Trump’s Blatant Racism

DATELINE: Inexcusable Lapses of Judgment

Michigan J. Frog

If you need more than one example to prove that Trump is a fetid racist (on top of a dozen past examples), we have compiled a list of the latest evidence that Donald Trump is unfit to be president of the United States.

He is a blatant and unremitting in his bile. Perhaps he is not a white supremacist, as that entails belonging to a set of social pairings that he has avoided.  However, he has shown a disdain for anyone who happens to be a person of color. We will ignore all his obsessive, continuous, illogical attacks on Barack Obama.

Case in point number one: this week he managed to show his lack of humanity (perhaps another disqualifying characteristic) by suggesting he should have let three college basketball players rot in a Chinese jail for ten years because no one wants to kiss the ring of the reigning monarch.

On top of that, he took on the notorious imbecile LaVar Ball in a battle of twitter -tweetie bird brains. Suffice it to say, there is no honor in bashing LaVar Ball. It’s like kicking a dog with three legs. If Trump wanted to illustrate that he is a vile human being, comments such as this do it.

Oh, please, to those who cry it’s only Twitter. It creates a social condition among the uneducated and dumb supporters of racist notions

Next, Trump is calling for the complete suspension of Dallas Cowboy player Marshawn Lynch. Here is another least popular figure in sports who happens to be black. Lynch sat in Mexico City during the American national anthem, but stood for the Mexican anthem. He hardly seemed to be protesting much of anything. Another imbecile to equal Trump’s IQ on patriotism.

And, finally, there is Steph Curry, a basketball champion who was disinvited from the White House for not supporting Trump. Some have defended Trump by saying that the President did not even realize Curry is “high yellow” (a light-skinned black person).

The only high yellow Trump approves is in in his hair and the streak running down his back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Down with Men

 DATELINE:  All Men are Dogs

ALF

Just today we heard that Senator Al Franken and Sylvester Stallone have joined the sexual assault parade. There isn’t a man to be trusted.

In regard to Man, that generic sexist pig, for years we used to say, “Don’t shoot all the dogs just because one has fleas.”

We now admit that we were wrong. It’s time to shoot all the dogs. They cannot be trusted around women. They cannot be trusted in any kind of polite society. Straight men are Deplorables. Even Trump is one of them.

They should be isolated like some virulent pestilence. Clearly it is time for Amazon society. We don’t mean the buying Internet giant. We mean a society of women without men.

Why, heavens to Betsy, gay men cannot even be trusted around other men. The last month or two has proven the point. Men are dogs. They should be kept in kennels, if not euthanized.

It’s the only way to keep women safe. Even if we put them in prisons, we know they’ll go to their own kind. They are like cannibals. They have voracious sexual appetites.

So sorry to say, women will be better off with women in all leadership positions. Women should have all control over everything related to men. Then, only women will assault other women.

The grand experiment of male domination has now proven to be a complete and utter failure.

Why hang on to the old way? Out with the ganders and in with the geese. Out with the buck and in with the doe.

Castrate the dogs and let the mangy Curs keep to themselves in dog pounds.

Who’s Crazier? Trump or Tom Brady?

DATELINE:   Tom & Ivanka Up a Tree

Winning five Super Bowls will convince you that you are able to walk on water. Not only that, Tom Brady thinks he can drink 20 glasses of water every morning to prevent sunburn and damage to his skin.

He is hydrated on life.

He may also finally be the victim of his own delusions.

It sounds like the man who almost became his father-in-law was Donald Trump. Yep, Trump wanted Tom to marry daughter Ivanka a few years back.

Brady’s biggest fumble was the romance with Ivanka, according to Anthony Scaramucci, disgraced former Trump aide.

If he had accepted Trump’s crazy marriage idea, Tom would be in the White House today, facing Congressional threats while his impeachable father-in-law readied to throw him to the wolves.

Tom’s special sleepware, his athletic regimen, and his special diet, would provide little assistance when faced with jail time for colluding with the Russians.

Instead of being kissed on the cheeks by billionaire Robert Kraft, he’d be kicked in the ass cheeks by billionaire Donald Trump.

By avoiding any trips to the White House, according to Anthony Scaramucci, Tom evaded an embarrassing contretemps with Ivanka and her backup QB, Jared Kushner.

You likely would never have heard of Julian Edelman if Tom’s nuptials took place with Ivanka. Julian who thinks watching Tom pass to other receivers is like seeing your girlfriend kiss another guy. Julian would be living on a Russian gulag if Tom had married Ivanka.

That would not be the life of a New England Patriot legend. He’d be in the cross-hairs of Robert Mueller, not Roger Goodell.

Instead of enjoying a bye-week on the secluded beaches of Costa Rica with Giselle Bundchen, he’d be in the DMZ of Korea with Trump who was defying North Korea to fire a missile at him.

On the turn of a marriage idea, Tom Brady proved he is not quite as crazy as Trump.

 

 

 

 

 

Trump Takes on Superstars of Sport

 DATELINE:  Trump Begins to Rival Dumb & Dumber

Dumb America    King Trump Wears the Crown Well

As one of the Deplorables who voted for President Trump to be our leader, we are frankly becoming more alarmed and embarrassed by our selection.  

Once again at one of the Nazi-style Putsch rallies, Mr. Trump called out and called for firing of any NFL athlete who takes a knee during the National Anthem.  He also slandered private sector workers by calling the knee-jerk protester:  “a son of a bitch.”
 

We are not fans of this particular choice of protest at professional sports events, and certainly not a fan of Mr. Colin Kaepernick, the main instigator. However, we do tend to believe that people have a right to vote and speak freely.
 

If you’re keeping track, this is yet again another case of Mr. Trump calling for a private citizen to be fired from his job for political speech. Not coincidentally, all of these people are black or people of color. That strikes us as disturbing. That does tend to put a dark hue on the President’s darker feelings. Whether you work for ESPN, or the NFL, you have a right to express yourself. 

Trump also denigrated basketball champion superstar Steph Curry by rescinding an invitation given to visit the White House. Curry is what you might call “high-yellow,” the lightest form of being a person of color. Trump did not rescind an invitation to Tom Brady who also did not attend the White House rally. 

Trump’s tirade has caused strange bedfellows to join hands: Roger Goodell has called the President divisive and ignoring all the good done by NFL players. And LeBron James, on the NBA, had more choice words for the leader of the world. 

We are beginning to become worried that the President of the United States wants to dismantle the US Constitution.  

And, as someone who claims he is against white supremacy is he certainly is the pin a boy for that philosophy. 

We suspect we’re not the only ones who were horrified when the president of the United States refers to American citizens as “sons of bitches.”  while advocating firing these concussed people of color who work outside the government. 

Pardon us for saying “yikes.” 

Twin Peaks: Revised and Unresolved

DATELINE: Confounded Yet Again

dead but not gone

If you walk with David Lynch, you play with fire.

Despite our wishes, David Lynch did not put the entire cast in a bus and drive it off a cliff at Twin Peaks. Perhaps he should have.

If you thought everything would be wrapped up as the story seems to end (as if ever possible), you’re looking for a Christmas present under the wrong Douglas fir tree.

Everything comes full circle, and Twin Peaks brings us right back to the first episode 25 years ago. There, you will find a rewrite, revisions galore, to the original story, as agent D.B. Cooper returns to meet Laura Palmer before her fate. His mission seems to be to prevent the murder that started the entire 25-year odd odyssey.

Thank heavens Kyle MacLachlan and Sheryl Lee have not changed one whit. They play themselves 25 years ago, no mean feat. And they don’t look too bad in the process.

Lynch does assemble the entire cast in the Twin Peaks police station, and there seems to be some kind of paranormal activity with spirits, smoke, and bad lighting.

However, unless you own some kind of Ouija board or crystal ball, you will not understand what on earth is going on. As a Greek chorus, the mobster  Jim Belushi standing there for no good reason also asks the question, “What the hell is going on?”

The actors themselves look befuddled as they perform the scene. Well, as long as the paycheck doesn’t bounce, actors will perform in any tripe being of any stripe.

This episode ends with the late Jack Nance being fondly remembered at the end of the credits this time, “in memory of.”  Yes, he starts the original series once again by not finding the dead Laura Palmer wrapped in cellophane on the shore.

Alas, the more things change, the more they remain the same.

Penultimate Twin Peaks

DATELINE: Down to the Finish Line

peaked

We’re going round the bend, literally, and figuratively, on the new David Lynch marathon in surreality, Twin Peaks.

For sixteen hours we have seen Dead People, People from Another Dimension, Weirdos, and maddening loose ends as well as standard plot holes. That’s the bargain with Lynch.

The recent show has started to blow up loose ends and loose characters, thankfully not waiting until ten minutes before denouement to drive the entire cast off one of the twin peaks of the title. So, Kyle MacLachlan has snapped out of his doldrum-idiot Doppleganger Dougie, and evil D.B. Cooper has dispatched his illegitimate son with electrifying alacrity.

In the meantime, Lynch has discovered a new star, Eamon Farren. Let’s hope he fares better than Dana Ashbrook or James Marshall in the next 25 years.

What more can be expected? Oh, Cooper’s assistant, long lost Diane turns out to be some kind of spirit from beyond, her connection to Dougie’s wife, Naomi Watts, now ignored in a puff of smoke and gunfire.

We saw Don Murray, formerly the leading man for Marilyn Monroe in Bus Stop, looking spry as he pushes 90 and thanked by Cooper for lending his old Hollywood fame to the tale.

There was a shoot-out in one of those foreclosed Las Vegas communities that didn’t make much sense. But, we never expect much sense.

When Cooper regains his wits, he is able to say, “I am the FBI,” with all the swagger fans of the show wanted to hear. Perhaps Sheriff Michael Ontkean will make an appearance in the final show.

Whatever will the final two-hour monstrosity of this TV Guernica give us? We know that Sherilyn Fenn has a revelation while looking in the mirror.

Twenty-five years passing will do that.

 

 

 

Trump & Roach Motels

 DATELINE:  Hurricane Harvey Solutions

Astro

Hurricane Harvey may cause millions to flee areas about to be devastated by a Category 4 storm with winds over 140 mph.

Fear not, citizens. The Trump Homeland Security promises that checkpoints along the route will operate as usual, even if you are delayed from escaping the fury of Nature.

You must bear with the Homeland Security folks who put your life in danger because they have a job to do:  find those pesky illegals who are trying to save their lives from natural disaster.

Of course, this means you are damned if you do, and deported if you do. The upshot is that an unknown quantity of people will stay in harm’s way.

President Trump sent out one of his patented tweets that essentially said, “Rotsa Ruck,” like he was a Jetson dog.

“Good job, Brownie,” as President Bush once notoriously said as thousands died in Hurricane Katrina, and countless others suffered violence and lawlessness..

To that end, Emergency Shelters will become Roach Motels. Illegal aliens will check in—but won’t be allowed to check out.

roach motelFEMA Emergency Shelter

Yes, the storm will become the Trump Pied Piper, leading the tired and huddled masses to deeper dangers and fears.

What’s a little phobia?  Every day brings a little death in Texas where you cannot trust civil servants to be civil, or provide you with food and water unless you have papers to prove you are an American citizen.

There is no rest for those seeking refuge from poverty—or from impending doom. Your federal government is at work, like the Post Office, neither rain, wind, nor President Trump, will stop them from doing the work of the Grim Reaper.

Good job, Trumpie.

Going, Going, Gone in Boston Sports and Trump Politics

DATELINE:  Time to Outline a New Book? 

In the immortal words of Don Corleone in Godfather 3, “Every time I try to get out, they pull me back in.”

Yes, Boston sports humor is like that.

We want to say, “Book’em, Dan-o,” but is there really another book here? Celtics or Pats?

Now, we feel sucked back into calling Trump the cause of turning the Patriots into the most despised team in the NFL, and now we are sucked back into the Celtics who have sent another oddball point guard into the LeBron Twilight Zone. Move over, Rajon Rondo.

Word has filtered out after the fact now that Isaiah Thomas, our dear little cousin IT, was actually not liked on the Celtics team by his mates. What???

Yes, his martyrdom status as midget wrestler and tiny tot grew thin on the nerves of many fellow players. His ego seems to have been bigger than his player status. Hence, he is now playing on the all-ego team with LeBron James, another character we try to avoid in any humor discussion.

Cousin IT was doomed when his closest friend and longtime Celtic player, Avery Bradley, was sent packing earlier in the summer.

Head honcho Danny Ainge was not about to pay big bucks to secondarily big stars. It did not matter that Tom Brady liked IT. Tom Brady likes Donald Trump. In the end, Tom only can save himself in Boston. In Boston, Trump is a lost cause.

We told various sports fans there would be no book this year on the Celtics or on the Patriots, which seemed to bring much relief when it was not greeted with a yawn. But, now, we are cast into the depths of indecision.

We could do a book on Donald Trump’s season in hell, but Bobby Valentine already did it for us. On the other hand, we suspect Mr. Trump will quit in the middle of our book—leaving us with a Charlottesville Web conundrum on whether it’s crypto-Nazi or neo-Nazi. It could be ether, or eye-ther.

Should we just call the whole thing off?

We are offering up a trial balloon on Trump to see if the media shoots it down as more fakery from the news bakery.

Is Trump the newest sports satire?

We know Trump’s on third, because he is going down yet again, but always rises anew like a rally in Phoenix.

Ossurworld has done a series of books of humor on the Celtics and Patriots. He may or may not do another one. His latest is NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS MOST OFF OFF-SEASON EVER. It’s available for smart readers. Just put it on your tab.

 

 

Night Must Fall, or at Least Trip Lightly

wacky mcavoy

DATELINE:  Shyamalan’s Latest

Producers continue to give M. Night Shyamalan money to make movies of his choice, despite commercial and critical disparaging words.

The latest is called Split, about a man (if you can call him that in a supernatural thriller) with 24 personalities.  That’s a personality disorder with capital letters. It is about as overwrought as hyperbole can make it.

Shyamalan wrote this as well as directed. In terms of his writing, this film obviously came together after he saw William Wyler’s The Collector from 1965. That film is about a disturbed young man who kidnaps a beautiful girl and keeps her prisoner in hopes of making her fall in love with him.

This time, the man with the identity disorder kidnaps three women and keeps them prisoner in an elaborate underground prison. At least the John Fowler story of The Collector explained how he won the lottery which financed his mad caprices.

That’s not enough here. Shyamalan adds a touch of Hannibal Lecter and Psycho to the mix. That should pile-on adequately.

Don’t misjudge: this film has a rather wild performance by James McAvoy who limns about six personalities. He is highly watchable. Betty Buckley plays his therapist who is a classic enabler.

Shyamalan has all his usual Hitchcockian pretenses at hand: he makes a cameo again, sets all his films in Philadelphia, and loves to hear echoes of other movies. If you think this is his best since Sixth Sense, he will agree with you—as the sequel is already on the books, Mr. Glass.

Indeed, Bruce Willis makes a cameo at the end to promote the sequel. Nothing like trying to microwave your stew to guarantee an audience smells the aroma.

The film reaches the outer limits by the end credits, trying to sell us that psychosis is actually a means to reach the supernatural. Our grandmother used to say, “Balderdash,” and it still fits.

Twin Peaks, Trump Plains, & Celtics Lows

DATELINE:  LeBron James as Laura Palmer, Trump as D.B. Cooper

glowing orb

Chicken or egg? We can’t figure out if the Trump Administration has prepared us for the new series Twin Peaks, or whether Twin Peaks has prepared us for the continuing weirdness of the Trump presidency.

When we see President Trump putting his hands on a glowing orb, we know there is a conspiracy of billionaires to control the world. Of course, it is merely a futuristic ribbon-cutting scene from the most recent Star Wars movie. Either that, or it is opening a gateway to an alternate universe, like the plots of Twin Peaks.

By the same token, we feel as if watching the Cleveland Cavaliers with the Boston Celtics is like knitting by Madame Defarge while royalty is having their heads chopped off.

On Twin Peaks, agent DB Cooper has returned to the northwest after disappearing for 25 years. That David Lynch has such a sense of humor.  So far, McLachlan has not rubbed any glowing orbs, but has kissed dead Laura Palmer (Cheryl Lee).

On the Celtics, little Cousin IT (Isaiah Thomas) and AB (Avery Bradley) are from the same neck of the woods in Washington state which happens to be the setting for Twin Peaks. It could explain a lot about how the Celtics are playing like Laura Palmer’s body wrapped in plastic.

Even stranger, we were amazed to see Kyle McLachlan and Sheryl Lee looking just like they stepped out of a 1990s TV show.  It becomes even more amazing when David Lynch has to inject a phrase at the end of every episode of the show that the episode is dedicated to the memory of one of the cast members who is now dead. We mean really really dead dead, like the log lady Catherine Coulson and the FBI agent played by Miguel Ferrer.

As for the dead Celtics, they are merely playing in an alternate universe, sort of like Twin Peaks 25 years later. If there is a glowing orb in the NBA, they better start rubbing it now. Lebron is no Laura Palmer.

Clothes Unmake the Man; Edelman in Mufti

DATELINE: Living DangerouslyFeatured image

Julian Edelman continues to live with the middle name “Danger.” Halloween has brought JE11 to the dreaded Day of the Dead Ringer.

It is not his on field heroics that make him a daredevil. Oh, no, he is now flirting with the self-destructive flames that finally engulfed Wes Welker.

If this weekend’s drag costume is any indication, we are wishing he could go back to the thrilling days when he dressed up as a Nevada State Trooper in tight shorts as his Halloween impersonation. Mufti may suit Edelman, but his suit is a longshot this time.

This year Tom Brady may take two steps away from Edelman, and he may give the prized seat on the bench next to the star QB to Danny Amendola, whose insanity does not translate into poking a stick at Bill Belichick.

If someone wants to give Edelman a cache of old Welker tapes showing his various antagonisms of the Head Coach, this might be a blessing—or it may already be too late. Julian Edelman wishes he were Bill Belichick, and perhaps one day he will be a coach in the NFL. We do not think he will be coaching for Bill Belichick any time soon.

Dressed in drab gray like the notorious Hoodie Himself, Edelman has not only found the fashion gravitas to imitate his coach. He has used the Method actor’s technique to channel the personality into the cut-off sleeves and semi-attached headphone.

Perhaps imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, or perhaps flattery is imitation’s sincerity.

Julian Edelman deserves an extra Snickers in his candy grab bag for this audacious twist. Those who are about to die will probably salute Julien Edelman—all others will run for the hills.