As my faithful followers know, from time to time I’ve posted a post (or commented a comment) critical of our Charlatan-in-Chief, Donaldo el Trumpo, aka The Grinch who stole Truth (if not the 2016 election). In the spirit of Christmas season, Dec. 21 seems an appropriate day to atone for the profusion of impertinence heaped upon Individual-1*, a day when everything I’ve said about him can be reduced to one essence-capturing word:
But why, Individual-1* may wonder, is December 21 “an appropriate day” to sum up the grossly inappropriate in one word? Because, Your Lordship/t, it’s HUMBUG DAY….your own very special (be)little day. And so, for every heartless, “false, deceptive, or insincere” thing you’ve ever said or done, I wish you a Hearty Humbug, for verily thou art a HUMBUG.
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?
Wait — don’t scat! Stay where you are and let scat come to you — scat singing, that is — and who better to lay the scat on you than two of the best: Mel Tormé, whose birthday (9/13/25) we celebrate this month, and the First Lady of Scat, Ella Fitzgerald:
Man, if that didn’t knock your socks off, you’d better put your shoes on and scat back to Squaresville, because you’re just not with it! To say scat singing is little more than vocal jazz improvisation with nonsense words is like saying The Donald is just improvising when he lets loose with nonsense tweets (to use a reverse perverse metaphor).
So, who was the cat who ‘invented’ scat? There seems to be no definitive answer, but some say it began 2/26/26 when Louis Armstrong supposedly forgot the words to this song and began improvising a little more than halfway through the recording:
Let’s wrap it up with this recent scat-iteration (which, I kid you not, ends with tweets):
It is with heavy heart that I inform readers of a grave injustice almost unprecedented in the annals of grave injusticedom: MISTERMUSE HAS JUST BEEN STRIPPED OF HIS SECURITY BLANKET by the Lord and Master of the Land of Nod, Donaldo El Trumpo. Disregarding long practice whereby his predecessors first convened/consulted with top underlings in the Blanket Discharge Dept., El Trumpo acted without so much as a wink and a nod to protocol, stating the firing was necessitated by Muse’s “erratic behavior.”
Friends, I put it to you: has anyone (with the possible exception of the President of the United States) displayed more erratic behavior in the annals of erratic behaviordom than El Trumpo? Talk about THE POTUS CALLING THE KETTLE BLACK! Granted, Mister Muse may be guilty of occasional excess tossing and turning in bed, but if Mrs. Muse isn’t complaining, on what basis does El Trumpo base his baseless blasphemy? Muse is admittedly no Rip Van Periwinkle, however that doesn’t make his restless, less-than-sound sleep, “erratic behavior” (at least, until being stripped of his security blanket, thereby making him no longer responsible for his behavior).
In an odd coincidence, this comes on the heels of POTUS revoking the security clearance of former CIA Director, John Brennan, which provoked a protest from 12 former CIA chiefs and this stinging rebuke from retired Navy Admiral, Bill McRaven:
Friends, these are critical times for the future of the Land of Nod and the United States. Patriots of the United States have lost no time in defending John Brennan from the machinations of POTUS. Will you now rise to the defense of Mister Muse for the good of the Land of Nod? Demand that El Trumpo restore my security blanket, and you will sleep better for it….and so, rest assured, will I.
“I don’t see it as a safety issue because it isn’t.” –Bill Kaeppner, president of Ohio Motorized Trails Assn., speaking in favor of the State Division of Forestry’s proposal to allow all-purpose vehicle trails to cross hiking trails in Ohio State Parks
Reading the foregoing quote in a local newspaper article a few weeks ago, the possible applications of its incontrovertible logic struck me like the twaddle in a Trump tweet. Think of the implications for settling all manner of opposing positions. Think of all the cross-purposes which could be brought to a screeching stop, like trail traffic in a forest, by a simple red light at a crossing intersection. Friends, Romans, Fishermen, the solution is as obvious as the nose on your face: IT ISN’T BECAUSE IT ISN’T. End of de bait.
Let us take a look at a few of of Trump’s favorite declarations as examples of settling matters by simple fiat (it is or isn’t, because he says it is or isn’t):
WITCH HUNT — which is to say, do I look like a witch? (well, he’s got us there–no self-respecting witch would look like him)
THERE’S NO COLLUSION — and even if there was, it ain’t illegal. (just ask Putin–your Russian to judgment)
FAKE NEWS — any news not viewed through the fair and balanced lens of Fox News. (not to crow, but the allegory here is a piece of cake):
CHOKED LIKE A DOG —in other words, a loser. (spoken like a man who’s the only President never to have owned a dog since McKinley)
BELIEVE ME — would I lie? (like a sleeping dog, Donald–like a sleeping dog)
that the malaise of Donald Trump’s moral vacuity
doesn’t linger like a curse in oral (and worse) perpetuity
so when his term on his bully stage is o’er, we
see that our humanity (which his vanity tested sore-ly)
has withstood base attacks based on our credulity,
as we pray virtue is its own reward (virtus ipsapretium sui).
One of my readers, who is obviously a glutton for punishment, recently expressed disappointment that I haven’t posted more of my poems lately. At the risk of triggering that old axiom BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR, I thank her for having inspired me to address the deficiency thusly:
DECEIT DON’T STAND
As the twig is bent,
so grows the tree.
As the die is cast,
so shall it be.
If these be true,
why is it wise:
The Donald gets a pass
when he tells those lies?
Of course, I should also thank the President, without whose daily rants my inspiration for this poem would doubtless lie dormant. And now for a word from the truly wise about lies:
Carlyle said, “A lie cannot live”; it shows he did not know how to tell them. –Mark Twain
A man comes to believe in the end the lies he tells about himself to himself. –George Bernard Shaw
I admire liars, but surely not liars so clumsy they cannot fool even themselves. –H. L. Mencken
Pretending that you believe a lie is also a lie. –Arthur Schnitzler
If at first you’re not believed, lie, lie again. –Evan Esar
Not sure why the video is black. Maybe because the lies it laments aren’t white ones. But the sound is clear, and the voice shines through the darkness.
