WHEN YOU WISH UPON A STEYER

 

December 4 is SANTA’S LIST DAY. Yours truly having been a good boy this year, what better time than now to make out my Christmas wish list and tell Santa that I deserve everything on it? That gives me three weeks to be naughty while the old fart is busy browbeating and driving his elves to peak toy production before D-Day (Delivery Day) — or should I say, before Delivery Night. The way I see it, it’s not my fault that Santa won’t have time to check up on me — he should be a more adept despot.

Just kidding,of course. I don’t really plan on being a bad boy from now until Christmas…. and to prove it, my list will consist entirely of wishes for someone much more in need than I — a child so spoiled and naughty, he may soon be locked out of his WHITE HOUSE (depending on who holds the key to the outcome). The name of that over-privileged child is Don-Don (known as THE DONALD by those in awe of him — and who isn’t?).

But why leave to chance the chances that my wishes for Don-Don come true?

If not upon a star, maybe I could wish upon a STEYER: Tom-Tom STEYER, the billionaire liberal activist, philanthropist, and Trump ingrate, for help in suggesting gifts that Santa (perhaps with coaxing from Mrs. Claus, who could probably use a Steyer-donated fur coat) might deliver to the needy Don-Don. But it seems Tom-Tom is too-too busy donating  to causes instead of Clauses, so I’m stuck doing the dirty work all by myself. Fortunately, I have a pretty good idea of the toys it will take to get little Don-Don to straighten up and fly right, see himself for who he really is, and mend his lying ways:

Here, then, is my Don-Don wish list to Santa (additional suggestions welcomed):

1. A self-administered lie detector kit which gives $ for every truth and an electrical shock for every lie.

2. Smelling salts and a first aid kit to recover from daily attempts (which Don-Don can never resist) to sneak lies past #1.

3. A game of Trump Monopoly, which is just like regular Monopoly except: only Don-Don and family can play, there are numerous GO-TO-JAIL spaces, and there are no GET-OUT-OF-JAIL-FREE cards. 

4. A bully pulpit, complete with a bully who calls Don-Don a “loser” whenever something doesn’t go Don-Don’s way.

5. Don-Don finds Jesus on Fox News, has a revelation that he’s supposed to do unto others as he would have them do unto him, takes the Golden Rule to heart, astounds the world, and gives Sean Hannity a heart attack.

6. A new law permitting any President named Trump to be above the law (but only with the approval of any Special Counsel named Mueller).

7. A Presidential pardon for himself, enough enablers to keep him in office two more years, and a country gone to moral indifference and re-electing him in 2020. Hey, how did that wish slip in here? Could it be written in the stars?

 

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A NAME BY ANY OTHER NAME

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. –William Shakespeare

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When I was young, the above was one of the first truisms I remember coming upon which took me beyond the surface of its simple truth….a proposition, if you will, that by any other name would be as true. After all, what is a name but a representation of what must be named because how else are we to picture in common what is being referred to?  For example, if my name were Mister Muttonhead, I would still be me, though my name would be Mister Muttonhead, not Mister Muse (and I would still smell as sweet).

With that in mind, I thought I’d try my hand at furthering the Bard’s example by expounding on his original paradigm, to wit:

Flour by any other name would smell as wheat.

An alert cat by any other name would smell a rat.

An antique by any other name would cost far less.

The God of man by any other name would smell like WHAT’S UP WITH THAT.

Time by any other name would smell like a flier on life.

A duck by any other name would quack like the other name.

A Donald Trump by any other name would quack like an amuck Donald Duck.

Thanksgiving turkey by any other name would smell like a thankless (but not tasteless) turkey.

Such is life. HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

 

 

WHO KNEW?

Who knew that….

JACK LEMMON COULD SING?

BRIGITTE BARDOT COULD DANCE?

RONALD REAGAN COULD ACT? Really.

DONALD TRUMP COULD LIE? Well, only whenever he talks or tweets. And, in his defense (as the aforementioned Jack Lemmon discovered),

 

TAKING TIME FROM BREAK TIME

For those who may have wondered, I’m still alive and ticking….though not yet ready to resume posting with my previous regularity (for which you may want to thank God or President Trump, whomever you worship). With this mini-post, I simply want to take time out from my break to say I appreciate the good thoughts expressed in comments to my last post, as well as to let my blogger friends know I’ve missed not being in a position to engage with your blogs (which I hope to resume doing shortly….or shortly thereafter).

In the meantime….in between time….

BREAK TIME

I am taking a rest break from blogging for an indefinite period, including a complete break from posting. I hope to check in on your posts from time to time, but if I don’t comment, it won’t be because I’ve lost interest in what you have to say. Thank you for your interest in what I’ve had to say, and I will look forward to ‘next time.’

DAYS OF OUR WIVES

The third Sunday in September, which by all (ac)counts is today, is WIFE APPRECIATION DAY. First and foremost, it’s a day for all us husbands to give thanks….thanks that we don’t live in olden times of guys like King Solomon, who had hundreds of wives for whose favors he had to pay dearly to prove his appreciation, not only this day, but on wedding anniversaries, birthdays, and romantic holidays like the ancient equivalents of Sweetest Day, Valentine’s Day, and, of course, Groundhog Day. My wallet (which I affectionately call Wally) is having a nervous breakdown just thinking about that empty feeling….and praying he doesn’t wake up tomorrow morning reliving this day.

Fortunately, we live in more civilized times where monogamy is the rule and just one wife is the ruler. Wally can rest assured that I see all such days as over-commercialized evil plots furthered by vile capitalists interested only in separating Wally and me from our hard-earned jack* (surnamed Washington, Lincoln, Hamilton, Jackson, Grant and Franklin) — and my would-be better half had better see it that way, because I control the Jack in my Wally, and I will not be moved by shape-up-or-ship-out demands….

*jack, n. Money. Orig. a sporting term, common 1920s. –Dictionary of American Slang

Whoa! Let us not be too hasty — you know I was only kidding, don’t you, Honey Buns? Lay that pistol down, babe….

As a matter of fact, Snooky Wooky Ookums, I do have something for you on WIFE APPRECIATION DAY: something to bring back memories of those halcyon days when lovers can’t get enough of each other (as The Donald continues to feel about The Donald):

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Sorry, Wally. Sorry, Jack.  When you gotta go, you gotta go.

 

 

 

SHORT AND (NOT SO) SWEET

Lately I’ve been (and remain) a bit under the weather, so rather than strain my brain trying to write something original, this post will quote from three book reviews which have something pertinent to say about the likes of our favorite President, either directly or by extension (book titles in caps):

KILL IT TO SAVE IT by Corey Dolgon

“Dolgon’s astute look at the conservative turn in US politics … offers a fascinating look at the phenomenon that made Donald J. Trump the preferred choice of many voters. The long-term fallout of this turn has many of us thinking far less critically than we should be–exactly as intended–and how and why we’ve learned to tolerate the intolerable.” –Eleanor J. Bader (reviewer)

UNDER THE COVER OF CHAOS by Lawrence Grossberg

“In damning detail, Grossberg here lays bare the deep roots of Trumpism. Rather than a break from some imagined pure, nuanced conservatism, Grossberg shows Trump’s manic nonsense is actually a continuation, the result of a long struggle between the new right and the reactionary right. Everyone should read this book if they want to understand the rise of authoritarianism in the United States.” –Henry Giroux (reviewer)

THEY THOUGHT THEY WERE FREE by Milton Mayer

An account of the rise of fascism in Germany from 1933-45. As such, “A timely reminder of how otherwise unremarkable and in many ways reasonable people can be seduced by demagogues and populists.” –Richard J. Evans (reviewer)

Upon further review, I couldn’t have said it better myself.