TV News LIES

It appears that unless the Universe has a couple of extra tricks up its sleeve, we're witnessing the last days of presidential hopeful, Fucko the Clown. As of today, Friday October 14th, there are 24 days remaining until the election. Is it possible that Fucko could do or say anything that could salvage his flailing campaign?

Are there enough Fucko supporters in swing states to stop a Clinton win? I don't think so. But then again … this is a presidential campaign the likes of which we have never seen. The American voters, Republicans and Democrats, have been played. Not like a violin … more like a kazoo. And the tune, eerily reminiscent of Pop Goes the Weasel, goes something like this:

Last month looking South I saw another bad day brewing. Not surprising. It was preceded by a bad week, month, year, decade … fifteen years to be exact. The United States of America was shocked out of its fucking mind on September 11th 2001 and there is no sign it is ever coming back.

To commemorate the 15th anniversary of the attacks of 9/11 the major media booked the psychopaths, quislings, and blood-suckers who used the attacks as the excuse to launch never-ending wars. The war criminals and their minions were not in prison … they were on television. In addition to all of that the blogger driftglass observed in Crooks & Liars, “Rupert Murdoch's Wall Street Journal has turned a large chunk of its 9/11 editorial page over to one of the worst and most unrepentant American war criminals and profiteers in modern history, and his blood-drunk beast of a daughter.”

It was a complete surprise when I got word from the Trump campaign that I had been chosen to interview its candidate.

"We hate all the press," I was told upon confirming the invitation details, "because they always insist on quoting what Mr. Trump actually says, which simply isn't fair." Apparently, random drawings for unknown interviewers were seen by the campaign as being no worse than selecting known individuals by name, media outlet, or audience.

When there are no major upheavals on the scene, and things are percolating along on a restful plateau, I doubt we're all paying a high degree of attention.  Perhaps we've all just gotten used to being torn to shreds, politically and psychologically, then heaving ourselves up on the bank for a bit, gasping and panting, trying to suck down more air and stay alive, for the next round.

It feels like that most days, since this presidential election contest began, back in May of 1862.  Which is to say, it just feels like that.  Or, maybe, I heard someone say that -- I'm not saying it, myself, you understand me -- I'm only saying I think I heard someone say that, and I think recently, but I am not sure I can be sure...

Add another quote, maybe, to the lexicon of our self-confusion:  "We have met the enemy, and we went through the looking-glass anyway."

This explains an awful lot, to my own satisfaction, from a run-on Trump to runaway tire-fires.  We humans are our own best friends and our own worst enemies.

There's a whole growth industry now in trying to explain away human mishaps and miseries, from unexpected dumpster fires with elaborate comb-overs, to the hiring of newly-minted experts who can explain to us, on teevee, why it is that we are being bombarded by flaming drone-shrapnel wreckage and bowling balls -- or are about to be.

Another day, another passel of brain cells slaughtered by Reality.

Take Trump, for example -- please.  And never give him back, so that we might yet sleep safely again at night, after we decontaminate our politics, our minds, our children, our clothing...

Today, as you know, Mr. Wonderful is in Mexico, at a splendid invitation from its president -- to the stunned disbelief of its multiply-insulted citizenry.

Mexican President Enrique Pena Nieto gets world-class points in patience and, in, well, class, in having The Orange Buffoon visit.