Fire In The Belly

Ahhhh, it's good to be back. I know you were expecting a garish and hopefully satisfying skewering of Hair Twitler but he's doing a fine job all by himself. He'll be gone soon, though he'll probably take us all with him.

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Speaking of the Oaf of Office, now he's fighting with Mexico and Australia, apparantly because his blood sugar was low and he wanted to watch Jeopardy.

We're fast approaching a point where if a 9-11-type event happened again in this country and the perpetrator was clearly, ohhhh, let's say Portugal, I get the feeling that when the Orange Emperor stood atop the smouldering remains of Trump Towers Milwaukee wielding a megaphone in his tiny hand whining "Let's smoke 'em out bigly!" the rest of the world would go "Did you hear something? I didn't hear anything."

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Supreme Court nominee Neil Gorsuch is the current problem. We need another holy-roller on the bench about as much as we need more of Big Oil's radioactive frack-spunk in the drinking water. At least that glowing gunk Exxon's ejaculating down those holes has a half-life. Gorsuch could fuck this country over forever.

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And then there's First Concubine Melania (Concubina?). Her reaction to getting to live in the White House:

"Nahhhhhhhhh. I'm staying right here in my penthouse, dahlink".

You get the feeling she looks at the White House, out of the corner of her soulless, spiritless eyes, like it's just another government building, like the DMV. Not unlike the way American tourists view a shinto shrine in Japan.

"Yeah, it's nice, but we need to do some shopping. What time does the plane leave?"

Yeah, she's the perfect First Whatever.

=Lefty=