What If The President Were Violated By A Moose?

Five years ago people would have found the idea of a rutting moose violating the president to be scandalous.

“Where were the Secret Service? They were derelict in their duty to protect the president at all costs from the amorous grip of a rutting moose.”

Certainly that is the sort of commentary we would have heard but it is not five years ago and we live in a time when the King of the Oompa-Loompas feels empowered to spend taxpayer money flying from city-to-city to make fun of a woman who has accused a man of sexual assault at one of his book burning rallies.

Maybe it is to distract from the news that he is a mediocre businessman who gained most of his fortune through money given by daddy and or hidden from the government.

Sadly for him the sheeple that believe the king isn’t a xenophobic bully won’t move to protect him from the loving grip of the moose unless it happens to prevent them from watching Fox news or they think it might hurt their income.

Show Some Respect

Some of y’all are rolling your eyes and baring your fangs at me for not showing the president the proper respect.

You want to know why I am standing on the sidelines cheering the moose on, “Faster, harder, deeper- make him find god you great beast!”

Ok, I wouldn’t just stand there and cheer. I’d tell Donny to ask the moose to be courteous enough to give him a little tickle, ya know a reach-around and then I’d pull the moose off of him.

Since I am fairly certain Don wouldn’t walk normally I’d try to not to pull a Kavanaugh and make fun of the stumbling, except I’d fail to do it.

Why?

Because POTUS is a man’s man and we don’t show weakness, we make fun of it.

So if we were bleeding from that oversized ass, the one big enough to park a bus in I would make a crack about it and then offer to help the Secret Service agents because they don’t deserve my derision.

Those men and women are doing their job and protecting a clown most worth of contempt.

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Ya know this talk of boys being boys and the excuses made for bad behavior bother me for all sorts of reasons.

It isn’t just because I am the father of a daughter or I am angry that some of my friends went through very hard times but because I hope I never did anything to be someone’s bad memory.

I don’t believe I did but I have looked backwards to try and figure out if I was a jerk.

****

A friend told me not to publish anything like this because they said it could hurt me.

“Don’t ever suggest you might have done anything wrong or do anything to make fun of politicians because if you look for work it might be used to hurt you. Besides you never know if you are going to end up on Trump’s enemy list.”

I shook my head and said the day Trump puts me on that kind of list is the weeks beyond the point things have really gone to hell.

I write satire and goofy crap which is protected by the Constitution because it is not promoting violence against the government.

While I offer heavy criticism of the current failing administration and their sheeple supporters I want to see them all taken out and replaced through legal means.

I sometimes wonder if we have passed place where moderates and centrists can exist in our two parties and have thought about a third.

But I don’t know if we can put a viable third party out there now. Don’t know if we can put one up that won’t just siphon off votes and give away an election.

Who Will Jump Out Of a Plane With/For You?

The last time I lived alone I came very close to getting another dog.

I lived on the third floor of an apartment in Grapevine, right above a golden retriever who reminded me of an old friend.

Sometimes I would sit out on my patio and talk to the furry dude. I’d tell him about how I missed having my pal around and how he would have jumped out with me.

“That is one of those questions in life that we ask. Who will jump out of a plane with or for you.?”

Sometimes he’d wag his tail and I’d tell him the tale of Uncle Joe and how he parachuted into Long Beach after the earthquake in ’33.

Since I didn’t arrive until ’69 it was a story I heard from various family members but never from Uncle Joe, primarily because he took his own walk through the cornfields before I was born.

I asked dad to say to Uncle Joe along with my grandparents but I can’t say whether he heard or if he’ll remember.

So maybe I am sharing this to say there is a certain level of crazy that runs in the family. Maybe it is because I felt like highlighting something important to me and pointing out that when truly motivated I can make things happen.

Or maybe it is because I had to stop talking about the King of The Oompa-Loompas because people say they can’t handle my pounding on him.

“You’re relentless and it gets old real quickly.”

Sometimes I respond by smiling and sometimes I just ignore them and do whatever the hell it was I was doing.

But occasionally I try to give them my best thousand mile stare and see if I can convince them that I am three biscuits short of the Colonel’s special.

Read that last line twice and try to figure out what I am referencing or if there is a secret message.

Bet you can’t figure it out, doesn’t matter if you’re a monkey or wear your favorite shmata.

Why?

Because sometimes I am interested in trolling and tweaking and sometimes I just feel like blowing off steam by writing some ridiculous nonsense.

Dancing With My Doppleganger

The guy who looks like me but has a different name might have posted something somewhere else that was designed to incite and inflame the sheeple.

He might have spent time cultivating a fine relationship with the Morlocks, Thugs and Criminal enablers there because he wondered if they would ban him from hanging out.

It is not nice to taunt others who say you come from a state filled with criminals and communists with facts and figures they can’t understand.

You really shouldn’t bring old Sweetcheeks into the fray ‘cuz dat rascal stoll a hart of a ladee and neber gave it bak.

But if you did such a thing you might lead the people on a merry chase that would make Mr. Toad beam with pride.

That old doppleganger really knows how to bring it, even when exhaustion has overtaken him and he must function on less than two hours.

Fight the power. Fight the foolish. Fight the fighters and the followers. Fight because you can’t think of any other fucking way to get through and never stop until the fight is over.

One more step, one more minute, one more day and one step closer.