under one of three shells. Ya know? I don’t know who’s gettin’ more action– me or my butt doubles. Image result for saddam hussein doubles pictures

Uh, I, uh, geezie peezie, holy schnikees. Yes. I get your analogy. May God strike me dead.

Well, the Secret Service made several versions of me, so well crafted that even Mike Pence can’t tell me from a robot. And Melania, such a dope, easy to fool. She never pays attention anyway.  I mean if a St. Bernard was next to her in a red tie, I’m not sure she’d know the difference. Pffffff. But when I’m on a woman’s scent, you can’t get me off with a fire hose. You saw that Access Hollywood tape, right? yeah, I was on it like a blood hound. In heat, Bobby, in heat. 

While we are on this tangent, do you recall your first wife, Ivana?

Never met her.Image result for ivana trump pictures

Mr. Trump, you had three children with her. 

What I mean is deeper. Obviously we met in a biological manner, Bobby. Do I have to teach you FBI guys sex ed too? Ivana and I never met at my altitude. Okay, simple math for you:  I’m a hundred story glittering Trump tower, and on her best day she was maybe a three story Quonset hut. I’m the Hope Diamond, she’s a Cracker Jack prize plastic ring, I’m the Titanic, she’s a dugout canoe… Those who take me literally, don’t take me seriously. And those who take me seriously, don’t take me literally. I don’t know what the hell that means, but a clever writer said it once and it sold like the Wall and “you’re fired!”, so why fix it if it aint broken, ya know?

Moving on… Marla Maples was your second wife.

Yeah, Bob. I don’t like to rack up too many miles on my women or buildings. Once I’ve test driven’em for a while, they lose that new car smell and appeal. Ya know? It’s sad really. I lose interest and get prowling for the next exciting thing. A very famous psychiatrist friend of mine told me this is a feature of highly special men destined for eternal fame, like Napoleon, Solomon, and Magic Johnson to name a few.Image result for marla maples trump pictures

Okay, Paul Manafort?

Hardly knew him. He came on the Trump Train briefly, after he saw I was killing the polls. Winners attract all sorts of losers, Bobby. Like Comey, what a loser! Everyone wants to be a winner or at least sleep with a winner, but mostly the world is full of losers.

Mr. Manafort managed your campaign for four critical months. Image result for manafort pictures

I won the popular vote if you deduct the illegals who voted for Crooked Hillary. It was the greatest landslide in American political history, maybe even the universe. No one wins like I do– bigly. The inauguration crowd was historic, hugely bigly. Bigly Wiggly.

Carter Paige?

Nope.

Michael Flynn?Image result for michael flynn pictures

An American hero who lost his way, blinded by my aura. He thought he could get close to me, but he burned up in the corona that surrounds me. I love the military. I never served due to bone spurs. Man, I was chomping at the bit in military school. I looked awesome in uniform. Chicks dug me. Still do, some things never change, eh Bobby Boy? I served many women for my country during ‘Nam. Let me tell you. I think your agents should get some cool hats like the North Koreans have. Ya know, respect and fear, unbridled torture techniques. What the Hell do you have to lose? This is what I admire about Little Rocket Man.

Mr. Trump. If you cannot contain these outbursts, you’ll only get one scoop of ice cream at dinner and no cheeseburger.

C’mon Bob, you don’t have to be mean about it!! I know you’re in awe and jealous. I’m used to that. When you are a god among men, you get used to it. Grow a thick skin…Some men are born great; some achieve greatness; and others have greatness thrust upon them. Thomas Jefferson said that, I think. And I’m all three, greatness cubed. Cubed greatness. Heck, I even started a great university, Miss Universe pageant, and two television shows. Even Thomas Jefferson never achieved what I did in my first year.

Steve Bannon?Image result for \steve bannon pictures

Sounds familiar. I think he hired Flynn, Papadopolous, Paige, and Reince Priebus. Steve was like the coffee boy’s coffee boy. He was a door keeper when Jared was searching for new porn. 

How did you like Steve?

Two creams, one sugar. Ha ha. Good stuff. I should do late night. Jimmy Fallon said I’m a natural. You know I am responsible for late night’s success. Ratings were awful until I showed up. Same with the NFL. Can’t make it without me. You know they wouldn’t sell me a team so I made my own. Who’s crying now? 

John McCain?

Loser. Jealous. Back up singer complex. No good. Captured loser. Mean to me.  I like losers who aren’t captured.

Vladimir Putin?Image result for putin pictures

A great man. Really, a patriot who no one recused himself from. Like me, he thrives on loyalty even if he has to extort it out of you. I love a good Russian oligarch, and I know they hate to love me, but they really do love me. Really. I’ve sold them a lot of real estate and laundered their money, so trust me. They LOVE me. They want me to succeed. I am way biglier than Obama or Crooked Hillary ever were in Rusher.

The Sixth Amendment?

Now Bob, why are you switching it up on me?  I’m a businessman, a television guy, a brand name. I’m not a lawyer or professional politician who memorizes all this Constitution crap. 

Have you ever read the Constitution or know any Amendments besides the Second Amendment?

Uh, er, I watched a show on the History Channel once. Lousy marketing they do. I think we need to end the federal subsidies to PBS. It’s not fair market competition and really a form of socialism. Who watches that crap anyway? My show was much biglier.

Mr. Trump, do you recall anyone in your life?

Yes, I love Ivanka and Jared and Mike Pence because they glow, positively glow when they look at me. I know they love me. So, yes, I recall having met them because they confirm my over-inflated sense of self and never contradict me.Image result for jared ivanka mike pence together  pictures

Just  a few more questions, sir.  Sean Spicer? Scaramucci? Chris Christie?

Not ringing a bell, Bob. I mean, do you remember toilet paper that you have used? I mean, after I do my business, I flush. There is no history there. It’s a big nothing.  Right? Am I right? People serve me and I let them. It is the highlight of their lives. I simply ask for undying loyalty. It’s very important to me. So, will you swear an oath of fealty to me, Bobby? Maybe we can play some golf? Hook up with some hot babes in Maralago. Whaddya say?

Unfreakin’ believable.Image result for mueller  pictures