It' sequences of
paradoxes.
It's blatant hypocrisy.
It's equilateral lies
in spaces where truths out to be.
Never has the world
been so sick, so damaged, so faulted by the statutory lines of
politicians and their games. Money sits at the end of any rainbow
coalition, and it's greed that makes the planet turn on its axis.
Green is the culprit that put fourth—like fresh vomit—the
cherubic face that cries out for a hood of Jeff Sessions. It is the
green Elmer's paste that puked up like the Exorcist the Sarah Palin
clone Betsy Devos.
This is not the
Republican Party I know. The GOP I grew up watching weasel out of
Watergate, the clan of elephants that at the very least loved peanuts
enough to clean up after the show. Trump said a decade ago that if he
ever ran for president he would run as a Republican. He said they
have the collective stupidity to surrender to what lies they're told.
Look no further than Mrs. Conway or Mr. Spicer for evidence that a
rash of idiotic pandemic has beheld Washington from the start of
President-elect tenure.
Please, alternative
facts? Fake news? Roll over Nostradamus, tell Goebbels the real news.
Does Spicer look in a fun-house mirror, only to be alarmed by the
shape of his tongues that see to be forking, providing a path never
taken, the one Robert Frost would never have imagined. When the
round-faced hot-under-the-collar press secretary of lingular
dysemmetry distorts fact and fiction both. When a red sea of truths
divide like a walnut cracked inside the mouth that would trade its
dignity for a job. And then there's Kelly Ann, the campaign manager
everyone thought would go away, only to surface at Inauguration day
dressed like the smurf too festively dressed for the cartoonist's
animation budget. And she pleads and soothes Donald. Says she must be
ready with child psychology trick that give the president choices.
Who let the mad dog out
lately? Who listens to, or even consults the grow-up in the room
given a tough guy name. Was he even at the last Yemen supper, the
dinner that caused the death of a navy SEAL, Yemenese civies to
include nine children, the hair-brained, trigger-fingered plot afoot
with all the foresight of a hatchling of Lucy & Ethel, an
incident of a transparency that never even made it to the over-head
projector. Now, was Secretary of State Tillerson even there, in
earshot of the gaffs, to see beyond what crude projects cloud his
mind? No, not in the course of a hot, miscalculated, white-washed
Pentagon minute could it happen. It is as unfathomable and
nummerologically impossible as the crowds attending the inauguration,
a phenomenon given to the occurring longevity of Haley's comet. NEVER
will a minute be spent on grilling Rex on Yemen (or anyone) for those
lives lost. NEVER should such a travesty begin to equate the hours
and dollars spent grilling Secretary of State Clinton on Benghazi.
NEVER! And who gets the blame, who is going to be the patsy for
Donald's first fatal mistake, the repository for the excess waste of
the billionaire boys club, the valiant prince who springs to mind as
colored skin basks in his successors chagrin.
I give it two years.
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