Tag: donald trump (Page 5 of 32)

President Trump has suggested multiple times to senior Homeland Security and national security officials that they explore using nuclear bombs to stop hurricanes from hitting the United States, according to sources who have heard the president’s private remarks and been briefed on a National Security Council memorandum that recorded those comments. – Axios, 8/25/19

Should we nuke hurricanes?

No.

How strong a “no” is that?

Stronger than the winner of “Strongest Man” in a Strongman competition who was only competing to honor his recently dead wife.

That’s very strong.

We understand each other. There should be not only no intentional deployment of nuclear weapons against hurricanes, but we must also endeavor to prevent any accidental meetings. Like Uncle Georgie and the children, nukes and hurricanes must be kept in separate rooms.

But why? It seems like an obvious idea.

“Let’s nuke the hurricanes” seems like an obvious idea to you? Did you go to the same medical school as Dr. Evil? Nuking hurricanes is prima faciea a dumb idea. It’s like infecting animals with diseases and pointing ’em towards the enemy.

…

I am being informed that humanity has attempted that particular gambit on countless occasions.

Yeah, we’re awful. Explain to me why we can’t nuke hurricanes. Debate me in the marketplace of ideas!

See, here’s why that’s stupid: the marketplace isn’t for debating. It’s for selling shit.

Coward!

Oh, fine. You do the heavy lifting: why are we nuking the hurricanes now?

Well, hurricanes are organized weather systems. Maybe a large explosion in just the right place would break up the storm’s cohesion, thereby lessening its destructive power.

You’re absolutely right. It would.

What?

A big enough bomb will kill anything.

Awesome. Let’s nuke some hurricanes.

We don’t have a big enough bomb. You’re vastly overestimating the power of a nuke, and vastly underestimating the power of a hurricane. A Category Five storm generates more energy in a day than humanity can in a year. 200 times more. You could trebuchet the Tsar Bomba at a hurricane and its asshole wouldn’t even twitch. And, you know, the other thing.

The radiation?

Yeah, that. Imagine throwing shit at a fan. Now imagine that the shit makes your skin peel off and your liver shoot out your nose.

I’d rather not imagine that.

No one would, except those longhair boys in the denim jackets sitting in the corner of the cafeteria passing around a copy of Fangoria.

I think they’re in a band.

Yeah, so, like I was saying: literally the dumbest fucking idea in the world. Nuking a hurricane is not something you do, it’s something that a super-villain threatens to do to you.

Just the tiniest bit of thinking revealed how dopey the plan was.

Just the itsy-bitsy, teenie-weeniest bit. Yeah.

Mustn’t fumfer, Enthusiasts, or fart about. Shakespeare didn’t muck out the Aegean Stables so you could shim-sham and willy-nilly with your syntactical choices. Eisenhower said it in his famous farewell speech: Choose your words carefully, ya little puds. Still true.

Orwell knew what I’m talking about. Orwell was hip like that. Since Basketball Head got elected, all the dimwits and dummies have yammered on about 1984 and Winston and Big Brother and cabbage-stinking hallways, which is why they’re dim and dumb. Us smart fuckers know where the lotus grows, though, and it is in a different (and much shorter) work of Mr. Blair’s: his 1946 essay Politics and the English Language.

Here it is. Go read it.

One must write as simply and clearly as one is able. That’s the gist of Orwell’s brief, and it’s a hell of a gist. Never employ sesquipedalian verbalization when good ol’ short words’ll do. Abjure the Latinate; huzzah the Anglo-Saxon. There are, perhaps, 250,000 words in the English language; most of ’em are bullshit. Simply and clearly.

So: Donald Trump is a stupid, racist asshole. The sentiment can be made no simpler, nor expressed with more clarity. The sentence “Donald Trump is a stupid, racist asshole” is irreducible. Each word, as per Orwell’s instructions, is necessary and precise. Let’s break it down.

Donald Trump

That’s the man’s name. Gotta have that in there, or no one’ll know who you’re talking about. Maybe you could just say “Trump,” but including the full name improves the rhythm of the phrasing. And maybe you could throw in that middle initial J like the Times does, but it’s superfluous; there’s only one Donald Trump, as the President has told Junior so many times.

Is

So much depends on what the meaning of the word “is” is, and here we employ the popular verb in a tense I have just invented called the “iterational infinite,” which means that Trump = Stupid, Racist Asshole for all possible tenses. Trump was a stupid, racist asshole; Trump will be a stupid, racist asshole; Trump has been being a stupid, racist asshole; etc.

A

Let’s face it: there’s a lot of stupid, racist assholes out there. Trump isn’t the stupid, racist asshole. Go read any other Comment Section on the internet, or come back and read this one after the limpdicked tugnuts who worship the Swine King show up. (They always do after I write about him, and I always toss their scribblings in the trash before you can be bothered by it. AND DO YOU FUCKERS THANK ME?)

Stupid

Some businesses are bonanzas, and others are marginal. A rockyroll tour, that’s a bonanza: make a whole assload of cash in a couple of months. Girl Scout cookies, too, and Sotheby’s auction house. But then you got your alternate type of commerce, which is the supermarket model. Smaller profits, but you grind ’em out day after day. And, in those marginal operations, every penny counts. The airline business is firmly in the latter category, but moreso.

Airlines, you see, have a list of fixed costs as long as your pecker. Gotta buy the planes, and insure ’em, and maintain ’em to legal standards: nowhere to save a buck there. Planes don’t fly themselves, and pretzels don’t pass themselves out, so you gotta hire pilots and flight attendants, and–here’s that damned government getting in the way of the market again–and you need to have a certain amount of each on every flight. Airports get paid, too: they charge every time you take off or land, and tax you a certain amount per passenger. Non-negotiable, all of it. You’re deep in the hole before the plane takes off.

So where can you save a buck or two? Gas. The less fuel your plane burns, the more money you make, and the best way to conserve fuel is lose weight. Thinner, and therefore lighter, carpet could put tens of thousands of dollars back into the company’s coffers. Take a half-ounce of padding from every seat; that shit adds up. There are men and women who have spent their entire careers figuring out how to make passenger planes weigh less.

Enter Trump.

This was the summer of 1989, and Donald Trump had had a very good 80’s, which makes sense if you remember that the 80’s were, essentially, Satanic. He had just built Trump Tower, and bought the Plaza (he sold it soon after for a loss of $83 million) and Atlantic City’s Taj Mahal (which he would sell for four cents on the dollar). Eastern Airlines was going bankrupt; Turnip stepped in and snapped up their shuttle service, which ran between Boston, New York, and DC and catered to a limited, but lucrative and loyal market: business fuckers. People far too important to spend four hours driving or sitting on a train. Movers, shakers, that sort. The type of fellow with an expense account and a recent haircut. Women in shoulder pads who weren’t afraid to butt heads. Not owners; owners have private planes, or they can go about their travels in a more leisurely fashion, knowing that the meeting can’t start until they get there. No, these passengers were journalists with book deals, and lawyers who would one day be–but were not yet–partners at their firms, and State Department emeriti with sinecures at the Kennedy school.

You’re doing that thing again where you wander away from the point.

Yeah, but I do it entertainingly.

You’re your biggest fan.

Someone has to be.

Get back to it.

Businesses, ones that are run by people who aren’t biscuitheads, do all kinds of market research. What’s the most important thing we do? the surveys ask. Why do you patronize us instead of the guy across the street?  Eastern Airlines had two decades of market research about their shuttles, and when they asked their customers what it was that they cared most about, the answer was always the same: If you tell me the plane is gonna land at 8:34 am, then the plane needs to land at 8:34 am. Everything else is cheesecake. Oh, and there should be cheesecake on the snack cart. Predictability! That was what the shuttle customer demanded.

Trump immediately gold-plated the sinks.

Then he replaced plastic moldings with maple, and demanded meal service, and chromed all the belt buckles. Those who have been reading closely will recognize these touches as being specifically what no one had asked for, ever. Trump Shuttle’s market share remained the same as when it was called Eastern Airlines, but now the planes were heavier and–oops–oil prices skyrocketed in anticipation of the Gulf War. In ’91, Trump relinquished control of the assets to his bankers so they’d forgive the debts.

So, like I said, he’s stupid.

Racist

Trump is racist. Anyone who argues this fact is also racist. Nuff said.

Asshole

One can be stupid without being an asshole. Forrest Gump, for example, or Gronk. How about Britney, bitch? Britney Spears is dumber than a possum wearing a hockey helmet, but you won’t find a bigger heart than the one beating in her chest.

And–though some may disagree with my reasoning–I believe that one can be racist without being an asshole. Plenty of folks hate black people but still remember their manners.

The definition of asshole is thus: The asshole is essentially selfish. The asshole performs at its own schedule; any attempt to force the asshole to action results in painful repercussions. The asshole does not know proportional response, and it will burn down the city to avenge a slight. The asshole must be treated well, and gently, and it still may turn on you in a second. The asshole gives not a whit for your dignity, just its needs. The asshole is without grace; it is blunt, but not charmingly so.

Many U.S. Presidents have been assholes. The Civil Rights Act only became law because of how enormous an asshole Lyndon Johnson was. Harding couldn’t cum unless he was beating hobos. Nixon…well, you know about Nix. They were pikers compared to Trump. Dabblers, dilettantes. Enthusiasts, they just didn’t have the gape. He is a quantum leap in executive assholery.

20 corpses. This is a good number for a big-city mortuary, but a terrible one for a Walmart. Walmarts should have no corpses at all. The cops and firefighters carried ’em all out of the store, but for a little while there were 20 corpses in the Walmart. Bunch more got hurt. Guy with an AK-47 walked in and started shooting. Making 20 corpses in a very short amount of time is precisely what the AK-47 was designed for, and the weapon performed predictably.

And now the President flies out to console the bereaved. This is all the President can do, because the Constitution says everyone can have a machine gun, and so he throws himself into the role. Clinton was the master. He’d be crying before he got off Air Force One. Both Bushes were superb at standing over hospital beds. Remember Obama at Sandy Hook?

Not this prize of a mammal. No, Donny had his aides edit together a highlight reel of his visit to the hospital–hunching over the wounded in their beds, double-thumbs with a lineup of white nurses–and used it as a fundraising ad. Christ, what an asshole.

Thus: QED: Donald Trump is a stupid, racist asshole.

NINTH CIRCUIT COURT – DAY

“Marsha Berzon speaking for the Court. We are hearing a challenge from the Department of Justice regarding our decision on the suit involving the migrant children.”

“We object to the word ‘children,’ Your Honor.”

“What would you prefer, counselor?”

“Honestly, we’d prefer they didn’t exist.”

“State your name for the record.”

“Sarah Fabian arguing on behalf of the United States Justice Department. The Big J, baby.”

“Miss Fabian, you are here today regarding the government’s refusal to abide by the rulings of this court when it held that the migrant children were to be treated in a safe and sanitary fashion.”

“Your Honor, we believe that the children are being held in the best possible manner given the political circumstances. They’re better off than a lot of kids their age. Kids in China have to work, but not these kids. They don’t have anything at all to do. It’s idyllic.”

“Idyllic?”

“They can just dream, and lollygag the days away. Like Huck Finn.”

“Counselor, do the children have beds?”

“Define ‘bed.'”

“A mattress, sheets, blanket, and a pillow.”

“That sounds luxurious.”

“Do they?”

“No.”

“A blanket and a pillow?”

“Many of the children use each other as pillows. And, no, they do not have blankets. However, most of the Participation Zones are near the Border, and you really don’t need a blanket down there. It only gets cold at night.”

“I’m sorry, what is a ‘Participation Zone?'”

“It’s what we’re calling our brand-new Caliburn International child way-stations. We’ve privatized the whole process. Caliburn is John Kelly’s company. Isn’t that fun?”

“Everything you people do is a crime.”

“Pretty much.”

“Getting back to the children–”

“Units!”

“–can you tell me more about sleeping arrangements. Are they in control of the lights in their quarters?”

“They are not in control of anything.”

“Does the light go off?”

“It does, yes.”

“Ah. For how long?”

“Briefly. The lights in the facility go off at random, and for random intervals of time. Sometimes they strobe.”

“For God’s sake, why?”

“Malice, Your Honor. Sheer, unadulterated malice towards the weak. You should see those little criminals when the strobe light hits ’em. They fall right over. You would laugh.”

“I would not laugh at that, Miss Fabian. That is not funny.”

“I took a video of it. I have it on my phone, lemme show it to you.”

“Stop that. Counselor, are the children allowed outside?”

“At some of the Participation Zones, they’re outside all day.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, due to the overwhelming numbers we’re doing, we’ve been stashing kids in all sorts of places. We got a couple dozen in what used to be a drive-in movie theater outside Laredo. We show ’em patriotic films on the screen, and the kids just go nuts. But there’s no, you know, shelter.”

“Did you say that there was no shelter?”

“There was the shelter of Christ.”

“Besides that. Physical shelter.”

“Oh. No, no physical shelter. There was the snack stand, but the staff turned it into their break room and won’t let the kids in.”

“A field, Miss Fabian. You are describing a field. The American government is keeping children in a field.”

“Foreign children, Your Honor.”

“Are they at least being fed?”

“Yes, ma’am. They got the popcorn machine going again.”

“What about bathroom facilities?”

“Your Honor, it is the government’s position that illegal immigrants do not have the right to toilets.”

“What?”

“We’ve read the Constitution back and forth, and it is enumerated nowhere within that we have to give sneaker-inners a toilet. They had toilets in Mexico. Why’d they leave there?”

“They’re not from Mexico, counselor.”

“Not only are the Mexicans not sending their best, they’re not even sending Mexicans anymore. Besides, they’re from a Mexico. The Justice Department’s official position is that all the countries to our south are Mexicos.”

“Regardless of the government’s a-geographical opinion, these humans have been place in captivity by the American government and are thereby entitled to certain protections.”

“They are technically being held captive by Caliburn International.”

“Ma’am.”

“Your Honor, I quote Emma Lazarus: Send us your children, and we’ll house ’em in a field and try not to rape all of them.”

“Emma Lazarus said nothing of the sort!”

“I was paraphrasing.”

“I need a break.”

GAVEL NOISE!

This actually happened, more or less.

• Jaime Torres, a Hispanic for Trump.
• Mookie Carter, a Black for Trump.
• Elliothimr, a Dark Elf for Trump.
• Injured Servicemember. (“Not the face. Nothing wrong with the face, okay? Missing an arm is good. No face, because the cameras cut to him and no one wants to see that, and Melania doesn’t like looking at that sort of thing.”)
• The Mooch.
• Boris the Hungry Spider.
• Wally Walters, who is being teased at his high school because of his name, and that’s Nancy Pelosi’s fault.
• James Woods, who lights a cigar and then gets in a fistfight with the cop who tells him to put it out; screams “You can’t tase me, I’m James Woods;” is tased. (The President and the Republican members of the Congress cheer on the scuffle. There is wagering.)
• A guy who Junior plays Call of Duty with online that goes by Pussyfarter and refuses to give the Secret Service his identification.
• At least two life-like androids being piloted from within their chests by super-intelligent possums.
• Dracula.
• Not a dracula.
• The Dracula.
• In his evening dress with the big medal and the cape, the whole shmear.
• Cackling and nodding and occasionally shouting “FEED ME BLOOD.”
• Melania’s parents, Tuvt and Moof.
• Allen and Amy Feldman from Boca Raton, members of Mar-A-Lago and winners of the “Attend the SOTU” raffle.
• Dick Dastardly and Muttley.
• Tobin and Squee.
• A pork chop that can start fires with its mind.

GOP:

• Basketball Head.
• John Kasich.
• Mormon To-Be-Named Later.
• Crazy Black Guy.
• Backbench state legislator who claims he will “Out-Trump the Trump” and gets arrested for beating up a hooker three months into his campaign.

DEMOCRATS:

• Uncle Joe.
• Commie Grandpa.
• Several Agony Aunts.
• That guy from Ohio who rolls up his sleeves.
• Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’ Twitter feed.
• Beto!
• Julian and Joaquin Castro running together like in Dead Ringers.
• Hillary. (She’s tanned, rested, and ready.)

LIBERTARIANS:

• Some doofus

GREENS:

• Oleg Deripskaya.

INDEPENDENTS:

• Rich Asshole.
• Nasal Asshole.
• One-Topic Asshole.
• Second Rich Asshole.
• Lyndon LaRouche.

Go french kiss a light socket, dimp.