Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Urine Big Trouble

You knew this was going to be fun, you just had no clue how much fun, right? It's wishful thinking that this might already be the beginning of the end, since Prince Tweety McTinyhands has no sense of shame or decorum to begin with, and his legions of mouth-breathers have even less. Nothing else that's come out about him over the last eighteen months did him in, why would some shady allegations of water sports in a Moscow hotel suite?

But I think Ed has it right, that when his already tepid political support bails on him, it will happen quickly. In the meantime, we can probably safely guess that about half of the allegations published in Buzzfeed are verifiable, and we can all make a game out of guessing which half.

Three (at least) salient observations leap immediately to mind on this:
  1. It says a lot about what's left of our society that Tweety's dealings with Russian oligarch and bratva interests have been floating around for some time, and now that some small weight is being added to them, we mainly fixate on the pee story, which is actually the least plausible (if only for its spot-on weirdness) of the main threads.
  2. I have no idea how anyone who considers themselves a serious person -- as in, a person who would claim o be knowledgeable and thoughtful about world events, history, politics, etc. -- could possibly take this fucking clown seriously. Anyone who believed Tweety when he implied that he would govern differently than he campaigned can suck it. As always, it's all props and schtick, stacks of fucking manila envelopes and browbeating reporters. A petulant seventy-year-old child, whose every utterance must be fact-checked, because he lies the way most people draw breath.
  3. Every time this cocksucker or one of his scumbag surrogates whines about "fake news," someone needs to remind them that he rode the fucking birther train for five fucking years, and rolls hard with conspiracy mongers such as Alex Jones. Payback's a bitch, asshole.
One positive aspect of the whole fake news wave is that it comes down being compelling, to making a convincing pitch, precisely because Tweety has such an extensive history of utilizing bullshit and conspiracy theories to his own benefit. He's entering office with historically low approval ratings, barely a third. That means two out of every three 'murkins have momentarily set down there cheez doodles and dumbphones, looked away from Chrisley Knows Best and Judge Judy, and wondered what the fuck is up with this fucking guy. That takes some doing.

So maybe that's the tack for the "resistance" to take -- give Mister Man a heaping helping of his own medicine. Mockery. Scorn. Derision. Bullshit. No more sporks to the gunfight, no more limpdick pretenses about decorum and fairness. This is a war now, and it is not one of our choosing or volition, but it needs to be fought as such. No quarter, no limits.

If Tweety really wanted this to stop, he'd release his tax returns -- but ironically, he won't release them because the information would bury his skeevy, lying, cheating, miserable, worthless, fucking unethical ass. He hasn't paid any fucking taxes in twenty years, and maybe the rest of us shouldn't either.

In his brief nastiness at the CNN reporter, Tweety made it very clear that his approach with the "free" press was going to be cribbed from the authoritarian playbook, and that people who aren't nice to him might as well not even bother to show up to the dog-and-pony show. Frankly, the reporter should have taken the opportunity after being lambasted to simply stand up and walk the fuck out.

Because that's what it's going to take, and Clownstick knows it, even if the press corpse is still somehow slow on the uptake. If they are serious about their vocations, they will understand that the gameplan for the incoming regime is to eliminate dissenting voices and inconvenient questions. Nothing sinister necessarily, because they know most of the press are herd animals, and will just sit there and take his shit. They don't have the fucking guts to get up and walk out and dig for a juicy story, because it might cost them clicks and eyeballs. And everyone knows it, including the reporters themselves. Is that what you people went to j-school for, to sit there like a bump on a pickle and get yelled at by an angry, addled codger with clown hair? You still have time to decide to stand up on your hind legs, you know.

But that time won't last forever; at some point the water will be too hot for the media frogs to jump out of the pan. It cannot be said often enough:  believe the autocrat when he tells you who he is.

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