Let Not A Straw Man Stand

Here’s a practically speaking rhetorical question: do you all remember when that professional football player knelt during the national anthem and a bunch of people- including very high ranking members of our federal government who should have better things to do with each and every single day they hold office- made a really big deal about it? And then when said football player- and a number of other people- provided very eloquent explanations for his action, the aforementioned big deal makers responded by saying, um, as I recall, nothing much at all? For a very long time? Except to maybe gloat a little about how the football player got fired, and then nothing again when he still got a huge athletic shoe ad campaign deal?
     Except for, and let us not forget, those brave souls who threw away their shoes in protest. Don’t ever forget those shoeless patriots who love their country and freedom so much that they absolutely cannot abide dissenters. Once these morally righteous watchdogs let people get away with kneeling during the anthem, it’s a pretty small step to illegal bribery, treason, and election fraud, and we all know how intolerant they are of that kind of behavior.
     America First, and all that.
     Anyway, friends and neighbors, I can understand why, after so much time has passed (particularly from a news cycle point of view), you might find yourself asking why I’m bringing this up at all. Well I’m glad yourself asked, because I can’t wait to tell you! See, recently, as I’m sure you’re aware, George H.W. Bush, one time- and one term- President of the United States died. As is customary, a lot of notable politicians showed up to pay their disparate respects. This includes not only our current POTUS (Pretty Obviously Traitorous and Unctuous Scumbag (coming up with these for months now, non stop)), who apparently failed to cover his heart with his hand during the National Anthem (but totally did stand up), but also former Senator and Pepsi Cola spokesman Bob Dole, who managed to get up from his wheelchair to salute the deceased former Presidents’ casket.
     And there, finally, after nearly half a page and yet still somehow without any real and obvious connection, I’ve brought up the two things that have spurred me on to write this piece: a kneeling professional athlete and a standing elderly senator. Now, on the surface the two seem to have so little in common that you may be on the precipice of accusing me of bad writing, but hear me out, I beg you.
     Well, maybe not beg exactly, but attempt instead to entice you with tantalizingly leading sentences.
     Although I will admit one thing to you right off the bat, my attentive and intelligent reader: these two things do in fact have nothing in common.
     Which is exactly why we’re here today. You see, recently I was unfortunate enough to witness one of those internet occurrences known as a “meme”, wherein it was stated that if this elderly man can stand up to salute a dead former president, than anyone else should be able to stand for the national anthem. When I witnessed this obvious and desperately unreasonable argument, I was immediately reminded of the phrase “Straw Man.”
     I imagine most of the people reading this are well aware that “straw man” is a term used to describe an intentionally misleading argument that puts the original statement - in this case a peaceful protest made by a person in a highly publicized position- in a misleading light, so that said statement can be easier to demean and defeat.
      In other words, it’s a bunch of nonsense made up by people who would rather feel righteous than actually be right.
     In this case, we are expected to believe that the afore alluded to football playing gentleman’s actions were a direct and audacious attack on our country’s ideals and moral foundations, instead of a simple and quiet request for decency, as so many peaceful protests have been from people who are tired of seeing their countrymen murdered without cause by people who are supposed to protect them. Somehow, this is meant to be seen as an act of cowardice when compared to the actions of the former Senator and Viagra spokesman, who stood up to salute the former president.
     Now let me take just a minute here to say that I in no way intend to demean the actions of Senator Dole. The amount of effort and respect he showed is commendable, and if there is an afterlife, I’m sure President Bush is choosing to focus on this display of respect instead of the actions of our current POTUS ( Pretentious Overblown and Toweringly Unaware Stooge).
     Rather, my aim is simply to point out that connecting events like these, which in reality have nothing in common, at best reminds some people that kneeling and standing are in fact two different things.  It does not, it turns out, make any kind of valid moral or political statement. A straw man can be positioned however one pleases, but it will never say anything of substance to anyone really paying attention.
-John

Declaration Day 2018

     Well, friends and neighbors, it's Declaration Day again, and I think this year it's more important than ever. People are playing so fast and loose with concepts like truth and honesty that they've just about lost all definition, but I refuse to give up. In a world where "I feel like" is replacing "I think", unfounded conspiracy theories are turning into a style of governance, and straw men are popping up like out of some nightmarish whack-a-mole game, we have to take those small precious moments of honesty wherever we can. With that in mind, I've pasted the description and rituals for the holiday below, both as a refresher for those already acquainted, and an introduction for our new celebrants.
     Enjoy, and happy Declaration day to you all!

    It is hereby proposed that, instead of trying to reclaim an existing holiday, most of which have been either destroyed by consumerism and greed or ruined by more accurate retellings of history, we make up a new one, one that takes place on the twelfth of December. It shall be known as Declaration Day, and here's how it works:
     There are no gifts, no big meals, no dying plants to decorate or terrible songs to sing. There is no affiliated religion or deity to worship (though I'd be willing to listen to some prayers, as long as they are juicy), and there are no special outfits. All you must do to participate is tell one, just one, person you care about a real, honest thing. No sugar coating either; just plain simple truth.
     And it can't be something easy, like telling a significant other "I love you", or telling a best friend they are really important to you. Tell them something you wouldn't normally tell them.
     Now, just a couple of rules, which I get to make, because I invented the holiday (hence the earlier implication that prayers be sent to me.)
     1) This truth cannot be conveyed via text, email, or any other medium which makes use of terms such as 'LOL' or 'OMG'. The point of this holiday is accurate, honest, real communication, and I have learned over the years that most people are not as adept at conveying tone through the written word as one would hope. So in order to help prevent mistakes, face to face is best. An actual phone call or video chat is permitted if circumstances require it.
     2) Any person to whom a truth is delivered is automatically allowed to dispense a truth in return. So, if your decision is to finally tell that coworker he smells, he will be allowed to tell you that everyone knows you wear a wig, provided both statements are true. This provision is in place not to keep one from expressing an honest opinion, but only to maintain balance. No one wants some dummy just walking around telling people what's wrong with them. Also, bear in mind, if you decide to only convey the, let's say, unkind thoughts in your head, people are going to notice, and eventually you'll end up with less people in your life to complain about than you might want, left with only your misery for company.
     So try not to be a jerk about it. Just take a little brain power away from who on your gift list would like that neat-o pair of Christmas socks (no one wants those), try not to think about what to wear to the office holiday party (skip it. Just skip it; who even cares?) and let your mind come up with something you can tell someone that really, really matters. Anything, for anyone, as long as it's not a commercial for diamonds or toys.
     Good luck with it, and as a show of faith, I'll even start us off with one:
     When I tell people about this blog, I usually play it off as a sort of throwaway exercise to keep my writing muscles in shape, and act like I don't care if anyone reads it. The truth is, I couldn't be happier that even a few people bother to check this thing out when I manage to write it, and every repost or conversational mention or forwarded link or gained subscriber pleases me to no end. Of course I know that putting this in writing not only exposes me as a sap, but also breaks the second rule of Declaration Day, but there's no way I have time to call every one of you up and tell you, so cut me a little slack, how about?
-John

Another Vicarious Vacation

     Hello again, friends and neighbors! It seems it’s that time again, wherein I regale you with tales from my recent travels. You may recall previous entries in this vein, such as the trip to Universal Studios, or the time I went to the Grandadadaa Canyonananaaa. Well, this time I (along with my Lovely Traveling Companion) made the trek eastward, to a small but lovely yurt at Lake Wallowa, in the eastern half of Oregon.
     Before I get into it, let me just say, it’s beautiful, and you should check it out.
     Now then.
     We began our trip on a Saturday, as we’d previously agreed, with an audiobook in our hearts and the still ascending sun in our eyes. The book was about a man who died and was brought back as a computer program, downloaded into a spaceship, and sent off into space (where spaceships go) to colonize planets and hold lengthy meetings with copies of himself. The drive itself was quite pleasant, taking us out of the bustling, but still well treed, Portland metropolis, through the Cascade Mountains, and then the high plains desert/prairie/whatever it is over there. It was a very pleasant drive, but uneventful, so to the next paragraph we go.
     We arrived at the park in the late afternoon, and made our way to our assigned yurt, which is when we figured out that the necessary code to open the small lockbox which contained the key to said yurt was not in the confirmation email my Lovely Traveling Companion had received.
This is also about the time it began to snow. Which was not only lovely, but also so preternaturally inconvenient that one could almost be driven to abandon atheism and accept the existence of a cruel and petty god.
     Very fortunately for us, occupying the yurt next door was a lovely family who tried to help us, and then offered us homemade tamales, which like an idiot I refused for perhaps the first time in my life, and a beer, which I accepted, because I may be an idiot, but I’m not stupid. The family informed us that not long before our arrival, park staff had been cleaning the yurts, and may yet be close enough by that we could track them down. So I set off, grumbling to myself about our situation, the ubiquitous animal scat along my path, and the general misery of life itself, I managed to locate some members of the staff just as they were departing for the day. They were kind enough to believe this miserable looking stranger in front of them, and gave me the code. I sent a text message to my Lovely Traveling Companion, who had the door open by the time I returned. We again thanked the family next door, and began to move our equipment inside as quickly as possible, feeling fortunate that it had not been soaked sitting in the back of our truck, and that a good portion of the beer we brought was cold and ready for consumption.
     It was dark outside by then, so we supped on the cured meats and cheeses and vegetables from the cooler, turned on my computer, and sat down to watch movies while we warmed ourselves by the panel heater and began the puzzle we’d purchased along the way.
     Truly roughing it, just like the pioneers of old.
     The next morning, after a short trip into town to poke around and eat some delicious fattening breakfast foods, we finally made it outside and, let me tell you friends and neighbors, I wasn’t kidding before. It is beautiful. We went out to the lakeshore and strolled around, taking in the surrounding snowy mountains and the towering verdancy of the trees and blissfully quiet lack of people. It’s the singular sort of sublimity one only experiences when physically reminded of the geological time scale: like a short-lived speck, whose immeasurable luck it is to witness this small moment in time. Or a bug, about to get splattered upon the windshield of eternal beauty.
We made our way to the woodline, dodging the sticky silk of floating spider webs being carried freely through the air (which was a new kind of momentary horror) and trying not to let the sunlight stab into our eyes. After a (very) short hike, which I had to stop because I’m (very) out of shape, we traveled back to our yurt and spent another wonderful, peaceful evening, this time with the addition of (very) bourbon laced hot cocoa.
     On the third day of our trip we left Wallowa Lake, and ventured back into the high plains desert./prairie/whatever, where we stopped at another yurt, this one a little different in both fanciness and surroundings. What it lacked in close in mountains and trees and lakes and deer (we saw a bunch of deer those first two days), it made up for in dry air, far off smaller mountains, a pond, and a pretty large RV parking lot. It was the kind of quiet landscape I would have very much enjoyed if not for the large RV’s and the people inside them.
     The yurt, however, was the main attraction here, and boy did it deliver. Wifi! A coffee maker! A mini fridge! A private back patio, with decorative fire podium, propane grill, and (here’s the best part! Are you ready? Take a breath!) a cedar hot tub, filled by a natural hot spring, which also heats the floor inside the yurt itself. Once one gets over the slight smell of sulphur and figures out how to balance the insanely hot water with the almost cold enough to be room temperature water, a hot tub makes for a very relaxing camping experience.
     It gets even better when one reenters the tub in the late evening darkness, with the string lights on and the decorative fire burning, to watch reruns of “King of the Hill” on one’s computer with a Lovely Traveling Companion.
     As the final morning awoke us and we loaded up the truck and began our return drive home, listening to more of the audio book about spaceship programs taking meetings with each other and discovering planets and such, I found myself thinking quietly about the beauty of everything we’d seen, the simple pleasure of spending a quiet, secluded evening with a dearly treasured Lovely Traveling Companion, and how much nature must hate me on at least one level, because my sinuses were absolutely on fire, and have been punishing me ever since.
     Everything comes with a price tag, people.
     Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this small diversion from the terrible things our world is rife with these days, and now you feel at least a little recharged and ready to face it again. Also, go vote, will you?
-John

Advice at 37

If what I’ve been told is true, today is the anniversary of the day I was unleashed upon the world, to the joy of some, the possible regret of others, and yet, to a somehow comforting majority, it meant nothing at all. Like most things in this universe, a birthday is not an objectively important event, although it does have its trappings, like the obligatory digitized social media wishes of joy from people who claim to care about you, actual spoken words of congratulations from strangers who check your ID in the hopes that you’ll tip well, and in my case, another aggregation of things I’ve learned and would like to pass on to the people who read my writing, most of whom are smarter than I am and don’t need to read these things, but will indulge me because it’s my birthday and they are now feeling guilty after reading that part about social media birthday wishes. Also, run on sentences are a lost art.
     Anyway, shall we get to it, my beloved friends and neighbors?
     1. All 24 hour news networks are bad. All of them. Never take any of them seriously, except for when it comes to shutting them down and insisting that news return to maintaining a standard of integrity and objectivity. Or, if that was never really a thing, insist that it become that way. You deserve to know what’s going on, and form your own opinion about it.
     2. If anyone ever tells you something is unconstitutional, make sure they can explain how. Also, insist that they explain to you why they think legality and morality are the same thing. It will be fun to watch them try.
     3. If you are decent, and very lucky, you will manage to collect in your life a small handful of people who are truly trustworthy. Don’t screw that up.
     4. People are always going to disagree with you about something. It’s what they do, it’s how we grow. If you ever find yourself surrounded by people who only agree with you, you’ve screwed up #3. Don’t worry though, you can come to me. I’m thoroughly disagreeable, ask around.
     5. Traveling is good for you, but only if done by choice. There are millions of people across the world who can back me up on this.
     6. Putting a thought, or an image, or a person, in front of your country’s flag isn’t patriotic. Nor is using the flag to color a logo. At best, it’s camouflaging the true lack of substance contained in the idea, and at worst, it’s an insulting and demeaning use of the symbol of a country as an uninspired marketing tool by a bunch of uninspired marketing tools.
     7. Anyone who actively works against health care for all is a menace to their people. And all other people. There’s no joke here. It’s just true.
     8. If you live in a country that places more value on professional athletes and celebrities than educators and scientists, you probably shouldn’t be so surprised that reality TV stars who live on fast food and ignorance get elected to leadership positions. This is the kind of thing that happens when cities spend millions of dollars on stadiums, and give students credit for taking classes like “Walking.”
     9. Stop trying to put ranch dressing on everything. You savages.
     10. Read a lot of books about a lot of different things. Find books that challenge what you believe, and read them like your life depends on it. It does. Also, I hate to spoil it for you, but you will never, in your life, read anything more important than the following sentence, written by Kurt Vonnegut: “God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.”
     Possible circumstantial exception: “emergency exit this way.”
     So that’s what I have for you this year, good people. As ever, I deeply appreciate your taking the time to read the words I write; I know my posts are frequently infrequent, and not a lot of people are fans of my oddly structured sentences and self indulgent diction, but it means a lot to me that those of you who keep reading do so. Your time and attention is a gracious gift.
     Happy birthday to me.
-John

 

Cruzin' for a Losin'

Hello America. It’s me, John again. I think it’s time we finally sat down and had a real talk about a real problem. It’s something most of us have kind of been ignoring for a while now, hoping it would somehow go away on its own, like how sometimes, once in a great while, a wart or a tumor will just up and disappear. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be the case, so I think it’s time we stepped up and took care of it ourselves.
The problem is called Ted Cruz, and it’s time for us cut it out, toss it in a biohazard bag, and chuck it in the garbage.
You all remember Ted Cruz right? From that ridiculous bid for President, wherein this tumor embarrassed the people from my native state many times over, though perhaps most intensely during an attempt to cook bacon by wrapping it around the barrel of a gun and firing said weapon until the heat of it cooked the bacon. I don’t know about you, friends and neighbors, but I for one didn’t care for how this idiotic stunt not only reinforced the stereotype that we think of guns as toys, but also conveyed the notion that we don’t know how to properly cook bacon. Which is simply inexcusable.
Now, it would be easy to focus on the more surface level symptoms of this problem, but that’s beneath me and wouldn’t really provide a cure. I mean sure, it’s tempting to compare this problem cosmetically to a half deflated Christmas lawn elf, or maybe a great mound of rancid pancake batter, but that’s not why we’re here.
We’re here instead because the opportunity to finally remove this tumor is once again upon us, and we need to seize the chance to excise this thing and send it to the trash heap, otherwise known as the Fox News guest roster where it belongs. Even if, once upon a time in the distant past, before the exposure of the national stage shone its light and illuminated all flawed, short-sighted foolishness for all to see, you counted yourself as a supporter, it is now impossible to deny the need for this infections’ time in government to end.
Consider if you will, a recent cystic statement purporting that the Democratic Party is the party of Lisa Simpson, and the Republican Party is happily that of Homer, Bart, Marge and Maggie. For context, I remind you that the growth in question belongs to the Republican Party, and seems to believe his analogy is complementary to same. I would now like to point out that anyone who is familiar with the Simpsons family not only knows that Lisa is the smartest, kindest, and most generally capable member, and Bart and Homer are a pair of the laziest, pettiest, most selfish, dimmest bulbs in Springfield,and are portrayed as shining examples of terrible human behavior.
Also, Marge is a Bailey Booster from way back, and considering Mr. Burns ran against Governor Bailey as a Republican, it’s a good guess that both of the ladies mentioned in this sentence are Democrats.
     As for Maggie, I personally wouldn’t presume to say know how she leans politically, as she’s a baby and does not speak. Though from what I’ve seen, she’s definitely more responsible with a firearm than this malignant lump.
     Not that a lack of Simpsons knowledge is all the reason we need to rid ourselves of this parasite (though it is.) If one were so inclined, one could also point out another recent eruption of rotted rumination, wherein our parasitic organism stated that Democrats favor “unlimited abortion right up to birth.” I suppose a dedication to protecting and preserving life is noble, but it’s kind of nullified by the aforementioned promotion irresponsible gun use. Not to mention the attempted denial of aid to hurricane victims and healthcare to people who can’t afford it.
     Whatever your reasons, Texans, it’s pretty obvious that this tumor isn’t doing you any good, and there’s an opening for surgery in November. I suggest you sign up.

-John

So Many Cold, Dead Hands

Are we all sick enough yet of headlines like “One of the Ten Worst Mass Shootings in Modern History?” Are we all tired enough yet of our so called “Leaders” who send worthless “thoughts and prayers” to the victims and their families? Are we sick enough yet of having to read articles and blog entries -especially from people who would rather be writing about funny things- about mass shootings in schools, churches, theaters, and night cubs. Are we finally tired of explaining to these bought and paid for politicians that guns are only designed for one thing, and the idea that they make any environment safer is like saying that having people sneeze in your mouth is the best to avoid catching a cold?

I’m so sick of so many things connected with this heartbreaking topic, friends and neighbors, and I can’t imagine how anyone isn’t ready to make an actual effort to end these things. How could they not be? So many people, so many, many people, being murdered by some person with a weapon they had no business having. Surely no one in their right mind would allow this to go on, right? Surely only a short sighted and callous idiot would still be spouting that “cold, dead hands” rhetoric, right?

I’m tired of hearing people who are supposed to be representing and protecting us ramble on about how there’s nothing we can do to prevent it, ignoring completely the fact that they have the power to at least take some steps. I am sick of people like State Senator Debbie Mayfield, who had the gall to tell a student that “we can’t stop the crazies.” They instead suggest things like putting armed guards in the schools, or armed drones, even. Or installing hardcore metal detectors, like in airports, which we all know never miss anything.

No word I can find on how they would pay for those detectors, but maybe they need to think and pray on it. Maybe they can donate some of the tens of millions of dollars the NRA gave them? More likely though they’ll cut funding for school lunches for poor kids, or quality assurance on textbooks, or some other unnecessary thing.

And speaking of the NRA, I’m tired of how these red faced gun worshipping cowards get more influence on the way our country is run than the people do. When most of the country is in favor of a thing, shouldn’t its leaders be taking steps to get it? That’s how we got such great healthcare and education systems, right?

Wait. Nevermind. Obviously what we want doesn’t mean anything compared to the Billions of Dollars these politicians get to avoid doing their jobs. Which I guess is why our nation’s teenagers are doing it now. Teenagers, for god’s sake! These young people are supposed to be worried about pointless standardized testing and accidental pregnancies, not about which bulletproof backpack they should buy. They shouldn’t have to be out there demanding to know why nothing is being done. They shouldn’t have to hear from someone whose job it is to make this country better that the AR-15 is a “legitimate hunting rifle.”

By the way, if you need something like an AR-15 to go hunting, you have no business hunting in the first place. If you’re going to insist on killing an animal for self gratification, or because it’s some tradition or whatever, you at least owe it to not just the animal, but to yourself, to get good enough at it to do the job in one merciful shot. Otherwise, buy your meat from the grocery store like the rest of us.

Anyway, back to the teenagers, who as near as I can tell, are pretty much being ignored. Well, except for this one school district I heard about in Houston, which didn’t ignore its students, but instead threatened to suspend any of them who protested in support of their fellow American Children who don’t think it’s fair that they should die so that a bunch of morons can have absurdly dangerous weapons.

Ah, the capriciousness of youth.

But you know what I’m most sick and tired of, friends and neighbors? I’m sick and tired of how these people somehow manage to stay in office. Obviously we can’t vote them out, but maybe we can bear our financial arms, like the NRA does. Maybe we can stop spending our dollars at the nation’s largest gun seller (Wal-Mart), until they start spending more money lobbying for gun control. Maybe every time we hear the phrase “thoughts and prayers” we’ll send some money to gun control lobbyists, Americans for Responsible Solutions, or maybe Everytown for Gun Safety, or perhaps a more localized organization. I’m just spitballing here really, but it’s pretty obvious we can’t rely on our current government to fix this. Surely, if we follow the example being set for us by our children, we can stop this group of crazies, right?

-John

So What's in a Number?

     Fairly recently, for reasons that are exciting to me but very few other people will really care about, I deactivated my old mobile phone account, thereby releasing my hold on a phone number that had been near and dear to me for basically all of my legally adult life. In all actuality, it is something I should have done long before, but I couldn’t bring myself to let it go. Virtually everyone who has known me for any significant length of time has used that number to reach me. Party invites, emergencies that required my attention, break up calls and text messages, drawings for free cruises I’d won without ever actually entering, you name it. In an age where people are rarely more than five feet away from their phones, that number was almost as much a part of me as well, maybe not my first name, but perhaps my middle name. When I moved away from the large one starred state in which I was born and raised, that number was how my friends and family reminded me that I was still loved and missed, via harassments and demands that I return so we can die together in San Antonio as planned.
     Letting something like that go felt like one too many steps away from those people and that part of my life. Like somehow I was going to forget all those late nights and totally worth it poor decisions, or all those times I went to see some of my more musically gifted friends perform. I’d already moved across the country and gone from seeing most of them multiple times a week to maybe once a year, if that, and I didn’t relish the idea of furthering that gap.That was what I told myself for months, despite the immediate access most of us had and still have to social media and email, because those are less private, less… authentic. You can look up anyone on those sites, but when people choose to share phone numbers, it just means more.
     At least, that’s the kind of stuff I was telling myself as I shelled out a bunch of money every month for something I never used anymore. The truth is, letting something like that go doesn’t really mean anything. The people who really mean to keep you around will do so, and vice versa. Even if you go a while without talking, you’re still connected through your history. If our experiences make us what we are, then those people are a part of me, and I’m a part of them, even though a great deal of them may rather that wasn’t the case.The connection isn’t going to go away just because the digits change.
     Really though, disconnecting that number reminded me about all those times I spent with the people I’ve been rambling about, and what they meant and still mean to me, and how invested in them I will always be, no matter how far apart we are or how long it’s been since we talked or saw each other. Some of them have kids I still haven’t met, some of them got married and/or moved away to their own new part of the world, and most of them won’t even read this.
Which is fine, and I’m not bitter about it at all.
     I guess what I’m driving at, friends and neighbors, is that getting rid of this number made me think about how long it’s been since I saw so many of these people that I love, and I need to make a trip back soon, and apparently I’m a big old mushy sap now.
     Or whatever. Shut up.
-John

Can't Say Sh*t, You Hole

So I have an interesting conundrum for you, one I never really expected to have to deal with. Allow me to use an introductory paragraph to explain. Unlike in my real life, I try pretty hard not to cuss in the pieces I write for this page, as it gives people an easy excuse to act offended and thus dismiss me entirely. Usually, this isn’t really an issue, and more than once it’s made me look up and discover some truly first-rate adjectives. This week, however, it presents an issue, because I’d like to go over what the president of our country said, but I can’t quote it, because one of the words he used is potentially too offensive to use here.
How insane is it that a tiny little barely read blog that no one cares about can’t quote the leader of a country, because that leader talks and acts like the soon to be ripped off owner of a casino in an R rated heist movie? Not to insult the fictional casino owner stereotype; at least their casinos are successful enough to rob.
Anyway, the first major reaction to this latest spasm of stupidity concerned how racist this statement shows our POTUS (Proudly Obnoxious Through Unusual Stupidity) really is. While this is true, it isn’t really new to anyone who’s been paying attention. I mean, at this point, if anyone is still unwilling to admit that we’re dealing with a racist old buffoon, such willful obtuseness can at best only be seen as tacit approval.
Not that we shouldn’t, as a people, denounce it every time he pulls this nonsense. We should. We kind of have to, just to keep it clear that this is not acceptable.
But that’s only one of the myriad reasons people are apoplectic about what POTUS (Pile of Teeming Unusable Scraps) said to a roomful of adult human beings.  A smaller group of people are for some reason focusing more on how it was just an uncouth manner to express an opinion. Nevermind what the opinion was (racist), he should’ve said it better. Again, I don’t really see this as a new development; listening to that Prolapsed Old Tired Unctuous Sphincter (look, I know I already did this gag a couple of posts ago, but you guys have to understand, I have not been able to stop) is like standing at a bus stop and listening to that crazy person rant about the upcoming apocalypse. Except this crazy person could actively cause it. And he’s on TV.
There is one other aspect of this ridiculous statement that I’m not hearing much about, so I figure I might as well bring it up: why is no one critiquing his cussing style? I mean, all the smart people I know, stable or otherwise, really know how to cuss. They’re creative with it, like a practiced and gifted chef. They don’t just throw out some thoughtless word. They use these words like spices, adding flavor and flourish to personalize their speech like they would a favorite dish. This kind of shabby use is like using the word ‘gourmet’ to describe Taco Bell.
Look, just because some Pompous Old Trumped Up Schmuck (All. Day.) figures out how to boil water, doesn’t mean we should let him wear the chef hat, okay?
And as for the folks out there who thinks it’s fine that he said that, who still think the damage he’s doing to our culture and our government is somehow the destruction this country needs, let me ask you: do you really want to destroy this government and replace it with a loud mouthed self important moron who doesn’t respect or care about anyone or anything but himself? Isn’t that exactly what the people who started this country and made it great in the first place where trying to escape?
And as for the source of this poorly thought out, poorly stated sentence; if you ever want to get a lesson on improving your use of these spicy, spicy words, look me up. I’ll give you a cussing like you wouldn’t believe.

-John