Saturday, Apr 13th

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You are here Editorials Alex Baer Not T-Rex.

Not T-Rex.

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Rump for presidentOK, I know I'm all done here, but I was just passing through, and I have a visual I simply have to share with you.

It's a tale of all the ugly Presidential ducklings fielded by the GOP -- one of them, anyway.  (There's not enough space for all their many misadventures, as the GOP has so darned many handbaskets, and duckings, all headed straight to Hell, and none of those ducks are all in a row.)

Anyway:  It was a recent photograph in the hopefully-terminal coverage of that quack, The Donald.  His picture was taken with him behind a podium of some sort, up on a dais.  The photographer was apparently below, aiming the lens upward, in order to have gotten that shot.

It was a great Mussolini-style snap:  The Great Man, elevated, looking sternly flippant, as if overfilled with a combination of helium and laughing gas -- or injected with too much whipped cream, maybe, before they could cut the nozzle -- with his Powerful Jowls of Thoroughly Agitated Princely Patience in motion, demonstrating his severe strength of character yet again, keeping those wobbling jowls attached to his neck and face, and not having them depart on their own volition... if not actually released on their own recognizance.

The best part?  The best part of the picture was the framing of the shot.

(See, being X far from the Y subject with a Z lens, one can only get so much pictorial information crammed into the frame.)

So:  In the photo's foreground, there was Trump.

In the background, a fragment of the political banner showed:  RUMP.

Yes:  The Donald, thinking himself an impervious predator, quite T-REX-like, and verrrry dangerous and powerful and brilliant beyond measure, is instantly reduced, thanks to pixels, a photographer's distance and lens choice, and/or some dandy editorial cropping after the fact, to T-RUMP.

This is more than I could have possibly hoped for in my wildest dreams, as far as truth in advertising goes, for this dismal, abysmal, Pepto-Bismol-inspiring candidate for President.

Sound the royal Trumpian trumpets!  Bring on the ad agencies for a complete campaign reworking!

  • A vote for Trump is begging for a kick in the rump!
  • Throw your support behind your one and only rump!
  • Help put a real Number One rump in the White House!
  • Vote in the biggest rump-hat ever in ass-hatted Manhattan!
  • A rump in the Oval Office is worth some Bushes finally not being there, too!
  • Help add to the insensitive, desensitized rumps in Washington!
  • Our candidate has now been spotted, thanks to advisors, flashlights, and a thorough cavity search:  Rump!

And so on.

Pretty much all I got today.

(Oh, I could go on and on, as well you know, but let's keep my intrusion brief.  Besides, my own rump has fallen asleep, and I need to get up and move around.  Meanwhile, let's hope our Rump won't fall over -- or, if it / he does, it / he can get back up again.  After all, this is way too much fun, having so many bona fide psychotics desperate to get into gummint in order to destroy it... and us.)


Today's Bonuses:

The tune & band selected for the T-Rump victory party:

The back-up relief band for the T-Rump victory bash:

It's the new Rump national dish!

To work off those rumpy calories, Let's Play Rump!

(Bonus points if you simultaneously play all four of these links, in order to duplicate the clarity of The Donald's thought process...)


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