"Send Lawyers, Guns And Money" Yet Again

Oh Warren Zevon, gone far, far too soon, wouldn't you love what's happening now?  His song "Lawyers, Guns and Money" concerns a spoiled rich kid who keeps getting into "scrapes" in places such as Havana and Honduras and pleading with his Dad to "Get me out of this one."  Now "President" Trump (rhymes with "impeach") no longer has a daddy to bail him out and he's long since blown through the fortune that his father left him for seed money (crops failed frequently), but it appears as if he may again need the help of that titular trio.

As the elation at the inability of the Repugnicants in the House of Reprehensibles to kill the Affordable Care Act and replace it with--surprise, surprise: TryanrumpCare, a scheme to further step on the backsides of the poor and middle-class while lining the pockets of billionaires even more--fades, America will turn its lonely eyes back to the growing Trump/Russia money-makes-strange-bedfellows scandal.  If Devin Nunes (rhymes with "inept lackey") doesn't completely foul the House "Intelligence" Committee's investigation, in the coming days and weeks we're likely to read and hear lots about Cyprus, Russia's favorite money-laundering spot, and Deutsche Bank, and  Michael Flynn, Paul Manafort,  Carter Page and Roger Stone and, maybe most interesting, Wilbur Ross.  Mr. Ross, it turns out, is a former Vice (how appropriate) Chairman of the Bank of Cyprus; in that capacity he oversaw or brokered many deals involving Russian oligarchs (rhymes with mobsters) and enormous sums of money flowing into and out of Cyprus.  Ross is currently Donald Trump's (rhymes with "inmate") Commerce Secretary.

Joan Baez famously and smarmily said, of Live Aid : "This is your Woodstock."  Well, of course it wasn't, but what's happening now may be this generation's Watergate, except on an unimaginably grander scale.  These guys did hijack a Presidential election, unlike what came of the "third-rate burglary" at the Watergate Hotel.  That election was already in the bag for Nixon; this one was not, and was greatly influenced by Russia.  And remember Deep Throat's advice to Woodward and Bernstein:  "Follow the money."  In this caper there's money everywhere, which will probably make it both easier and harder to follow.  But, as is usually the case, he said, trying to be optimistic, "truth will out."  Let's hope that what Willie the Shake said in The Merchant of Venice still holds true in the Age of Information.

And by the way, the opening stanza in "Lawyers, Guns and Money" is "Well, I went home with the waitress/ The way I always do/How was I to know/ She was with the Russians too?"....

What Goes 99 Trump, 98 Trump, 97 Trump, And So On?

Why, a Trumpipede dropping its shoes, of course.  And boy, are they gonna continue to drop in the days, weeks and months to come as, as the Trumpipede loses its shoes, we see that it is actually wholly clothes-less.  "Sometimes even the President of the United States must have to stand naked," indeed.

Given the extraordinary circumstances coming to light by the minute, I'm here to say that I hope my blog is back.  At any rate I wanted to be the first kid on the block to use the name "Gorbasuch" for the nascently ex-President's Supreme Court nominee. No evidence whatsoever that he should be tainted by the burgeoning scandal?  Hey, if you roll around in sties you're gonna smell like pig shit, right?

What's the Russian word for "Watergate," do you s'pose?

See you later.

Limericks To Riddles Without Answers

A limerick last time, and now a riddle-me-this (it's an existential question):

What if you think you've hit bottom, but bottom is not within reach?

Most of you won't want to grapple (pun intended) with that.

See, we all think and hope and wish and pray that the botttomest we feel is the bottomest there is, and that we can overcome it and re-surface by those things: love, and hopes, and wishes, and prayers (and actions--I left that out) that we've always been told will allow us to recover and redeem ourselves.  As Aztec Two Step says "isn't it sweet to think so....?"

Apologies To Men From Nantucket.....

A clean limerick about a dirty guy:

For A Short-Fingered Vulgarian
 
There once was a family named Drumpf
Whose favorite word was "Harrumpf."
Changed the "D" to a "T"
Dropped the "F" completely
But Donnie's fingers are still little stumpfs.

Imagine what happens when I'm fully retired, gang.

Why D'You Always Pout, Donnie?

Serious apologies to Burt Bacharach and, especially, Hal David for this one.  And probably to my fellow U of Hartford alumnus Dionne Warwick, who had the first and best-known version of this song, to be sung to the tune of "Alfie."

Donnie

Why d'you always pout, Donnie?

Is it just the default face you give?

Why, you always pout 'cause you're so put out, Donnie.

Yet you take oodles more than you give.

You're not meant to be kind

You know only fools are kind, Donnie.

You're so wise 'cause you're always so cruel.

And if life belongs only to the rich, Donnie,

Those poor folks are just morons and fools.

As sure as you believe there's no Heaven above, Donnie,

It's 'cause there's so much more here:

Something your investors can believe in....

You don't believe in love, Donnie,

There is simply the Art Of The Deal.

Again please make us great, Donnie;

Without greatness we merely exist.

 No more second-rate Donnie

When you run let your pout lead the way.

Donnie, Donnie, no one really needs you today! 

Maybe you should listen to Dionne's version while you read this....

Trump l'oeil: What The Hell Are We Lookin' At?

Well, smoke (up various orifi) and mirrors (the better to adjust the Cheeto-fed squirrel on his pate), I suppose.  Trompe l'oeil is the painter's art meant to fool the eye, of course, to make the viewer unsure of what s/he is seeing, to give the illusion of substance and depth to what is actually a flat and essentially featureless space.  It's an artist's sleight-of-hand, as an election campaign is a politician's:  watch carefully, as my hand never leaves my arm.  On the other hand, watch your watch carefully, as it's likely to leave your wrist, or your pocket.  What a ship of state of affairs we've reached when Phineas T. Bluster may prove that you can fool enough of the people once upon a time to run a country aground on Ego Reef.  Ergo, Reefer may be the best coping mechanism for dealing with this bombastic, know-nothing ("I know more about ISIS than the generals," he has said.  Perhaps he meant Dollar General, General Mills, and General Chaos....) short-fingered vulgarian--ah, thank you SPY, we're forever in your debt.

Next: It's a pout time....