Archive for the ‘politics’ Tag
Everyone should send a letter or, since everyone reads them if they pass through their hands, a postcard like this one to
President Stephen Bannon
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington, DC 20500
A) this seems to be the sort of thing that gets under Trump’s skin and might cause him to have a stroke if it happens enough, and
B) see A).
Links to terminology:
Cottaging (also, this video from Monkey Dust)
Santorum (if the link ever fails, Google search “frothy” and “Santorum”)
FBs (hint, NOT FaceBook or First Baptist, unless it is)
Drunken Bunny Liqueurs
I’ve watched every Presidential Inauguration since 1973 but this time around I joined a few thousand like-minded individuals down at the US Embassy. More diverse than the Socialist rallies I more frequently frequent, it was also attended by many more Americans than usual.
Good talks, throughout, but I don’t really think the chants lead to contemplation either by observers or the chanters themselves; still, the spontaneous eruption of, “lock him up! Lock him up! Lock him up!” made me smile.
I went down empty-handed knowing there would be plenty of placards to pick up on the way (I grabbed a No To Racism one half down from the Marlborough Head); the homemade ones were best, though. A personal favourite was “Make America Read Again.”
The promise was to stage resistance Trump when he comes to visit. “We’ll grind London to a halt.”
Oh, and Lily Allen staged an impromptu concert.
“I’m going to build a great buzz and Mexico is going to pay for it,” Jackie declared unconvincingly last night. She works what are termed, here, “unsocial hours” so her lunchtime is 4 pm and today that is 1 hour before the officer that carries the Football discretely shifts across the Inaugural Stage from the side of President Obama to that orange guy. For lunch, she is having tequila today. I hope the bar doesn’t have a tele.
I, on the other hand, am just now boarding a bus bound from Oxford to Baker Street then walking the few blocks down to Grosvenor Square to join an Inauguration themed rally in front of the US Embassy. Should be fun. Do join us, there will probably be a chance to watch the riot squads of the Metropolitan Police in action. The old joke about the bear applies to my hope for large numbers turning out:
When the Met comes at you is it better to run or to offer Passive Resistance?
Oh, mate, we should run.
Do you really think you can outrun them?
No, I only have to outrun you lot.
When I think Trump and Tequila, this is the picture that comes to mind:
British betting shops are ready to cover your Trump related wagers. At Ladbrokes, we have:
The troubling one on that list is 2025 OR LATER…. Well, not as troubling as 2017 ever becoming an option in the first place.
The selection at Paddy Power is:
I have a lousy gambling record so I don’t want to read too much into this, but those seem like pretty good odds for the Wee-wee Tape coming out (yes, he puts the ‘P’ in POTUS). And, if I understand the semantics of this slate of bets then he has slightly better odds of Splitting With His Soft Core Porn Star Wife than he has of Not Getting Inaugurated In The Next 24 Hours. I keep saying, ill-advised though it is to do so out loud, that America really needs a patriot with good aim to step up (maybe a Secret Service Agent with inoperable cancer?) and get me that 20:1 payoff.
Stanhope’s ghoulish Celebrity Death Pool (fantasy football for the obituary obsessives) seems to have tapped into that same stream of consciousness. The leading ‘picks’ as of yesterday were the easy to justify Charlie Manson and George HW Bush. Number 3? You don’t get that many votes from people expecting a fatal hairspray incident:
I held the door into Trinity for a girl with a guitar bag slung across her back, then looked around the bar as she headed upstairs. Eventually, a guy came over and asked if I had been served. “Happy hour?” I asked.
“Yes it is.”
“Okay, I wish to be happy. Make it so.” He looked at me blankly, so I continued, “I mean, how does your happy hour work?”
“Things are cheaper than later at night.”
“Okay, then. An Amstel, please. You sure it isn’t 3 for the price of 1?”
“You should know how it works. You lot invented it.”
“True, but I’m not real proud of America’s recent innovations.”
Bingo. This prompted the start of a very pleasant chat wherein the guys at the bar tried to convince me of just how nice the States can be.
Another young woman with a guitar came in and asked if the session was upstairs. The other guy at the bar asked what was going on up there. “WURD Sessions. It’s some sort of live internet thing to give local singers and musicians a bit of exposure.”
Quite nice music in our bar, as well. Dylan, the Clash, some Van Morrison and none of it the stuff you usually hear. This instrumental came on and it turned out to be ‘Watermelon in Easter Hay‘ from Joe’s Garage. Awesome.
The conversation returned to the election and I eventually got to repeat my theory that Trump will never serve. “You think he’ll abdicate?”
“Can they impeach him before he is in office?”
“No, and they’re Republicans…they want to use him for a while.”
“Just a theory, mind, but the wife and I reckon there has already been a call from the CIA or the NSA to the Kremlin that went something like,
‘You guys are going to have to eat this one. We’re going to make it look like an accident but, in the event of a thorough investigation, it will look like you did it. We’ll make it up to you sometime.’
“You know, business as usual.” They pretended to be convinced.
Everyone was so happy at Cambridge my second day at work. It was 20 January 2009 and, late in the afternoon, most of the Chemistry Department retired to the commissary to watch Obama’s inauguration. My boss said I seemed a bit subdued and I told him that, yeah, this was wonderful but that it wouldn’t last and that was why I was abandoning my US citizenship. I’ve taken a lot of mockery about that these last several years.
I hate being right. But, this wasn’t a new prediction — I saw all of this clearly more than 40 years ago during the Bicentennial festivities.
This bottle of malt that lives in my desk taunts me. If I start drinking before the day is over, I may never stop again. RIP, America…it was occasionally a noble experiment.
You stupid, stupid motherfuckers. You talk all that shit about needing your guns to protect you from tyranny, all that braggadocio about patriotism. Here’s your chance, you big bunch of pussies.