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  • April 28th, 2017

WHAT? ME WORRY?

By Joel M. Vance

Has anyone but me noticed the remarkable resemblance of Atty. Gen. Jeff Sessions to Alfred E Neuman that dim witted icon of Mad Magazine? Sessions is a member of the most inept administration in the history of the country. He was deemed unfit by Congress to be a federal judge but Donald Trump, the clown president, saw fit to name him as the nation’s top cop, head of the Justice Department.

“What? Me worry?”
No, Jeffy it’s the rest of us that are worried. Scared silly is more like it.
It’s not nice to make fun of someone’s looks but in Session’s case, I’ll make an exception. He looks like a befuddled chipmunk who has managed to stuff so many nuts into his cheek pouches that he doesn’t know whether to spit or go blind. He is the American version of Inspector Clouseau, without the redeeming quality of being funny. He’s merely pathetic, not to mention being scary for his potential to destroy long-established precepts of law and order.

We haven’t had cops that comic since the Keystone cops of silent movie fame were running into each other and creating havoc wherever they went. Sessions is so damn dumb he apparently did not know that Hawaii has been a state since 1959. He insulted a federal judge for putting a halt to Trump’s misguided immigration policy, saying that one judge in a little island somewhere in the Pacific was making decisions about how the government should be run. God knows someone needs to. The current administration runs government like, well, the Keystone cops.

The little island, Hawaii is a state, just like the one that Sessions calls home, although the only state he seems to be familiar with is semi-consciousness. Anyone with Donald Trump for a boss is bound to set new standards for ineptitude. Trump wouldn’t appoint anyone who is smarter than he is to a position of responsibility, which means that everyone he appoints has the approximate job suitability of a pet rock.

Hawaiian Sen. Mazie Hirono summed up Sessions geographic faux pas this way, “I expect the top law enforcement officer to remember Hawaii residents are Americans, and to understand the independent role of the judiciary.” However, expecting anyone associated with Trump world to understand the real world is asking a lot.

Mumbling his way through an introduction of the Italian prime minister, one of the few world leaders he has managed not to insult, Trump said, “from Verdi to Pavarotti—friend of mine. Great friend of mine.” No, dip wick not a friend. Regrettably Luciano Pavarotti has been dead for a decade. Mr Pavarotti’s family previously asked Trump to stop using the singer’s most famous aria – nessun dorma – at his campaign rallies.

“As members of his immediate family, we would like to recall that the values of brotherhood and solidarity which Luciano Pavarotti expressed throughout the course of his artistic career are entirely incompatible with the world view offered by the candidate Donald Trump,” the family said .
Supposedly Pavarotti’s favorite aria was nessun dorma” from the opera Turandot the last two lines of the aria, translated into English, are “set, stars! At sunrise I will win! I will win! I will win!” Perhaps one of Trump’s butt kissers told him about that aria and he adopted it as his anthem. Because for the clown president, winning is the only thing no matter how you do it—cheat if you can.

What can you expect from an administration whose idea of musical culture is to invite Ted Nugent and Kid Rock to the White House. Of course their visit, as culturally subterranean as it might be, was further degraded by the presence of Alaska’s favorite mama bear, the drill baby herself, Sarah Palin. If it were in my power I would arm an army of sanitation workers with mops and disinfectant to scrub the whole White House down, kind of like sanitizing an old-fashioned outhouse.

The White House is the nation’s home. It is a residence where the president is expected to spend his time in office, but we now have a president who plans to move the White House, the citizens’ home, to his own exclusive golf resort where for $200,000, you too can claim citizenry. He isn’t running the country, he’s running a goddamn business, and we get to pay for it. He calls it “the art of the deal” but as deals go, we haven’t seen anything like it since Enron.

Looking at his choices for top administration officials is like looking at the most frightening scenes in Alfred Hitchcock’s movie “Psycho”, over and over again. There is Sean Spicer, the clown president’s puppet, who stands in front of the White House press corps and repeats the most outrageous lies that no one in his right mind would believe. You can almost see the clown president’s little hand up Spicer’s back manipulating the controls (as opposed to having his hand up some helpless girl’s dress).

I haven’t decided if Spicer is Howdy Doody or Mortimer Snerd, Edgar Bergen’s half witted puppet of long ago. Snerd was dumber than Spicer and Howdy Doody was smarter, but either way the result doesn’t serve the purpose of truth in government. Half the time Spicer doesn’t know what he’s talking about and the other half he does but he lies about it. Truth in this administration is whatever Trump read on Breitbart news or heard on some sewage spouting conservative talk show.

I can’t fathom the mindset of a president of the United States whose attention span equals that of the life of a mayfly and who has the intellectual depth of a muddy puddle of rainwater. What can you say about a president who butt kisses some of the worst dictators in the world— Saddam “knew how to run a country”, Putin “likes me”, congratulations to Turkey’s dictator Erdogan on taking over the country. North Korean dictator Kim Jong Un (“you gotta give him credit”). Any day now I expect the clown president to get together with the French Nazi candidate Marine Le Pen for a group grope. After all, she’s blonde and a woman, a perfect candidate for a typical Trump stubby fingered fondle to improve Franco-American relations. In the meantime he’s busy targeting old people (no more Meals on Wheels), children (no more school lunches), the sick (no more affordable care for 24 million people without insurance), women (no more health screening from Planned Parenthood). If you want help from the Trump administration you have to be in the 1%,not in the other 99%.

This is an administration where if you scratch a member of it, you will find a buffoon, a crook, or a robber baron. Secretary of State Tillerson has been personally decorated by Vladimir Putin. Secretary of Education DeVos is a privileged private school debutante who thinks she can tell professional teachers how to teach and what to teach, the secretary of interior Zinke is poised to undo the conservation legacy of Barack Obama and possibly the legacy of every other conservation oriented President in the nation’s history.

Trump bulldozes his way through each day like an angry bear with an impacted fecal plug looking for something to brutalize. He’s managed to antagonize the leaders of our two closest neighbors, Mexico and Canada, and it as if that weren’t bad enough, he’s pissed off the leaders of many of our allies. It’s no wonder the rest of the world is regarding the United States like you would look at an unasked-for package that’s ticking.

He’s like a schoolyard bully looking for a fight. I wake up each morning, apprehensive that he has pushed someone just as crazy as he is into nuclear insanity (think North Korea), someone who has responded to his arrogant blustering by dropping a nuclear missile somewhere— South Korea, Japan, or Hawaii. Last time I felt this threatened was in the 1960s when the United States and the Soviet Union went nose to nose over ballistic missiles in Cuba.

But that was a confrontation between two countries led by people who were not insane, who were not consumed by their own overwhelming egos. We can only hope there are enough people now in power to force the clown president to keep his pudgy finger off the red button. I guess the mere fact that I do wake up to whatever news the clown president has created overnight it is cold comfort, but I long for the days when the worst bad news of the overnight was that the St. Louis Cardinals lost yet again.

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1 Comment

  1. Carrie Jo

    May 2nd, 2017 at 9:59 am

    Reply

    Pull no punches, Father. Favorite phrase: “culturally subterranean.”



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