Trump’s Medical Exam

As near as I can tell from what has been made public, the the president’s “routine” medical exam was not only unscheduled, but was actually quite a surprise to the staff at Walter Reed Medical Center.

It’s possible that he might have met the catastrophic cap on his medical insurance and wanted to get his physical done without having to pay a copay or a deductible. Many people are frugal like that.

His physician wrote a memo explaining that the exam was not publicized because of “scheduling uncertainties.” In other words, they had to fit the President of the United States in to their schedule.

Right.

“I’m sorry, but we’ve got a sprained ankle from a soccer game and a bloody nose to deal with. Tell the President to take two acetaminophen and call us in the morning.”

Coincidentally, the doctor’s memo made no mention of heel spurs.

Leave It to Eddie

I admire how, over the millennia, life imitates art. Yes, I stated that correctly–even though there is truth in the inverse as well.

For example, there are literary antagonists, some of whom are quintessential bad boys. In a story, there may not be any link to a real person, but once on the stage or screen, there may be a real person involved. The stereotypical bad boy–as opposed to someone evil–was Eddie Haskell–as played by Ken Osmond–from Leave it to Beaver. Contrary to urban legend, Osmond did not become Alice Cooper or a porn star. Instead, as far as I can tell, after he became typecast and left acting, he married, raised a family, worked as a police officer, and retired.

The character he created lives on as, well, Eddie Haskell.

Ken_Osmond_1962

 

On the other hand, there are people who portray the character traits of Eddie in real life and I have to wonder why. Why do people seek to be obnoxious, irritating, or just plain mean?

jordan.jpg

Tactics, Techniques, and Procedures (TTPs)

My Dearest Vlad,

I’m so lucky to have you as an advisor–you are so much more smart than my generals or the so-called “intelligence” experts. I don’t need them because, after all, I’m a stable genius. Smart! Stable! Genius!

As you suggested, I got on live TV (You know I’m a reality TV star, don’t you? Big! Huge! Star!). I explained everything I could remember about the special operation that killed Bagdaddy. Dead! Coward! Covfefe!

Some of the generals here are trying to argue with me (ME!) but my staff stops them–most of my staff are temporary, or as I like to call them, “acting.” Kelly cabinet! We work!

The generals keep complaining that I disclosed TTPs. Isn’t that when people throw toilet paper over your house and trees? So what’s the big deal? It’s a mess, but I have employees to clean it up who are willing to work for next to nothing. I never check their paperwork. Lots of Spanish. Good business! Cost cutting! Smart!

In any case, Vlad, I appreciate all your support and advice.

I hate to ask this, but just in case things go badly, will you help me out? I’m sure you could provide me with a nice dacha in Crimea. If absolutely necessary I’d be willing to bunk with Ed Snowden for a couple of days until you can get everything finalized.

You don’t need to worry about my wife–she is from somewhere over there, so she’ll be fine.

Your apostle,

(Signature illegible)

 

How Much?

In the Blues Brothers, once they’re both out of jail, they attempt to Get The Band Back Together and they find one of their musicians who is a maître de at a restaurant. They set out to embarrass him until he rejoins the band.

At one point, John Belushi looks at the people at a nearby table and in a foreign accent says, “How much for the women? The girl? How much for the girl?”

The maître  de knows he’s trapped and agrees to rejoin the band; the Blues Brothers then leave the restaurant.

I have to admit that this scene flashed through my mind, recently, when your president asked, “How much for Greenland? The Island? How much for the island?”

I liked Belushi better.

 

 

Thirty-three days until the autumnal solstice when I either fish or cut bait, depending on how many reader.

 

Centuries upon Centuries

I’ve spoken. I’ve written. I’ve done what you would call “performance art.” All this has taken centuries.

Let me put that in perspective. Your father’s birth to your death might be around a century. Now multiply that by 20 or 30. Got it? Good.

I resorted to walking around in daylight carrying a lighted lamp claiming to be looking for an honest man. THAT is how desperate I was and am for exposing the truth. However, sooner or later, when one is not successful, it is wise to give up and seek another course.

I’ve been writing here (wherever here is) for over a year. Being dead, I do not have Twitter, Facebook, or whatever, nor do I want them. I have always fallen victim to the belief that people would seek the truth; if I were a video game, that might be true.

Bottom Line: If you want me to keep writing, do what you can to get others to follow this blog. If there aren’t sufficient people interested in what I have to say by the Autumn Equinox, I will cease writing and take my efforts elsewhere.

If few respond, then I must believe that people prefer the sensational and inconsequential to the truth.

The ball–as you say–is in your court. I’ll be napping in my sewer (look it up if you don’t believe me).

Left Out

170525-trump-nato-rips-index

I’m feeling left out—maybe you should feel left out, too.

Many people are being tweeted about, given nicknames, mentioned by name at press conferences.

“Rocket Man”

“Sleepy Joe”

“Pocahontas”

“Nervous Nancy”

He never gave me a nickname but just ignored me.

How about you? If you have been ignored, then you’re a nobody too. Just admit it and accept your fate in life.

Few deserve his attention, and neither you nor I made the cut.

I guess he doesn’t like that my hands are very large.

 

Conspiracy Proof!

“Our Army manned the air, it rammed the ramparts, it took over airports, it did everything it had to do and at Ft. McHenry under the rocket’s red glare had nothing but victory.”                             President Donald Trump

air2

The president let slip a closely held secret as to how a ragtag collection of farmers and merchants defeat the British Army–the best trained and best equipped army in the world in 1775.

It was not guerilla warfare. It was not Baron von Steuben’s training. It was not Marquis de Lafayette’s support. It was certainly not the American soldiers or their generals.

Sorry, but it’s true.

The reason the nascent United States of America prevailed is because of a top secret weapon–the flying machine. As the British would march in smart formation, the American aircraft could pass overhead, dropping rocks or explosives, scattering the British troops, and allowing the Continental Army to sweep toward the confused and scattered British with devastating results.

Now that we have the truth on the Revolutionary War out in the open, maybe he’ll slip up and tell the truth about extraterrestrials being held in Area 51. Given his feelings for undocumented aliens, it’s only a matter of time.