Cousy Loses Mettle over Medal

DATELINE: Tarnished Hero with Feats of Clay

 Chump or Champ with Cousy?

On a night when when usually are talking about Ancient Aliens, we find ourselves facing a true abduction crisis and missing time. It seems that Boston Celtics legend, Bob Cousy, has been taken prisoner to the White House, turned back the clock to the years before the Civil Rights movement, and now he has become the voice of white racist America in the Oval Office.

Yes, Bob Cousy who reconciled whatever differences he had with fellow NBA legend Bill Russell has rekindled the fires.

He received a pat on the back from the President he most admires apparently in his lifetime. What happened to the Celtic legend?

Well, his Jesuit roots of Holy Cross conservatism emerged. Perhaps you can write him off as the aging hero outliving his standards of integrity. Growing old does not always mean you die of Alzheimer’s. Sometimes you simply become the epitome of everything you lived through and fought against.

Time makes us all doddering fools and blithering idiots. You can outlive your usefulness and your own personal values. It’s called betrayal by younger idealists, but it is far more powerful than that.

Cousy once teamed with Tommy Heinsohn on the parquet floor of the Boston Garden, and they were both brilliant and talented men beyond the game that made them famous. One season in retirement years they were even teamed up as fellow commentators for a season of Celtics games on TV. It was extraordinary to behold.

When they grew furious with each other, now and then, they simply called each other, “Thomas,” and “Robert.”

We wonder if Tom has started calling his friend of lifelong years, “Robert.” We know that William Russell may be doing so, if he is even speaking to his one-time nemesis in the locker room. Time wounds all heels and we have an Achilles heel ripped  apart by the President Medal of Freedom. 

Perhaps Couz showed his mettle by doing and saying whatever needed to receive his Medal. 

He stood next to a man who wants to give himself the Congressional Medal of Honor. Heaven help our old heroes from their blithering end of days.

Trump’s Take Down: Statue of Liberty!

DATELINE: Bogus Bureaucrat

Doggerell dog Barf! Lap Doggerel?

We all know that Donald Trump is a dog in a manger. He doesn’t know a metaphor if it bit his tail-bone. He would literally kill the poem and poet to serve his political ends. He belongs in Dante’s lowest circle.

We now realize that Trump is a poet laureate of doggerel.

He has sent his primary guard dog, Frank Cuccinelli, head of Immigration Nazism ICE Hate, to bite the hand that feeds freedom.

Yes, the Trump imbeciles now want to change the Emma Lazarus poem on the Statue of Liberty. Those huddled masses are not welcome here.

Without a sense of scanning a line of poetry, and no training in the art of lyrics, the Trump mongrel wants to add out of balance metaphors to suit their minor-brain-locked gate of America.

Do they really think that literary history is open to their pea-brain ideas of chopping off the freedoms of the Constitution?

Of course, when you press these doggerel poets, they admit they are merely foaming at the mouth: they are not ready to take down the pedestal’s famous words. It’s all a ploy to upset the media and the public and distract people from children in cages and morons in the White House.

Blowhard Cuccinelli did say: “I do not think, by any means, we’re ready to take anything off the Statue of Liberty. We have a long history of being one of the most welcoming nations in the world on a lot of bases, whether you be an asylee, whether you be coming here to join your family or immigrating yourself will include a meaningful analysis of whether they’re likely to become a public charge or not.”

Talk about fake news.

 

 

Crossover from Another Dimension?

 DATELINE: Crop Circles

crop face  Crop Circle face?

A highly intelligent and careful documentary on Crop Circles and the intensity of experiences in the farmlands and countryside of England can be found in Crossover from Another Dimension.

It provides seminal information on the history of these events, which can be traced back hundreds of years, even near the Stonehenge area. Of course, back then there were no overhead views: except from local hilltops. So, if there were intricate designs, these were not recorded.

The modern phenomenon starts in the 1970s and seemed to spread quickly across the globe. Again, the earliest curios in wheatfields and hay fields were not sophisticated, but grew far more complex within a few years.

Many attribute this to hoaxers, yet the issue remains that many of these messages and aesthetic designs could not have been created in just a few hours with a handful of people overnight. There were fakes, of course, but not all fall into the category.

When you add in, the film’s study of electrical effects on skin and thyroids, you have something decidedly odd. There is enough medical worry that pregnant women are advised not to enter crop circles.

Mostly, owners of the land are frightened to pursue any legal action, though they are often irked that their livelihood has been damaged, often to the size of hundreds of feet/meters. Some hastily mow down the designs to prevent further intrusions.

The plants are gently bent; they break only when visitors trample on them. Films show lightning flashes and sudden appearances, or orbs that fly over an area, even in daylight.

The military sends out helicopters to chase away orbs but deny there is any rhyme or reason to their actions.

Whatever the visitors are who make these designs, often in mimesis of Mayan calendar art , you have a mystery that is far more than a cheesy fake news event.

One face made in the crops can best be seen by a high altitude. What on or off earth is going on?

Shark Week, 2019

DATELINE: Overbite

yum yumYummy! Eat’em up!

Everybody’s a critic. One of the best images we have seen from our Discovery “Shark Week” sampling is the Great White attacking a robo-sub with camera.

These denizens of the deep do not like Paparrazzi any more than normal celebs. Now that they have become superstars of the underwater, Great White Sharks have shown a bit more temperament when they find their secret lives being filmed by robotic submersibles.

In one show, we watched Shaq, giant basketball star, in a cage trapped with a small shark. Talk about panic, and the unsettling idea that shark bites are minor concessions to a creature that does not like the taste of people.

Actually, based on some of these documentaries, the taste of producers is dubious—and we agree with the sharks.

Since there are hundreds of varieties of sharks, the week of films on Discovery now feature Hammerheads, blues, bulls, and on and on. Move over, Great White, you have company.

We also find that notion that these “researchers” are a bunch of little boys screaming, “Wow,” and ‘Whoa,” which are dutifully translated into subtitles like a Batman TV episode.

These middle-aged researchers grew up watching Shark Week and now aspire to be among the celebrities who are showcased with the money shot of jaws biting wildly.

Another show featured Mauricio Hoyos again, the cutie-pie researcher who enjoys watching giant Great Whites, of twenty feet, attack elephant seals who congregate on Guadalupe Island, off Mexico.

This episode featured the delightful images of a shark turning the tables on the hunters of pictures by sneaking up from beneath and vertically, to bite the smaller sub, like it is a grinder sandwich.

Several bites nearly do in the expensive computer machine. It is no match in speed or strength to the jaws of destiny that the society of Great Whites enjoin each year.

It is the first time you will see a stealthy attack under water, as usually the shark breaches and jumps up like a whale at Seaworld for our edification.

These endless and often mindless shows beat the drum about how these are not monsters and should be shown respect, even as these jokers try to grab sharks by the tail or prove their manhood by swimming with sharks.

After a series of pointless, puerile, and dangerous stunts, “Shark Week” is overkill. We may skip it for another 20 years.

Moment of Definition: Republican!

DATELINE: Republic Con Job?

 Really, Republicans?

This is definitely not the week to be a Republican in Baltimore.

Without a doubt, this is not the week to be a Republican in Maryland.

We suspect this is not the week to be a Republican if you are black.

You are not a Republican if you are among the rat-infested in Kushnerville, Baltimore.

You probably don’t want to call yourself a Republican if you are a decent, kindhearted person who likes people.

You probably don’t want to call yourself a Republican if you are not a white nationalist neo-Nazi .

In all likelihood you are not a Republican if you believe in democracy and free elections

When Trump claims he is not a racist, you likely believe him if you are a Republican.

If you know anything about history, you may not call yourself a Republican.

If you believe Abraham Lincoln would be ashamed of the Republican party today, you are likely not a Republican.

If you believe Donald Trump is the most corrupt president in American history, you are definitely not a Republican.

If you don’t think Trump is a lockstepping, goose-stepping Nazi, you are definitely a rank and file Republican.

If you are a white Red Sox fan, you likely are a Republican.

If you think Shakespeare’s Richard III is not about Trump, you are a Republican.

If you feel like you are being drummed out of your party by racists, You are probably a Republican with a conscience. But chances are, you’re about to switch your registration to anything with human decency—And that definitely means you are not a Republican much longer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grey Wolf, Nazis on the Run

DATELINE: More Nazi Junk

Hitler on deathbed Re-enactor of Hitler on deathbed.

If you are not a Nazi expert, you likely never heard that one of the most popular words in German is “wolf.”  Hitler used it to describe everything from his U-boats to his various lairs and homes.

Grey Wolf is not a western; it’s a Nazi on the Pampas kind of tale.

Now it seems we have old ascot gentleman yellow journalist, Gerrard Williams producing, directing, writing, and putting his familiar undone ascot tie everywhere.

You may recall Gerrard as part of the Hunting Hitler series—like his fellow researcher James Holland, he has branched out into other Nazi realms. Here, he presents us with his theories in a docudrama that shows Hitler living in South America at Bariloche.

He espoused this theory on the Bob Barr series, and now he has given us a big-time documentary. We don’t see Gerrard with his undone silk ascot, dangling in the wind.

His version of Adolph Hitler is old and suffers badly from plastic surgery after the war to help hide his identity. Here too he has escaped with his wife Eva, and at least one daughter (others are rumored but never seen). He is not emaciated and aged from drug addictions to cocaine and crystal meth, as other expert documentaries have revealed.

Gerrard’s escaped Hitler makes strange mistakes of character: the vegetarian is eating squab and living well in Argentina. He seems to have overcome his drug addiction and sundry health problems. Now he mostly depressed and suffering melancholy. After all, he lost a Reich. It does not mesh with the man falling apart in Berlin.

Martin Bormann is the other big name here who seems to dominate his leader—ultimately making money over politics. A bunch of “witnesses” tell their connections: from Juan Peron to teenage house maids.

Hitler is either wearing a wig or has lost weight, grown a few inches, and seems less mercurial. Whether we are meant to accept these discrepancies as bad reports or accept them as proof that Hitler fooled some of the people, we cannot tell you.

We can report that as re-enacted documentaries are concerned, this one is compelling and well-done. If this is all hogwash, we wallowed in it. Gerrard Williams unleashed is a fairly wild film director, compared to his supporting role with Bob Barr in Hunting Hitler. Here Eva leaves Hitler and lives until the 21st century and well into her 90s.

Just another in the cottage industry of Hitler and Nazi history.

 

 

Shocks of the Week?

 DATELINE: Trump Wins Friends & Influences Racism

Forrest animal

We don’t know where to begin, as usual.

First, Donald Trump admitted that he actually read a book cover to cover. The report happened to be the Mueller Report.

Call us a cynic, but he may mean he read the front cover and back cover, but likely nothing in between. We still hold to the conspiracy theory that Trump is a functional literate, graduating from college because of a purchased degree and a laxity of grading policy.

Trump claimed he was not a racist, but never defined his terms.

We are hearing that he was so close to pedophile Jeffrey Epstein that they knew each other’s peccadilloes. It is true that Pecker of National Enquirer was killing stories about Trump’s connection to Epstein as well as his tie to Stormy Daniels.

Believe or don’t. We have a problem with Trump’s truth, when he tells press that he brokered peace between India and Pakistan. Really? India’s prime minister disputed the veracity. But how can you trust someone with such dark skin, according to Steven Miller, Trump’s icy aide-de-camp.

Politics was not all Trump. Some of it fell onto Trump’s pals, like Tom Brady. On vacation in Costa Plenty where his family have an off-season home, the dare-devil and aging Patriot gave his haters some fodder. He jumped off a cliff with his 6-year old daughter into lagoon, as befits a big goon.

Some regarded this as sexist torment and child endangerment. We doubt anyone would have complained if he had jumped with his sons.

Defenders called him a good parent, instilling fearlessness in a little girl who deserves it as much as a little boy.

Meanwhile, another Trump pal, Alan Dershowitz, said he had one massage from an Epstein connectee—and hated it. He is not a massage kinda guy. Well, lawyers are like that.

All the Democrat candidates for Prez in the Senate voted against the Trump choice for Secretary of Defense, except Bernie Sanders who was absent. The vote was 90 to 8.

Never let it be said the politician ride below patriotism, and police in Louisiana are threatening to kill a squad member of the Congresswomen brigade.

Trump’s era is nothing short of Caligula’s era.

Rogue Male: Peter O’Toole Wasted

DATELINE: More or Less Dangerous Games!

rogue assassin Roguish Assassin?

In 1976 Peter O’toole was still looking like a major star. When he did Rogue Male, he seems to be going down the rabbit hole to disappear. It’s The Most Dangerous Game, redux and doubled-down.

The film postulates in 1939 that Neville Chamberlain was worse than a Nazi sympathizer and appeaser. As Sir Robert Hunter (no joke), he goes to assassinate Hitler, is foiled, and uses his British pluck to go after the Fuherer. This Fredric Raphael script is based on a Household novel.

The film is a string of incidents that reveal some smart, intriguing supporting characters along the way, from a German who aids escape, to O’Toole’s Jewish lawyer, his tailor, and on and on. Alas, the film does not rely on this network of adventuresome people.

They are ultimately all for naught.

The picaresque adventure of Hunter features many veddy veddy English creatures, but there are enough enemies to undercut the social amusement. He finds escape to England after torture simply means he trades in one set of vicious Nazis for the collaborators (Jon Standing) in Chamberlain’s government.

We know Winston Churchill is around the corner to save the day. And O’Toole is too busy embarrassing his uncle (Alastair Sim) who is a high-ranking cabinet member. Most film fans recall Sim as the best Ebenezer Scrooge on film 25 years earlier.

The film features one of the final performances of Sim as O’Toole’s breezy Earl of an uncle. He is all too infrequently seen. He is delightful with his nephew whom he calls “Bobbity.”

Les Miserable approach to having O’Toole parallel hunted by a clever government agent is heavy-handed. The agent reads a book by the would=be assassin on hunting and uses its contents to track him down.

Worse yet, O’Toole is literally trapped in an underground rabbit hole for the finale, but we are left puzzled as to motivations and logic between these dark characters.

 

 

Free Agency Strikes America!

DATELINE:  No Free Lunch Anywhere?

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This week we heard a comment that we stopped writing about sports because of “free agency.”  Well, no, not exactly, though it is an appalling condition in society in general.

You have to understand that lack of loyalty and love of money is rampant across America, not just in basketball where Avery Bradley has signed up to re-join Rajon Rondo, and Kyrie Irving left the place he swore he would stay in front of a million fans.

We have seen “free agency” at work everywhere. If there had been DNA tests thirty years ago, we would have exercised free agency and gone to Harvard University to work as a professor: we have learned we are a descendant of Miles Standish and Massasoit (for whom Massachusetts was named). If we knew we had more Native American in us than Elizabeth Warren, we might even be running for President today.

We have seen free agency in the legal profession. The same lawyers who work for Donald Trump also work for Jeffrey Epstein. You go from billionaire to billionaire. Is it more money? Better opportunity? More challenges? It is not loyalty to a brand.

You might switch banks for better interest rates, or switch social media to be with different influencers.

In recent years we have experienced our primary care doctor whom we loved, move to the Sun Belt, where she said in her letter of departure to patients, there were “more opportunities.” To what? Cure cancer? Lower blood pressure? Deal with fewer insurance forms?

This year our dentist, who had a beautiful office and seemed happy, left for “more opportunities.”  That likely means “more cavities to fill,” or “fewer teeth to pull,” or just where weather allows for fewer snow days.

Free agency is everywhere in society today, and it simply means people can go where they want, for whatever dumb reason strikes their limited fancy. We have an endemic pandemic epidemic of movers and shakers in sports, law, medicine, education, and politics.

Heaven help our society. We need a new prayer, and it must be time to move on from the Lord’s Prayer. Hell, no, I won’t go.

Catalina ‘Unidentified’ Hotspot, E2

DATELINE: History Channel’s Latest UFO Series

AATIP Another Dumb Acronym?

We came back for the summer doldrums of TV lunacy. It used to be all about Unidentified Objects, but now the actual TV series is Unidentified.

Luis Elizando and Chris Mellon are indeed high-level former government insiders, but where does Tom deLonge fit into this mix. Maybe rock stars are the last hidden agents of the CIA.

In any respect, the gang seems to take on the notorious 2004 Nimitz incident, only now famous since the Pentagon in its wisdom, released some Tic Tac eye candy to the public.

Yes, we are now to accept without question the Pentagon deciding we can see mysterious video, and the man in charge quits over what is happening. You mean he wanted to keep it all secret?

If you are having trouble sorting this stuff out, a trip to Catalina Island is breathtaking, but won’t make you feel any better. It is 50 miles from Los Angeles and a bunch of important military-space bases.

One witness tells that the government simply confiscated radar data and refused to allow reports to be written about multiple incidents or events where it was “raining” UFOs off Catalina.

For years there has been speculation that there is a base there (someone, we don’t know whom). Our experts are alarmed, like Paul Revere, telling us they are coming by sea.

We don’t know if the space men were red coats or are invisible at 30,000 miles per hour.

We are still asking ourselves who put Luis Elizando in charge of a top-secret Pentagon program called AATIP (probably the same idiots who coined the acronym for the latest UFO sightings).

Second Season Civil War Gold Finale! Fake Gold!

DATELINE:  Hook, Line & Sunk

hook, line, & sunk One Born Every Minute?

If Alex Lagina had any effect on a first-season disaster for Curse of Civil War Gold, he turned it into something far more compelling. As with conspiracy theories and history, you can become more outrageous along the way.

However, he bailed out when his father Marty Lagina blew up over the lack of careful preparation. After firing the diver who found gold, and failed to properly mark its location, Lagina personally escorted John Chatterton to the show.

The dive expert indicated something was amiss. And, a second dive at the last moment revealed that a conspiracy may exist within a conspiracy. The lack of professionalism and giddy accusations may have backfired on Dykstra and his theory.

Yup, the Masons may have salted the mine with gold bricks.

It seems unbelievable that Marty Lagina will sink more of his cash into producing another season, but ratings may be the real gold.

We didn’t see a great deal of Jesse James, as promised, but the inclusion of John Wilkes Booth was inspired stuff from the Lagina investors. They have turned the dross into gold, no matter what Kevin Dykstra ever finds.

The transformation of a small-time rich banker named Charles Hackley into a big-wig with connections to Edwin Stanton also has proven to be magical when it comes to plots to kill Abe Lincoln who might have objected to the Masons taking the Confederate treasury.

It seems these maligned people and groups may have bitten back at Kevin Dykstra. Tune in next year to find out who’s behind the fraud.

Sad State of Victimization

DATELINE: Crime Does Not Pay Victims!

img_4972 Behind You or Dead Ahead?

We took in more victim notions this week. There are no victims, only claimants to the condition, if you are to believe people like Mitch McConnell.

Does it pay to announce you have been attacked, shot, threatened, raped, or otherwise tell the American media and the world of Trump politics?

Apparently, victims are by their definition, people who have been injured by nasty and aggressive hate under the guise that nobody cares about you. Guess what? They epitomize apathy that killed Kitty Genovese nearly 60 years ago.

Chances are you don’t know about Kitty Genovese that created a shocking tenor of American life so many decades ago. How soon they forget? To say the least.

Indeed so, we saw the proof this week that nobody cares about victims, and even worse, the hate squad will “double down” in violating your dignity. We refer to cases involving David Ortiz (shot), Jussie Smollett (racial attack), and E. Jean Carroll (raped), migrant children (government indifference), or Haitians (discrimination).

If you want presidential sympathy, you are living on the wrong side of America upside down. If you draw a comparison to concentration camps, other victims will claim you cheapen their pain.

It’s the double-down and hit them repeatedly philosophy of Donald Trump by him and his stand-ins. If you dare to indicate that you have been mistreated, have been ignored, or fear reprisals, have suffered discrimination, you are looking at a world that laughs twice. And that you cannot forget.

The nemesis for rape, racial hate, and discrimination, is Trump, and you cannot avoid his neo-crypto-Nazi nationalism. He is proud to stomp on you, deny you medical treatment, and take a step toward extermination.

What makes a victim most? Victims will be a woman, gay, blacker than black, and a non-voting child or refugee. If you dare to speak out, you will be shot down faster than a conspiratorial bullet, by those able to deny charity, and promote greatness at the cost of belittling.

Yes, if someone is made small, you are made greater.

The price of being victimized has reached inflation levels. Goodwill is worthless.

Alas, the sum of the parts adds up to a return to a world where you climb the evolutionary ladder by wiping out “inferior” races, cultures, or people.

Welcome to Great America today.

 

 

Caravaggio Affair, Not What You Think

DATELINE:  Them Bones, Them Bones!

Gilles Caravaggio Merisi Caravaggio

Michelangelo Merisi went by the name of his hometown, Caravaggio, when he stormed the art world in the early 1600s. He was the James Dean/Charlie Sheen/O.J.Simpson of his age.

The Caravaggio Affair is an attempt to solve a 400-year-old mystery. They do not delve into his dubious sex life and appetite for young male models but do explain his use of prostitutes to serve as his saintly women.

Caravaggio was a literal back-stabber, and it didn’t sit when with the Viceroy of Naples or various Cardinals at the Vatican.

At the height of his fame, he was wanted for murder and had a bunch of bounty hunters coming after his head. Literally.  If he wanted a pardon, he had to give all his paintings to a high-ranking and corrupt Vatican cardinal.

So, you find a half-dozen beheading of John the Baptist paintings among his masterpieces. The notion of being headless played on his mind. “Off with his head” was not an empty slogan.

Wherever he went, trouble followed. Until he disappeared from history. No one is quite sure if he were murdered, died from some septic illness and discarded in a pauper grave.

He may have also faked his death and took off for parts unknown. However, the scientist biographers in this little film disagree. They bring together history, genetics, archaeology, and geology to literally dig up the truth.

A cavern of bones under a church renders a handful to be tested for age (about 40), male, suffering from severe lead poison (all those paintings, about 1000 times the dose you’d expect from an average person).

Those conditions presented half a dozen candidates. And tests seemed to indicate which one was the painter. It seems he was growing increasingly mad as a hatter, likely from heavy metals. He was erratic, violent, and sick, growing worse.

Forty was not the start of life in 1610. If you reached it, you were not long for the world. So it was for Caravaggio who was attacked, likely caught an infection, and while waiting for a pardon in trade for a bunch of paintings, he collapsed and died.

It’s quite a research trip and fills up an hour with fascinating detail.

Julian Edelman: Bachelor of Something!

DATELINE: Bachelor in Paradise?

beastie-boy

Tom’s Beard

May is here and rose blossoms are being tossed at the most important people who are deserving this weekend for congratulations.

No, we are not talking about motherhood. We mean college graduates.

And, here in New England the biggest college commencement is occurring in Ohio at Kent State. Julian returned to the scene of his undergrad daze to complete his program.

Heretofore, Kent State’s claim to fame was a massacre of students in 1970. Now, it’s an overhyped degree recipient. No one gave Julian Edelman the third degree, only his first.

Yup, over a decade after he dropped out of his mysterious academic program in crypto-something, Julian Edelman has finished his degree requirements and will be graduating. Whether this is criminal justice, or online learning, we can only speculate about adult learners.

Wearing a robe is old hat to Julian but is time we hope he wears something underneath.

Better late than never for pomp and/or circumstance. We wondered when Jules found time to finish up a year of classes. He left after the third year to pursue a career of making big bucks behind Tom Brady’s curve balls.

Maybe Kent State gave him life experience credits.

Edelman has never liked to play second fiddle to anyone, apart from his big brother advocate, Tom. So, when Tom laughed at the quarterback skills of Jules, he became Tom’s go-to pass-receiver. Now his GPA is still half his reception quota.

Yet, Julian has always felt inferior to his taller, more handsome pal. After all, not only does Tom have a wife who is a billionairess, Tom has a bachelor’s degree in general studies. Julian is more focused.

Yes, that marketing skill is the envy of English majors everywhere. Edelman won’t reveal what his area of expertise is in terms of a bachelor of arts or science, but he is unmarried.

We suspect his plays the field generally, studying Tom Brady most of the time. Indeed, this year, he went as Tom’s beard to the Met Gala.

They also shared some fun at the “Kentuky” Derby (according to Trump spellcheck) where Tom won and Julian didn’t.

We now can give Jules the respect he is due: for managing to do online course work (well, someone did it) to achieve his parents’ dream of a well-educated lunatic for a son.

Sexual Politics from Trump Slime

 DATELINE: Move Over, Mayor Pete!

scream up close Moral Outrage Endangered?

If you are among the throngs who wonder what the hell is wrong with Senator Lindsay Graham, we may now have a theory to postulate.

This week another Trump plot was under-covered:  his rich minions who lack all forms of ethical integrity and moral accountability, came up with a plan to use a Republican college student in a Kevin Spacey kind of smear of Democrat Mayor Pete.

The student, who has some integrity, named Hunter Kelly charged the operatives in the Roger Stone manner, of recruiting him to make charges that Mayor Pete raped him. That’s how you deal with gay candidates, or anyone, by making false witness.

Never mind that it is low on the broken Ten Commandments. When you are dealing with Trump supporters, convenience outweighs all else. It is easy for them to swallow, not spit out, the poison.

The same slime-balls used a similar attempt with Robert Mueller, accusing him of being photographed kissing James Comey. It would be laughable if the tweet didn’t come from the Number One Idiot of the country.

Which leads us back to Lindsay Graham. We suspect, and it is a suspicion, that he too is being blackmailed by the super-rich Trump types: they have an affidavit by some cute little Republican college boy who claims Graham assaulted him.

It is the easiest and simplest way to control a closet-case United States senator.

We know sexual politics is alive and well lately: look at the Trump supporters like Robert Kraft, now fighting charges of consorting with prostitutes. The proof is in the video, which was made a few blocks from Trump’s golf hole White House in Florida.

So, Lindsay Graham may be the goose whose gander at Mayor Pete and Robert Mueller could render us insights into the nasty backside of Trump’s gang, which is a broad base.