MISTERMUSE FOR PRESIDENT!

So, ladies and gentlemen, I am officially running for President of the United States, and we are going to make our country great again.” –Donald Trump, June 16, 2015

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That was then; this is now.

Fringe, Morons, Countrymen, lend me your rears. I am officiously running for President of the Disunited States, because I feel like it….and who isn’t in favor of doing what they feel like? Now, we know that The Donald feels likewise, but let’s face it — he’s an asshole.

I can hear some of you Trumplodytes saying, “He may be an asshole, but at least he’s my asshole.” Sir — or ma’am, as the base may be — I admit that you’re entitled to your own asshole, but if you don’t mind my saying so, your asshole is full of shit….and after three-plus years of the shit fitting the man, enough of him is too much (and vice versa).

Friends, you and I both realize that, though the Dems’ heart may be in the right place, they’ve been letting the bullying GOP kick their cajones from here to South America for too long. That is why, in addition to slumming for Pres, I am announcing the formation of a new political party called The Fair And Respectful Treatment Party (or FART for short), because that’s what the American people deserve — and when I become President, they will get the FART they’re entitled to.

It’s not going to be easy, friends. I’m getting a late start, and the dollar three twenty five I have in the bank is just enough to cover my ass until my unemployment compensation kicks in. So I’ll be counting on your support and the support of my billions of blog followers to finance my campaign. If you can’t afford to send money, other assets will be gratefully accepted so long as they pass the smell test.

And although the Democratic party may no longer be the party of kick-ass Presidents like FDR, his campaign theme song is still just the ticket for me:

P.S. Highest donor gets to head my campaign and handle the money (just keep it under your hat).

THERE’S A FOOT FUNGUS AMONG US

There’s only so much foot fungus a girl can take…” –Rivergirl

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The above comment to my posted diatribe of 12/11/19 also expresses my sensibilities — but it might have you scratching your head if you haven’t been subjected to the foot fungus ads running amuck amongst my (and other bloggers’) posts. It’s as if some mad grafeeti artist is having a high old time desecrating the artistry of my literary opuses, and I won’t stand for it for one second (which is probably how long it will take for such an ad to appear below). Just in case, I’ve enlisted some “serious cartoons” to give it a run for its money:

https://www.cartoonstock.com/directory/f/foot_fungus.asp

In any case, as a public service, if you happen to suffer from woes between your toes or de agony of de feet, and are considering responding to foot fungus ad-verts or -vice, out of the goodness of my heart I leave you with these cautionary tips (my favorite of which is to STOP PEEING ON YOUR FEET):

4 Funny Fairytales Debunked About Foot Fungus Treatment

Here an Ad, there an Ad, everywhere an Ad….

Dear Mr. WordPress,

I’ve been meaning to let you know how much I appreciate your inserting ads all over my posts. Ads which used to appear only at the end of posts now show up between paragraphs, nicely interrupting the continuity and flow of my narrative. The effect of these discreet interdictions is akin to thoughtful telemarketers apologetically interrupting such optional diversions of mine as eating dinner or catching up on sleep late in the morning.

You see what I mean?

Now, I know you’re only trying to make a buck, and if you can’t do it by getting me to upgrade my free WordPress site to a paying one, you must make it with ads. But is it just a coincidence that my failure to take ADvantage of your recent UPGRADE IMPORTUNING coincides with inserting ads willy-nilly into MY POSTS like they’re less sacrosanct than the Holy Bible or Donald Trump tweets? You cut me to the quick, sir.

Well, sir, I know that, like trying to fight City Hall, I am almost certainly wasting my valueless time making this request, but if you could possibly see it in your heart of hearts to refrain from inserting ads in the middle of my posts, I would be eternally grateful. After all, ’tis the Christmas season, and you have all the space in the world at the end of my humble posts to place ads to your heart’s content.

God bless you, sir, and may you have a Merry Christmas and a Prosperous New Year!

 

 

BALD AND FREE — HOW CAN THAT BE? (subtitle: The Bald And The Beautiful)

Nothing makes a woman feel as old as watching the bald spot increase on the top of her husband’s head. –Helen Rowland

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Oct. 7 is BALD AND FREE DAY, but personally, I’m not sure what one has to do with the other. I’m mostly bald, all right, but how free is a married man like me? Of course, I’m just kidding — my wife lets me out of my cage for an hour a week, even though I keep getting balder….and making her feel older. Maybe I shouldn’t be using that hour to get a haircut.

HEADLONG RETREAT

As the years go by, my barber
Takes less and less time with my hair
Which only serves to remind me
That there’s less and less of it there.

To be sure, I’m not the only one whose predicament may become a hair-raising experience:

That gave me a headache just watching it. If only I could trust the dubious ads that involve spending my moo-lah to get to the root of the problem, I might risk springing for mo-hair….but snake oil aside, there must be a less painful way to restore a Lost Hairy zone:

Hmm. I wonder whether that great humanit-hairian, Donald Trump, would mind parting with some of his spare hair if I could dig up some skullduggery by his political opponents? For example, much corruption has been reported in the Caribbean nation of Hairti — and it’s surely a lock that all of the Democratic Presidential contenders are involved. All I’d have to do is send my nosey friend, Fruity Giuliani, there on behalf of our Pres with a quid pro-boscis that the Pres of Hairti can’t ignore.

On second thought, if Agent Orange went to my head, my wife might think I’m losing it along with my hair. I might as well keep to my cage, skip my weekly trip to the clip joint, and try to console myself that, after all is said and done….

Now, if I can only convince my wife.

THINK NOTHING OF IT

Seeing as how July 26 is ALL OR NOTHING DAY, I realized ALL OR NOTHING is as good a subject as any to post about today. A good thing too, as the only thing that had come to mind was nothing, otherwise this post might be about something, which at this point is something I want nothing to do with, as a post about something would be worth nothing unless nothing is the something I want to post something about nothing about.

Speaking of ALL OR NOTHING AT ALL, I subsequently came upon a dissertation by one Farouk Radwan, MSc, about all-or-nothing thinking, which may explain one way why The King of Self-Trumpeting Liars, Donald Trump, is the way he is. Unless you’re a glutton for punishment, this may be more than you want to know (and certainly more than Trump knows, or would admit if he DID know), but I can stand it if you can:

“Narcissism is one of the causes of the all or nothing way of thinking. Being a narcissist either devalues people and considers them worthless, or thinks highly of them” [like how The Donald devalues Robert Mueller but thinks highly of his no-bargain Attorney General, William Barr?].

Anyway — after much ado about nothing — I close with the Trump badministration’s theme song*:

*composed in the year 1934 B.T. (Before Trump) by Cole Porter, including these oh-so-apt-today lyrics:

The world has gone mad today
And good’s bad today
And black’s white today
And day’s night today

So ANYTHING GOES, but TRUMP STAYS? That can’t be good, or my name is Cole Porter.

 

 

I COULDN’T HAVE SAID IT BETTER MYSELF

For the short-term-memory-challenged among my readers, who may not recall every word of the posts I’ve posted in recent weeks, please allow me to refresh your appalling lack of retentive capacity by re-printing the first sentence of my second-to-last post, to wit:

“First, I want to beg your forgiveness for forgetting to publish a post for you on July 2nd (I FORGOT DAY), for I forgot it was I FORGOT DAY….but even if I hadn’t forgotten it was I FORGOT DAY, I might have forgotten to forget what I forgot.”

I re-print said sentence because, as a model of clarity of composition, it stands as a shining example of a category of phraseology comparable to such other tenebrous testaments to plain speaking as Legalese, Academese, and (The Man on the) Lying Trumpese — the latter not to be confused with this venerable lyrical disquisition of circus fame:

And how, you may wonder, does my phraseologically grandiloquent limpidity compare with analogous sample specimens of the aforementioned Legalese, Academese, and Lying Trumpese? Ask, my disquisitive friends, and ye shall receive:

As stated heretofore, the defendant’s conduct created, caused, and resulted in serious bodily harm and massive injuries, to wit: a broken and mangled left leg, lacerations to the aforementioned leg, and several broken digits on the foot attached to said leg, in witness whereof was the spouse of the injured party.

While the required breadth of content coverage appears to have been the surprise in development of the knowledge or cognitive area, method was unquestionably the potential stumbling block of affective measurement.

In so far as manifestations of infestation by a picayunish faunal species were evident in the residential facilities provided by the agricultural laborers, an unwillingness to occupy, utilize, or in any manner inhabit the facilities was therefore demonstrated by the aforementioned laborers.

But the above paradigms of grandiloquent limpidity pale, of course, in comparison with such clown-simple, yet grandiosely eloquent, linguistics of Lying Trumpese as these:

Wow, highest poll numbers in the history of the Republican Party. That includes Honest Abe Lincoln and Ronald Reagan.

There has never been, ever before, an Administration that’s so open and transparent.

I have tremendous support from women.

Right. And mistermuse has tremendous support from Trump lovers.

 

FOOL PROOF

fool’s paradise, a state of contentment based on delusive or false hopes. –WEBSTER’S NEW COLLEGE DICTIONARY

A fool’s paradise is a wise man’s hell! –Thomas Fuller, English churchman/historian

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July 13 is FOOL’S PARADISE DAY. If ever there was a day to get a handle on the “state” Donald Trump adherents live in, this is that day. Other than living in a “Fool’s Paradise,” how else to account for them being oblivious to what is patently obvious: The Donald is a sick excuse for a human being (much less a President) whose lies, corrupt morality, bullying, ethical poverty, and colossal narcissism do not matter because the economy happens to be booming (“booming” to whose benefit is apparently beside the point).

Fortunately for America, I know a few eye-opening songs to bring a “fool proof” Trump adherent to his/her senses if he/she will only give the songs’ words an ear and take them to heart….which shouldn’t be asking too much because, as we all know, Trumpies would give an arm and a leg to do the ‘right thing for their country. Left with this admonition….

….how can the devoted Don fan of November 2016 (having now been exposed to cool cats, and hopefully less gullible) not begin to think in terms of Don the Con Man and ask….

Cool cat or cool fool, still believe The Donald hasn’t played you for a total sucker? Pause and consider this Trumpian truism come election day, November 3, 2020:

Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, shame on me.