It’s that uncertain time of year, especially here in the northeast, where late winter storms can dump piles of unwanted, (for non-skiers), snow; when the anticipation of Spring Break and the NCAA basketball frenzy promote all sorts of erratic behavior; when an hour mysteriously disappears overnight; when Florida, (not a typo), chooses the sane, impassioned pleas of high school students over the threats of the addled, morally bankrupt NRA; when love is in bloom and Mother Nature reawakens…although this year, thanks to a clown-car-cabinet, she’ll be awakening to a woefully deregulated, disaster-pic-in-the-making, all-life-on-Earth-threatening, throw-Mama-from-a-train shit storm; and when the lead story from every news feed begins, “Porn star, Stormy Daniels…”.
Just for the record, personally, I don’t give a rat’s ass who Trump had marital or extramarital sex with. As a matter of fact, the unwelcome imagery totally creeps me out. Stormy, who may be a lovely person, doesn’t seem to care either except where and how it may affect her bottom, (pun intended), line. The feigned puritanical outrage and the salacious sniggering and finger-pointing by the media is, ironically, pointless. Trump is a pig. Everyone, for or against, knows he’s a pig. His narcissism self-affirms his swine-like behavior, (did you notice that the only time the word Russia came up this week was in regard to the poisoning of a former spy and his daughter in England?), allowing him to cherry pick the narrative for his own self-aggrandizement. If he wasn’t systematically destroying everything good that mankind has ever created, this could be a classic Monty Python skit…but he is, and it’s not.
Remember when even the hint of a scandalous affair could bring down a government? Or when an accusation of sexual misconduct could bring down Hollywood icons or business leaders or Senators or the Mayor of Nashville…oh, that’s right, that would be now now…except for Pig Boy. What the fuck! The millions of self-righteous bible thumpers who are giving him Mulligan after Mulligan should, if there actually were a Hell, burn in it with him…right now!
The real story isn’t even the sex, it’s the payoff to keep the story from emerging ten days before the win-at-all-cost-because-yes-there-was-definitely-collusion 2016 election debacle. El Porko, the Kremlin Candidate, cheated his way into power the way he’s cheated in every endeavor he’s pursued his entire life. Pre POTUS, his shenanigans had finite consequences: his discriminated against tenants, his bought and paid for arm candy, his fucked-over employees, the fucked-over students at Trump University, the food-poisoned, (I have no specific knowledge of this but this is my blog and besides, what’s the chance that some of those people didn’t get food poisoning?), customers of Trump Steaks, Trump water drinkers, unknowingly guzzling reclaimed golf course swill, (again, no specific knowledge), slightly filtered through old DJT monogrammed handkerchiefs, the Central Park 5, and anyone else living or dead who has had any contact with him, on purpose or by happenstance. But now, his tiny fingers and baby-back mentality are wrapped around the existential underpinnings of…well, everything. He is slogging away, devoid of training with less acquired or common sense than a rutting truffle hog with even less chance of unearthing anything worthwhile or yummy. And, sadly, this is merely the storm…before the next storm, (which, please, please, please, will torrentially rain on his fucking military parade).