Wednesday, September 28, 2016

An Interrupting Cow

Well, I'm sure we're all glad that Clownstick saved us from having to look at that fat bitch in his stupid pageant. No doubt this is what his moron rally audience needed to hear. Yes, you fuckin' dummies, this is how he's going to bring your shit jobs back -- by lamely trying to reframe a nasty jab he took upside the head by someone a lot smarter and a lot more prepared. If nothing else, it'll keep their never-ending persecution complex kindled.

Having seen most of the debate live last night, and reading several different post-takes, I am only reinforced in my belief that the Drumpfsters are literally delusional. The ones who insist that Drumpf "won" the debate somehow were watching a completely different event than the rest of us were, one where even basic levels of preparation, civility, coherence, extemporaneous thought, and even nouns and verbs had no utility whatsoever.

The man goes off on a tangent like no one else. The people whining about Lester Holt haranguing him are completely ignoring the fact that Holt was doing his level best just to get Drumpf to stay on topic, not egregiously lie, and stay somewhere near the time constraints. As it was, Drumpf got away with murder, as far as harrumphing and interrupting Clinton during her segments. Yeah, that'll win the little ladies over, big guy.

For her part, Clinton performed well just in maintaining composure during Drumpf's incessant heckles, not to mention the incoherent bullshit he spewed in response to every question asked of him. She actually could have been better and sharper, and nailed him far more brutally on his evasions of the birther question, for just one example. But she performed admirably as it was, given the impossible task of both pretending to listen to this coked-up man-toddler's nonsense, and his non-stop attempts to talk over her.

She didn't know her place, or acknowledge his greatness, and it infuriated him. They're so far around the bend, his inner circle -- including his fucking campaign manager -- are congratulating themselves that Mister Man had the "restraint" not to bring up Bill Clinton's infidelity (until the spin room immediately after, 'cause that's what a tough guy he really is). To which I would say:  Bring it, fucker. Lob that grenade and see which way the shrapnel flies.

Because one thing that appears to be an underestimated trait in Hillary Clinton is her willingness to scrap. She's not a natural; she's too measured to be quick on her feet and get truly nasty. But the ugly irony of the Three Stooges -- Drumpf, Giuliani, and Gingrich -- each married thrice, each a known philanderer with a documented history of treating their spouses and mistresses poorly, trying to dig that particular hole with Hillary, cannot go ignored.

Again, I cannot urge Drumpf strongly enough to float that air biscuit, just to see Clinton's response. Oh, so we're going there after all, are we? Okay, then, here's the deal, motherfucker:  unlike you, a person who has spent his entire adult life viewing every woman he encounters as a cum dumpster for his tiny dick and his raging daddy issues, I take my marriage seriously. My husband and I had some problems twenty years ago and we worked on them, because that's what grown-ups do sometimes.

Bill didn't brag in a book about all the married women he fucked, like you did; he didn't call up Page Six pretending to be his own publicist, to tell them how his mistress thought he was the best sex she's ever had, like you did with Marla Maples. He didn't leave his cancer-stricken wife in the hospital for another woman, like your pal Newt Gingrich. He didn't embarrass his second wife by flaunting his soon-to-be third wife in the press, like your pal Scoliosis Giuliani, that hunchbacked motherfucker.

You people are something else, you know that? The fucking balls on you. You've treated people like shit your entire life. It's just that women got the worst of it, because you're an insecure scumbag who probably can't get it up without your border-jumping trophy wife telling you how rich you are.

You fucking faggot. I've dealt with smug pricks like you my entire life, and the only question I have about any of you is whether you're shorter on brain cells or sperm cells. Because you're pretty fucking thin on both counts. Go ahead and hit me below the belt, because unlike you, I got brass balls. You're just a thin-skinned pussy with a shriveled dick and a wife who's trying to wait you out.

In the meantime, here's hoping all the fast food finally catches up with this fat fuck, the sooner the better. Actually, that would be letting him off too easy. He needs to be beaten like the mangy cur that he is, implode the party in his wake as he retreats to his marble tower with his vile brood, having lost half of his high-profile flagship revenue entities, and the other half about to be boycotted by anyone with real money.

He'll be permanently exiled from the society and power circles he craves, he'll have to rent friends, mostly overseas. The rubes who voted for him will feel betrayed and abandoned by him, more powerless than ever, because now no responsible political player will want to come near them. They'll just go back to impregnating their relatives and not voting, faking seizures for funny money and dealing oxy out of the trunk of their beater car, running an endless, unholy race to see whether their bodies or the vehicle gives out first. They'll try to pretend at first that their hero got cheated or that he still cares about them even after his loss, but deep down, they'll know the truth about both those things -- they're outnumbered, and he was just using them.

Drumpf needs to live long and healthy enough to know that his name, his family, his legacy, will be laughed at and reviled for years and decades to come, that Americans are not impressionable Third World scumbags looking to rent some "prestige" for their slave-built gambling dens. He should live long enough to watch the Department of Justice go after his money-laundering "foundation," to watch the IRS set up shop permanently in his sigmoid colon, to see his profits fail, to have sell off some of the real estate he's squatted on all his life to cover his nut, to see Americans walk by his signature crap, now relegated to the discount bin as a loss-leader and still not moving.

Fuck, who knows? The man has been a visible boil on the ass of America for decades, and we knew what a clusterfuck his finances have always been, but it wasn't until this spring that we saw that demonstrated in such stark relief, that even his "charitable" operations are complete scams. And that was all due to the work of a single reporter, the Post's David Fahrenthold, who deserves a Pulitzer. Just since May, we've seen incontrovertible evidence that he uses wounded veterans as publicity props, and welshes on making the donation, that his "foundation" has been used for everything from purchasing lifesize paintings of himself to souvenir Tim Tebow helmets to political influence. Anything but actual charity, it seems.

That's from the reporting of a single reporter, digging into a single piece of a very large, diverse portfolio of properties, holding, deals, many with entities in other countries where life and law are bought and sold cheaply. Once the circus leaves town, the reporters will need something to do. And the good ones will grab a shovel and pick a direction.

1 comment:

Texas Editor said...

Right on, Dr. Floyd.