How the Media Could Rid Us of Trump

July 23, 2021

By Karen

When I watch TV pundits, I’m infuriated when they say things like, “If Trump runs in 2024,” or, “If Trump wins re-election,” or, “Trump’s making noises like he wants to run.”

WTF is wrong with them? Have they seen or heard that fat orange asshole lately? He’s a mess.

Every time CNN, MSNBC or any of Trump’s other “enemies of the people” give Trump a wisp of validation that his current grift is working, it’s fuel to him. It’s like feeding a Gremlin after midnight.

To destroy Trump and his delusion of regaining the White House after losing it by over 7 million votes, let’s follow Michael Cohen’s lead.

Remember Cohen? He was Trump’s lawyer/fixer who once said he’d “take a bullet” for the boss. Then he got three years in prison for a crime Trump made him commit and regained his senses.

Cohen’s under home confinement now and hosts a great podcast called Mea Culpa. It’s the only podcast I make time for because Trump always gets bashed.

(I also appreciate Lawrence O’Donnell’s Last Word because he heaps scorn and insults on Trump nearly every night. It feels like the next best thing to dancing on Trump’s grave.)

Cohen is sure Trump won’t run in 2024 because he’ll never risk the humiliation of losing again, and he never wanted the job in the first place. These days, he’s only stringing the MAGA cult along to keep wringing out campaign donations.

For some reason, Cohen never talks about Trump’s mental deterioration, so I’ll add that Trump continues his disintegration. Listen to some of this audio captured by reporters Carol Leonnig and Phillip Rucker when they interviewed Trump for their new book, I Alone Can Fix It: Donald J. Trump’s Catastrophic Final Year.

Trump babbles the same old lies, delusions, exaggerations and boasts in disjointed fragments and nonsensical tangents. Afterward, Anderson Cooper says it sounded like “Nixon, drunk, rambling,” and it’s “stunning” to think Trump was ever president.

Perfectly put, Anderson.

The media MUST stop normalizing Trump and heed its own eyes and ears. Don’t clean up his quotes to be coherent for print. Reproduce the babbling as-is.

Listen to him for five minutes and realize it’s ridiculous to think he’ll be a factor in 2024.

And that’s without considering all the investigations into myriad felonies that — if there’s any justice left — will send him to prison.

Talking heads need to embrace that any next move for Trump other than bankruptcy, incarceration, or incapacitation is patently absurd. Because it is.

Any commentator who says, “If Trump runs in 2024,” should get a hearty laugh. Incredulity and ridicule must be our blanket response to Trump as anything but a political has-been who’s finished.

It would CRUSH him.

Inspired by Joseph Goebbels, Trump likes to say, “If you say it enough and keep saying it, they’ll start to believe you.”

How about we start speaking the whole truth about Trump enough, and keep saying it, until even his cult can’t ignore it?

When he turns on the TV, Trump needs to see himself belittled, mocked and dismissed on every network. His media outlets will shrink to Fox and OAN until they can’t stand listening to his delusional kvetching another minute and cut him off.

Then we can stick a fork in Trump. He’s done.

As for those clowns in Congress who still prop Trump up, like Kevin McCarthy, Ted Cruz, Matt Gaetz, Jim Jordan, they get the same treatment — derisive laughter until they STFU.

Just a thought.


Chapter 61: COVID Chronicles

May 28, 2020

By Karen

Day78

Am I Showing Signs of Addiction?

Max has been hanging out with me today and now it’s his turn to say hi…

I’ve been proofreading like mad since early this morning an unexpected large project from a client who needed it “yesterday” and whose work always tempts me to put my fist through a wall. It’s as specific as I can get about that. I’m thankful I finally got it out of here, but I feel like I should soak my eyeballs in bleach. Or maybe vodka.

Consequently, nothing else has been happening today. But I’ve been meaning to share how the pandemic has forged this new bond between me and my smartphone.

In the “before” days, I’d sit here three feet from my landline and people knew to call that number because my smartphone was in my purse, off. It could go for weeks untouched and I didn’t miss it. I’d pull it out occasionally to see if it needed a charge. It existed solely for me to make a call in a pinch, not to make me available 24/7 to anyone wanting to interrupt whatever I was doing. You know, like the twits who take calls in Target or at the Food Lion checkout because they’re SO important.

And I’d use the phone occasionally if I was stuck in a waiting room with lousy magazines because I could continue reading a book from my iPad. I have an original iPhone SE, which is small, and I don’t think Apple considered it much of a success.

But now Apple sells a new phone they also call an SE. Why recycle that model name? Did they run out of alphabet? Or creativity?

But I digress. Since I’ve been cooped up, this phone is on and with me in the house every waking moment. Mainly to catch pics of the cats being cute, but I also use it to text my yard guy and handyman because that’s how they roll. Lugging it up and down stairs takes conscious effort because few of my clothes have good pockets.

Come to think of it, the only time I’m not staring at a screen now is when I’m in the kitchen cooking, in the bathroom doing whatever, or sleeping.

I read newspapers first thing on the laptop. I work all day at a desktop. At night I watch TV, that’s another screen, while looking stuff up and ordering cat food on the iPad Mini. Now my phone is attached to me like a fifth limb.

WHAT HAVE I BECOME??!!

BONUS: Turns out MSNBC Last Word host Lawrence O’Donnell is a fan boy of Sarah Cooper’s Donald Trump lip-syncs. Last night he showed several of her clips when he interviewed her. This is the first time I’ve ever heard her real voice…

DOUBLE BONUS: I hope you can make out this fantasy New York Times front page. You only need to read the headlines; the articles are fake. It gives us something to aspire to come January 2021…


Chapter 32: COVID Chronicles

April 29, 2020

By Karen

Day 49

“Quarantine Brain is a Real Thing”

This was said during a commercial break by actress Lauren Ash, who plays assistant store manager Dina on Superstore, one of the crazy sitcoms I love. Are you feeling it yet?

Today marks seven weeks in lockdown. SEVEN. WEEKS. Virginia’s current plan is to keep it going until June 10, so that’s six more weeks. Thirteen weeks total, a full quarter of 2020. I’ll miss spring completely.

Today is sunny and breezy, so we’ve got all the windows open, pollen be damned. After dashing around to enjoy it this morning, the cats are now enjoying their siestas all over the house. We recycled their Chewy.com box today because a new shipment is expected any day now. Tony (who’s doing the nudist thing today) had to tell his pissed-off stuffed croissant, “Be patient, you’ll have a new home soon”…

Last night I thought my pierced ears might be growing shut because I haven’t worn earrings in so long. Quarantine brain? I have the first gold studs I bought in 1975 when two co-workers egged me into getting holes at a Piercing Pagoda kiosk at the mall during our lunch break. They went in fine, and last night I slept in them, just for good measure…

I’ll never forget the sound of that piercing gun scrunching through my lobes. It was the first time I almost fainted. The second time was recently when I hunted for toilet paper wearing a hot mask.

Does anybody wear rings now? I don’t. I think they’re virus catchers. I’m kind of surprised nobody’s ever brought it up. You wash your hands, but what about under your rings or in the nooks and crannies of the settings? Could virus still lurk there?

Quarantine brain again.

Last night I was watching Monday night’s DVR catches, and I was thrilled to see Lawrence O’Donnell address Trump’s mental meltdown head-on. He described Trump’s state of mind as “King George III-level madness.” Then he described our two-day respite from Trump’s televised lying sessions after facing universal outrage and mockery over his disinfectant suggestions as “a full weekend where no one had to watch Donald Trump saying crazy and dangerous and indescribably stupid things.”

We should be hearing Trump’s verbal diarrhea described EXACTLY that way by EVERY talking head on EVERY news show. (Well, wishful thinking that Fox and OANN would ever go there.)

This week I finally watched the rest of Homeland. I loved the early years when Brody was alive and Carrie couldn’t resist him, even if he might be a traitor. But as the show dragged on, as they do (I’m thinking Outlander), with short seasons a year or more apart, it was hard to stay enthusiastic while the real world was unraveling.

I thought Homeland ended as well as it could, although the final scenes raised many questions I supposed we’ll never get answered (no spoilers!).

I’m just delighted Mandy Patinkin shaved off that damned beard after it was all a wrap.


Chapter 5: COVID Chronicles

April 2, 2020

By Karen

Day 22

I’m happy to report that yesterday’s chickpeas greatly improved after a night in the fridge. Now they taste like pizza. Maybe I used too much oregano. Anyway, they’re good now.

I keep the TV off all day. I used to watch Morning Joe while I read the paper, but I’m avoiding replays of Trump spouting lies at his latest “briefing,” or listening to anyone debate what he “meant.” Nothing he says has meaning.

Twenty-four-hour cable news has become a curse. They need to fill that airtime with something, and Trump supplies a gushing river of garbage. For the duration, I’m limiting myself to Rachel Maddow and Lawrence O’Donnell. They show Trump only as much as they must to make a point.

I do catch clips of Trump in Twitter retweets, but I mute him so he silently plays his little accordion while I check him for body spasms and drool. Some said his pupils were totally dilated yesterday in the bright camera lights. Drugs can only fuel that monstrous bastard for so long before he crashes.

Yesterday afternoon with no pressing work deadlines, I listened to cheery Big Bands music and worked on coloring projects I began years ago. My Crayola markers hadn’t dried out at all, so I finished this one…

For this one I used pencils. It’s OK, but pencils aren’t as vivid as markers…

I’ve been watching the HBO six-part series, The Plot Against America. It’s based on a Philip Roth novel, a what-if scenario where xenophobic Charles Lindbergh beats Franklin Roosevelt in the 1940 election and becomes president. The story is told from the point of view of a Jewish family in New Jersey.

I won’t give any more away, but all these dystopian series are jaw-droppingly short hop from our reality today. So much of the dialogue could be applied to Trump. Given just an inch more, Trump would be a dictator.

Right now, Trump’s wielding the power of life or death over all of us and basking in every minute of it. He probably gets boners from withholding vital supplies and watching death statistics rise in states with Democratic governors he thinks “done him wrong.”

But enough about the demented demon for today. It makes me crazy.

Tony thinks the cats’ water needs something extra — like the taste of rubber. He’s been dropping rubber bands in all the water bowls. Here he is this morning…

When Tony first got into rubber bands, he played with some thin ones, and I found half of one on the floor one day. I didn’t think anything of it.

A few weeks later, Tony shot out of the litterbox and licked his butt furiously. Then I found the partially poopy but perfectly intact other half of the rubber band. He pulled it out of his butt.

After that, the smell of his poops stopped curling my nose. Coincidence? Now he’s only allowed to play with really thick rubber bands he doesn’t try to chew.

And here’s Roc this morning at the top of the stairs, demonstrating how he inspired Tony to take up banister-walking…


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