Welcome the Bastard President

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This whining, petulant man-child has been called many things, by celebrities, politicians and pundits alike:

Lord Voldemort — Rosie O’Donnell
Golden Wrecking Ball — Sarah Palin
Short-Fingered Vulgarian — Graydon Carter
Tiny Hands Trump, Babyfingers Trump and Pixie Fingers Trump — Michael R. Burch
The Most Fabulous Whiner — Chris Cuomo
Fuckface von Clownstick, Man-Baby, Comedy Entrapment and Unrepentant Narcissistic Asshole — Jon Stewart
The White Kanye ― Bill Maher
Trump of Doom — Michael R. Burch
Agent Orange         (A fuller list is here.)

They’re funny.  Satiric.  Rude.

But . . . not one just nails it perfectly.

In truth, this child is a bastard.

When he throws Twitter tantrums, remember, he’s a bastard.

When he mocks the disabled, remember, he’s a bastard.

When he slanders those who disagree with him, remember, he’s a bastard.

When he condemns the press for reporting on him, remember, he’s a bastard.

When he uses donor money to buy up mass quantities of his own book, which delivers cash back to his own pocket and violates FEC rules; when he refuses to rent apartments to blacks; when he is accused of sexual assault during the 1970s; when his business dealings are tied to the Mafia; when he is fined for breaking the rules in his casinos; when he refuses to pay his contractors and workers; when he declares bankruptcy, repeatedly, in an effort to avoid paying his bills; when he is sued and fined for antitrust violations while trying to get rid of casino competitors; when he wants to build a wall to keep out Mexicans, but but is found guilty of bringing in Polish workers to build Trump Tower; when he (allegedly) rapes his wife in anger…

He is a bastard.

This president was not born of American man and woman.  He was seeded by the semen of the Great American Bullshitter, and birthed from the womb of Mother Russia.  His silken diapers are filled with pyrite turds, and his mother’s milk is our hard-earned money.

He is a bully.  He is a crook.  He is a cheat.  He is a liar.  He is a traitor.

He is illegitimate.

He is the Bastard President.

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Factual sources: The Atlantic and Huffington Post.

What I Missed in the ’70s

A few years ago, I realized that I had missed a lot in the 1970s.  I’m sure the jaded among you will say It was the drugs; but, I have to admit, I didn’t do drugs then, and the only drugs I do now are prescription.  (And I do enjoy wine, preferably red.)  Seriously, there are too many of my prescriptions for my tastes, but I do enjoy living, breathing, and this thing we term as reality.

[My real drug is books.  Novels.  Fiction.  I am an admitted biblioholic, and more power to my addiction.]

So, yes, I missed a lot during the seventies.  I eschewed rock and roll for books and movies.  Somehow, I was late to the party: when Escape From the Planet of the Apes came out, one of my best friends had to tell me about Planet of the Apes, and a sequel I had somehow never heard of, Beneath the Planet of the Apes, and then I was hooked.  I always seem to be a few years late.

Somehow, during my senior year of high school, I missed seeing Three Days of the Condor during its first run in the theaters, or, as we say in the South, theeAYters.  41+ years later, I have no idea how or why I missed it.  Can’t remember.  A mystery to me.  But I realized this deficiency a couple of years ago, and read the novel upon which the film was based, Six Days of the Condor, by James Grady, which I got from the local library, a resource I urge you to use immediately.

Six Days of the Condor.  Great novel.  Emotional, hard-hitting, thrilling, commercial fiction.

Three Days of the Condor hasn’t come on TV for a few years, that I know of, so tonight I decided to see if it was On Demand through Comcast.

It was.

Good.  Really good.  The only drawback is one of the film’s quintessential charms: the ending.  It kind of leaves you hanging.  But that’s okay; with the movie’s storyline, it works.

So it only took me 40+ years to see it.  Next up: The Midnight Man, The Black Windmill, Duffy, McCabe and Mrs. Miller, Cannibal Girls, Get Carter, Zardoz (for the xth time, but it’s wonderful) and Klute.  There are so many more, but these are the ones on my current list.

Movie party, anyone?

 

 

You Can’t Buy This Book

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This magnificently-produced book is a work of both satire and parody.  It’s rude, it’s crude, it’s dead-on, and it’s hilarious.  It’s funny in the same ways National Lampoon, at its finest, used to be funny.

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And you can’t buy it now, because the publisher took it off the market.

Here’s the whole story.  Basically, a writer over at BookRiot took offense at some of the artwork and captions, then wrote a damning piece on the site calling the book racist and unfunny.  At first the publisher defended the book and its irreverent sense of humor, but the author insisted that they cease publication and pull the book off the shelves.

My personal favorite.  Falwell would be proud.
My personal favorite. Falwell would be proud.

I think that was a huge mistake.  The book got 15 minutes of publicity when it happened, and a few more copies were sold, but humor always sells when it’s controversial.  In many ways I think the aggregate American sense of humor has wimped out since the heydays of Lampoon and SNL.  There was a richness and an anger that fueled comedy and made it unforgettable, and we’ve backtracked so far that the American public loves 2 Broke Girls, which is all sexual innuendoes but no real teeth, and today’s watered-down version of SNL, that makes polite fun but rarely takes a chance.

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There is a secret of comedy that critics and reviewers tend to forget–or ignore–whenever they get their delicate sensitivities all caught up in a bunch: All comedy–every gag, every joke, every one-liner–makes fun of something.

That’s all it is; that’s the whole truth.  All comedy makes fun of something.

And that goes hand in hand with another secret of the best comedians and comic writers:

Nothing is sacred.  Not races, not religions; not children, not Trump, not you, and not me.

So, sorry Book Riot.  Bad Little Children’s Book is not only funny, but at times it’s hilarious.  It’s exactly what we need because it makes fun of cultural paradigms when “correctness” says we shouldn’t.  It’s up there with “My First Blowjob,” Bad Teacher and Blazing Saddles.  I urge you to order a copy online, and then get all three issues of American Bystander, the humor magazine that’s trying to fill the void National Lampoon left.

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Remember: It’s only a joke.  They will kill you.

A Reading Challenge for YOU

I saw this on Facebook on December 29, and I decided this will be my only resolution for 2017: Take this reading challenge:

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Because I started this on December 29, 2016, I accepted the challenge with the fourth category on this list, a Christmas present from the Magnificent Maria published late in the year, and perfect for class-A nerds like me:

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So I challenge YOU, my friends, to take this challenge, and keep us posted on your progress.  By the way, you can order the above epic tome at this link, along with several other new Tarzan novels, along with new and original Doc Savage novels, including two–count ’em, TWO!–guest starring He Who Knows What Evil Lurks in Your Heart, the SHADOW.

Return to Gatorlando

As I predicted in my post yesterday, Walt Disney World is already installing temporary fences and making new signage for their properties.  You can read the Orlando Sentinel article here.

I failed to mention a thought I had while driving to work this week.  I started to think about how those lakes at the Magic Kingdom are interconnected, and that Fort Wilderness has a long-abandoned water park there on the shore of Bay Lake, the old River Country.  And I thought that, if any place, that overgrown ruin would be ideal for alligators to nest.

Scroll down to the Sentinel‘s video, which is a link to a video made recently and broadcast on Inside Edition.  Looks like someone else had the same thoughts.