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Quit While You’re Ahead
Congressional Republicans are in a tricky position. They sat down at the poker table this election year and drew to an inside straight. The voters have dealt them an unbeatable hand of absolute one-party control of our government. But that lucky draw came in the form of the The Joker — an erratic, unpredictable, amoral opportunist who could either conspire with them in their grand plans or blow those plans to smithereens. They could rake in a political bonanza…or just as easily end up in the dustbin of history. It all depends on that wild card in the White House.

Of course, they could still fold their hand anytime they want to and go home a winner. If their agenda of fantasy-based policies of economics and social justice is ever truly threatened by Cirque de Drump, they are capable of ending this sorry presidency in a D.C. minute. All the evidence for a successful impeachment and removal is right there, ready and waiting. No need to pile on over Russia; that path is too risky anyway. The smart move would be to plug in to the Emoluments Clause. We’re only a hundred days in, and he’s already violated it many times over.

The votes would certainly be there. Every Republican member of Congress secretly detests Drump and pines for a President Pence. Pence is one of theirs: pious, plastic, and phony as a three-dollar bill. And most of all, he’s pliable. I think at least half of the GOP caucus, given the opportunity, would be ready to pull the ripcord on impeachment. As for Democrats, my guess is they will provide 100% buy-in no matter what the legal rationale.

To dump Drump, however, the GOP will also need a good cover story to spin for his faithful followers. Based on the history of this voting bloc, the story does not have to be true or even rational. A simple appeal to fear or hatred should do the trick.

There are a number of approaches that could work, and all of them require outright lying. As I have indicated, that will not be a problem. I am not endorsing any of these suggestions, mind you, but rather presenting them to the Republican Party to use as it sees fit:

1. Declare that Drump is black, and that he was born in Africa. It worked before, why not now? The fact that he appears to be white only makes his charade more insidious and frightening.

2. Label him as a female/latino/muslim/LGBTQ or some other Other. This story would not be as sure-fire as the claim of blackness, but it still represents a proven strategy. Note that claiming he is a black, female, latino muslim who is also L, G, B, T, or Q would have the highest chance of success. Ironically, the fact that such a claim would be patently ridiculous would also make it the most credible to the target group. Not sure why that is, but the record is clear.

3. Accuse him of being in league with any or all of these groups or of being genuinely concerned about their issues. A traitor, in other words, to people like you and me. Or at least like me; I’m not too sure about you.

For the record, claiming that Drump is in league with Putin — even though the ex-KGB assassin is a proven enemy of our country and a threat to our way of life — will not work. Also ineffective: proving that Drump’s policies would hurt the target group, that he is ripping off the country for millions, that he is dangerously incompetent, or that he actively despises members of the target group. All true, of course, but that’s irrelevant.

My only advice for the Grand Old Partiers is not to wait too long. Quit while you’re ahead. You’ve already got your Supreme Court justice; I suggest you slam through a fat tax cut, take away a few life-sustaining programs from the poor, and call it good. Cash out your winnings and put an end to the whole ugly spectacle. If you don’t, if you get greedy, this pile of garbage might just spontaneously combust and burn your sorry-ass party to the ground. The sooner you pull that ripcord, the better off we’ll all be.
Señor Moment
Oh I still got it, pal
And I handle it
With flair

Brandish it and wield it
With the same old devil-
May-care

Yes I still got it, pal
And it’s still all covered
With hair

But I put it down a sec ago
And I can’t remember
Where
Genuine Fake
As life goes on
I can’t deny
The bullshit begins
To solidfy

What used to be
A silly pose
Is now as certain
As my nose

With each new
Posture that I chose
I tried it on
Like a suit of clothes

And now it fits me
Like a glove
The affectation
Has turned to love

And soon the bullshit
Will harden to stone
Live on without me
And stand on its own

It will serve
As my memorial
And no one will know
If it’s faux or real
Trapped Inbox
Bladder leakage. Unwanted moles. Herpes Madness. And that old favorite, hot Russian girls! These are but a few of the hypothetical needs I see being addressed in my email inbox. In a way, I am touched by the concern so clearly expressed by these messages. It’s nice to know that, in this time of self-absorption and alienation, there is some one out there who cares.

And yet, these matters are quite personal in nature. While I don’t want to be specific, some of these messages strike quite close to home. I am by nature a private person, and it troubles me when others feel free to address my issues so openly. Part of me worries that they have somehow discovered my secrets and now feel free to bandy them about on the worldwide web. I obsess about a nightmare scenario in which my most personal data is shared with some massive digital clearinghouse of internet creepiness.

It is obvious to me that I have been hacked. The list of coincidences is just too long to ignore. Whoever it is that tracks unwanted blemishes has clearly tapped into my data and gathered intimate details about my moles (which, if you must know, are all unwanted).

I have no way of knowing the scope of this breach, but it now appears that the creepiness has access to my financial data as well. Just today I received a notice that the warranty has expired on my family car. True, but how did they find out? I don’t share the status of my product warrantees with even the closest of my friends. In fact, I throw most of them into the trash. That’s how deep this thing has gone!

Another message tells me my application was incomplete and that this is my second notice. Will I be granted more notices? Is there still time? And what am I applying for, anyway? This webmonster, or whatever it is, apparently lives in a mysterious cloud somewhere in another dimension, and it has somehow come to know about things that I haven’t even done yet!

The only thing I can’t figure out is why this all-powerful being is interested in me. It not only cares about my moles and the porosity of my bladder, it wants to help. Too desperately I fear. I suppose I should be grateful, but I am consumed by paranoia. It seems to me that I am naked and alone, defenseless against an irresistible force. What am I to do? What will become of me?

Oh! I know… I’ll just Google it!
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No "new normal" for me, this shit ain't normal.
~ MS, Truckee