Donald Trump wants to be sure that this time around, his closest advisors will be people who will always agree with him, kiss his ring, and “kiss the other ring, too.” So, he is handpicking his cabinet and high-level advisors very carefully. If you are thinking about applying for a job in this administration, be advised to wear your MAGA hat to the job interview.
He already has his Vice-President, J.D. Vance.
Trump is very much aware that a third assassination attempt might be planned. The Secret Service and bullet-proof glass will protect him from snipers. However, he is worried about being poisoned. So, J.D. Vance’s only duty will be to act as Donald’s official food taster. In between meals, J.D. will have full access to every room in the White House, except that he will not be allowed on the couches.
His Chief of Staff will be Susie Wilese.
If Trump actually has to run for a third term, just in case he’s not already Dictator-for-Life by then, Trump wants his 2024 Campaign Manager, Susie “The Ice Maiden” Wilese to be ready to hit the ground running.
The Deputy Chief of Staff will be the chrome-domed Stephen Miller.
He would implement the administration’s immigration agenda, by deporting African Americans and anyone with long hair.
The White House Counsel will be Bill McGinley. Normally this would have been the toughest job in the Trump White House, as he would be in charge of all of Trump’s current and previous lawyers. Now, though, thanks to Presidential Immunity, his only job will be to caddy for the President when he goes golfing.
The Central Intelligence Agency Director will be John Ratcliffe.
Trump can’t be bothered to read Intelligence Reports, so Ratcliffe’s job will be to get the most recently gathered Intelligence aired on Fox News, where the President will be sure to see it.
The Secretary of State will be Marco Rubio.
Little Marco has joked in the past that President Trump has small hands, and might also have “small crowd sizes.” So, he will be sent on missions all over the world, never to return to the United States.
The National Security Adviser will be Mike Waltz.
His job will be to get the Chinese to dismantle their Great Wall and send it to our southern border, where we will get Mexicans to reconstruct it brick by brick on their way out of the country. (If Arizona can have the London Bridge, then surely the U.S. can have the Great Wall of China on our Southern Border.
The “Border czar” will be Tom Homan.
He will be in charge of deporting Latinos and agricultural farm workers, because as President Trump says, “Real Americans don’t eat salad. We eat hamburgers.”
The U.S. ambassador to Israel will be Mike Huckabee’
Oy vay! What can I say?
The EPA Administrator will be Former Rep. Lee Zeldin.
To head the soon-to-be-eliminated Environmental Protection Agency, Trump picked a former New York Congressman whose only job will be to deregulate everything and then turn out the lights when the party is over.
The Head of Homeland Security will be Kristi Noem. We all remember her from the time she shot her dog and goat. “She will make sure that immigrants don’t eat our pets by shooting them first.” (It is still unclear whether this means that she will be shooting the immigrants, or the pets, or both. We are awaiting clarification.)
Will there be any jobs for Liberals and people who voted for Harris? You ask. Of course, there will be. The Deportation holding areas will need tens of thousands of “sanitation engineers.”
Seventy-seven years ago, my parents Harold and Vivian were married. They honeymooned at Niagara Falls, and 9 months later I was born. They didn’t waste any time getting a family started. Two years later, Brother X was born. (His secret identity as Donald Paulson, was recently revealed by the priest who spoke at my Brother Kevin’s funeral). Eight years after Donald’s birth, Kevin was born.
Dad’s book of poetry, Dogface Doggerel, was dedicated to my Mom. When someone asked her if she ever considered divorcing Dad, she replied, “Divorce — never, but murder quite often.” I don’t really think she really meant to say “quite often”. She probably just meant “occasionally.”
I think you can get an idea of what life was like for Hal and Viv, from one of the poems he wrote about life in the Paulson Family.
Bedlam House
The doors all stick, the windows too,
You’d think we painted them with glue.
What paint there is, I should have said,
For that’s all pealed, or cracked, or shed.
The darkened sky, each winter day,
Accents the drabness with coats of gray.
Poor ancient house, my own abode,
I’m sorry for the heavy load,
Imposed upon thy aching frame
By children bearing my surname,
And by their friends, the neighbor’s boys,
Whose only goal is making noise.
From rooster’s crow to Sandman’s call,
Their feet go scampering through the hall,
And leaden hooves encased in tin,
Could not exceed their shattering din.
The sounds and screams from voices shrill,
Drown out my cries of “Please be still.”
Oh, foolish me! How hard I tried
To keep them quietly occupied
With games, and trains, and trucks, and toys.
Each a new excuse to make more noise.
The money I spent to seal my doom
Should have been spent for a soundproof room.
Down in the cellar, which I admit is short,
Is a bowling alley for indoor sport,
A blackboard, a work bench, and radio.
I have even added a video,
Short-wave receiver, shelves of books,
Hobby kits, fishing gear, and hooks.
All this and more are on display,
In hope my sons will learn to play,
In a quiet, serene, and peaceful air.
Yet I’m often shocked when I look down there,
To see sixteen kids having a boisterous time,
And a glance at their faces shows none are mine.
The bedroom upstairs is a hectic scene
As my boys use their beds for a trampoline.
The living room ceiling has cracks in the plaster.
The story of Barabbas is found in all four Gospels – Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. According to the Gospels, Barabbas was a despicable prisoner who was being held by the Roman authorities at the time of Jesus’ trial and crucifixion.
As a token to the Jews during Passover, The Romans would free one prisoner. (Kinda like the way the President pardons one turkey on Thanksgiving.) Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, brought out Barabbas, a notorious robber, who committed murder during an Insurrection, and he let the crowd choose between releasing either Jesus or the evil Barabbas. Pilate could find no fault in Jesus, so he was surprised when the crowd called out, “Give us Barabbas,” and screamed for Jesus to be crucified. Pilate then washed his hands and said, “I wash my hands of the blood of this innocent man. The crowd said, “Let his blood be upon us and our children.” Anti-Semites, like Hitler, have used that line for centuries as an excuse for exterminating Jewish people.
Last night, history repeated itself. The crowd chose to free a notorious robber who was guilty of murder committed during an insurrection, which he led.
On November 18, 1956, Nikita Khrushchev said in a speech to America. “Whether you like it or not, history is on our side. We will bury you.”
Last night, whether we like it or not, we started digging our own grave.
Since 1912, Pravda has been the official newspaper of the Communist Party in the Soviet Union/Russia. Pravda is a Russian word that means “truth.” If you’re going to spread lies and propaganda, of course, the first step is to choose a name that will make the public, at least subconsciously, think you are telling the truth.
This is a lesson that Putin taught his prize student very well. So, when Donald Trump, a renowned serial liar started his social media platform, he, of course, called it Truth Social.
Donald Trump has learned from Vladimir Putin, because he admires the man who has controlled Russia with an iron fist for the past 25 years. Donald Trump wants to be the Putin President.
Before Donald Trump ran for President he was interested in building a Trump Tower in Moscow. Part of his plan to get that tower approved, included offering to give the top floor to Putin. It was just another in a series of business deals that Trump made with Russia, as American banks shied away from dealing with the man who bankrupted two Atlantic City casinos and four other businesses. His partners in the 2006 Trump Soho project in New York included a former official of the Soviet Union, who had previously confessed to felony fraud involving organized crime, Felix Henry Sater born Felix Mikhailovich Sheferovsky.
In 2008, Donald Trump Jr. admitted that money was pouring in from Russia for Trump properties, as Russian Oligarchs invested in and bought Trump properties. In 2013 Eric Trump said that Russians provided financing that American Banks would not.
Then, in 2013, in another attempt to curry favor with Vladimir Putin, Donald Trump took his Miss Universe pageant to Moscow.
Donald Trump, a wannabe dictator himself, lies when he says that he cares about the American people. He cares more about pleasing Vladimir Putin.
Four days ago, Donald Trump had a photo opportunity driving around in a garbage truck. Tomorrow is election day, and we the people can finally put an end to Donald Trump’s lies and his political career. It’s time for America to take out the trash, and dump Trump into the dustbin of history. The truth will set you free.
For my Dad’s Birthday this year, I would like to retell the story of the last road trip I went on with my father. On Father’s Day, I told the tale of our trip to his Army reunion in Indianapolis. This is the story about our trip to his Army reunion in Washington, D.C. which took place in October of 2006. It was reprinted on the Third Armored Division’s website, along with all the poems he wrote during WW II.
This year, for the second year in a row, I went with my dad to his Spearhead 3rd Armored Division, Army Reunion. Last year we went to Indianapolis and had a lighthearted romp in the nation’s heartland. This year the reunion was held in the nation’s capital. So Dad and I spent the last five days together in Washington, D.C. This year it was murder.
Fortunately, the murder was only on the stage in Shear Madness, a delightful murder mystery play we attended on Saturday night at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. The audience, contrary to what I expected, consisted not of Washington elite, but of the group of WW II Vets I was with, and two large groups of high-school students. The students thoroughly enjoyed the interactive portion of the show where they helped “solve” the murder, and the seniors thoroughly enjoyed watching the youngsters have fun. Everyone got a kick out of how the actors worked the 3rd Armored Division and both High School names into the plot. I liked the rockin’ soundtrack, so I’m sure my father didn’t. At least now, he’s no longer yelling for the damn music to be turned down, like he used to when I was a teenager. Nowadays, he’s hi-tech. With the flick of one switch, he can turn both his hearing aids off.
That morning, before the show, we had taken the Monument Tour. Our guide was Kenny. The first stop on the tour was the Marine Memorial, with that famous sculpture of the Servicemen raising the flag on Iwo Jima. The monument is inscribed with the years and innumerable battles the marines have fought all over the world since 1775. This list went on and on and on. Back on the bus, I turned to my father and said, “I knew that the Navy and the Marines didn’t get along, but it looks like Marines don’t get along with anyone.”
We spent the whole week the same way, sharing memories at the memorials and trading barbs on the bus.
The next stop was the Vietnam Memorial. Upon arrival, I announced with pride to the bus of grisly veterans that “This was my war – the one I fought to get out of.”
Thousands of names are carved in the marble chronologically representing each one of the killed and M.I.A. from the Vietnam conflict. The morning was rainy and bleak, and the memorial looked bleak, too. To me, it looked like the headstone for a mass grave. It was kind of creepy. I noticed that John Anderson was the first name scratched into the stone. I was going to go to the far end of the monument to see who the last name was when I thought of the poem by John Donne. “Ask not for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.” Then I noticed a woman with a little slip of paper making one of those pencil shading pictures of the name etched in stone below where she had placed the paper. The two volunteers who had helped her find the section of the monument where the name she sought was carved, stood quietly behind her as she made the shading. When she was finished she got up and hugged both of them. As the woman walked away, there were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling too, and the same thing was going on with the two volunteers. Even though this had to be at least the thousandth time they had helped somebody find a name on the wall, they were still touched by every one of them. I was touched, too.
There were no assigned seats on any of the tour buses, but people invariably would return to the same exact seat after every memorial stop. On the Arlington Cemetery tour I boarded very late. The tour began just after breakfast one morning and my father figured I had probably gone back to bed. He knows I’m not fond of cemeteries, so he got on the bus by himself. By the time I showed up, somebody was already sitting next to my father, so I took an empty seat in the back. After the first stop on the tour, I switched to the seat next to my father. This shift was noticed by one of the ladies, who, just for conversation sake, asked me why I decided to switch seats.”
“Rosa Parks says I don’t have to sit in the back of the bus, anymore” I joked, knowing from previous experience that my father would use the opportunity to talk about the two African-American boys my brother Kevin adopted.
“That’s right,” my Dad said as he proudly pulled out his wallet to show her pictures of his two “colored” grandchildren. “We be black now, so we can sit anyplace on the bus that we want.”
“They’re beautiful children,” the lady said smiling approvingly at the pictures, “and I don’t see any color at all.”
“I know how it is,” Dad replied. “My eyes aren’t so good anymore, either.”
I’m not sure if she knew he was joking.
Shelley the Guide on that tour was super. She was more than super. She was supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Many Washington Tour Guides resemble Mary Poppins with their brightly colored umbrellas leading a pack of tourists around. Whenever it was time to get back on the tour bus, Shelley and her big yellow umbrella would suddenly appear. Washington Tour-Group guides must have to work extra hard to keep track of everybody on rainy days, when everyone has an umbrella.
Our drivers on a couple of the bus tours we took were two black guys named Roscoe and Rodney. I’m not making that up. It was straight out of central casting. I kept asking them to please drive by Dupont Circle, which is mentioned in one of my favorite movies, The American President. They did their best to ignore me.
Shelley couldn’t ignore us though. It was her job to work the crowd. One of the things Shelley liked to do was test our knowledge of Washington, D.C. trivia What my dad and I liked to do was test her patience.
“On your right is The White House. Can anyone tell me who is the only U.S. President who never lived there?”
“Al Gore,” I shouted.
We were like Charlie Weaver and Paul Lynd on the old Hollywood Squares TV Show. Even if we knew the correct answer to one of Shelley’s trivia questions, we wouldn’t answer until we could first come up with a joke answer.
One part of the FDR memorial was a just a pile of great big rocks. I asked Shelley if that was the Marriage Memorial.
“Washington D.C.,” Shelley said, “was built on a swamp and occasionally we have had some flooding. Does anyone know the elevation of Washington D.C.?”
“Lower than pond scum.”
On the right is the Pentagon. Donald Rumsfeld has his office here.
“Stop the bus, and give me a rock,” my Dad yelled out.
On Monday, our tour stopped for lunch at the Pentagon Fashion Center. How’s that for an oxymoron? Pentagon Fashion. Even more interesting was one of the t-shirts they were selling in this mall, just a stone’s throw from the Pentagon. It said:
Tank of Gas: $100
Prescription Refill: $500
Iraq War: $300,000,000,000
New President in 2008: Priceless.
I also found it amusing that each famous place on the tour seemed linked to an equally infamous one.
“On the left is the Jefferson Memorial. On the right is the Tidal Basin where in the 1970’s House power-broker Wilbur Mills was caught cavorting with Fanne Foxe, the Argentine Firecracker.”
There are memorials everywhere you go. While we were there, construction was just finishing up on The Air Force Memorial, which we could see clearly from our hotel window. There must have been at least 50 different Memorials in a town that’s notorious for people who can never, ever, remember anything, especially if they’re under oath.
Many things in Washington are etched in stone, and I don’t mean that figuratively. Unlike New York, where the words of the prophets are written on subway walls, in Washington they’re etched in stone all over the place. The most brilliant statements made by some of the greatest leaders the country ever had are carved into the walls, where you can not only see them but touch them. It’s just a shame that only the tourists are reading them.
On one tour, I learned that Smithson was an English metallurgist who made a fortune on zinc oxide or something like that. He wanted a title and a castle, but because he was illegitimate he wasn’t able to marry a woman of title in England. To spite them, he gave his entire fortune to America, which was how the Smithsonian Museum began. The architect designed one of the Smithsonian buildings to look like a castle in his honor.
Extraordinary coincidence #1. On the same weekend, in the same hotel, having their reunion was the airborne squadron that my father claims accidentally strafed the 3rd Armored Division when they broke through into Germany, because they didn’t think there could possibly be any Americans in Germany, yet. The Army denies that this ever happened. I believe my father.
At the men’s luncheon, we watched a German version of the 3rd Armored Division’s Battle of Cologne. I couldn’t help but think that there probably wasn’t an English version of the film because there simply wasn’t enough profit in the project for an American company to make the movie.
On Saturday, the tour stopped at Union Station for lunch. I was in the Mall and looking all around., because I couldn’t believe that there actually was a train station in America that didn’t have a McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s, or KFC. There must be a secret war on Transfats going on in Washington.
“Did you lose something?” an inquisitive cop said to me, as he saw my eyes gazing around the mall.
“Well, my dad wandered off!” I told him.
“What’s he like?” the cop asked.
“Bourbon, playing cards, and dancing,” I said, “but don’t help me look for him; I’m actually hiding.”
Whenever we asked Dad the question, “Where should I sit?” my father always gave us the same riddle answer, “Sit where your mother sat when she got married.” It took us kids years to figure out that he just meant, sit on your ass; I don’t care where. When we went up the stairs at the Lincoln Memorial, he told me that when she was young, my mother had actually climbed up the statue of Lincoln in the chair and sat on his lap. I couldn’t help but think, “Gosh, my mother was actually young once, too. Wow!’ Seeing how high up Lincoln’s chair was, I also realized that to sit where my mother sat, she sometimes needed a boost. Don’t we all?
I offered to give my dad a boost if he wanted to “sit where my mother sat,” but he declined my generous offer.
At the FDR Memorial, Dad told me that my mother had once written to Eleanor Roosevelt inviting the First Lady to her graduation and Mrs. Roosevelt actually showed up.
My father and I really enjoyed one another’s company this past week, but I had an ace up my sleeve. Any time Dad busted my horns I said, “Be good, or we’re sending Kevin and his kids with you next year.”
At the World War II Memorial, the highlight of the tour for mostly everyone on the bus, the names of all the States of the Union are carved into sections of the stone. People get their pictures taken by the names of their state. My father heckled the people from the tiny states, whenever they would stand up to have their picture taken. “I didn’t know that they had any people in New Hampshire”
When our tour bus got to Arlington National Cemetery, we hopped on a trolley car that took us to all the high points of interest. Our tour guide Shelley had to take a back seat to an official Arlington Cemetery Tour Guide, so it was very informative, but he didn’t know the particulars about the group he was leading. I noticed that we went right past the 3rd Armored section of the Cemetery without a word mentioned about it.
At Arlington we went to the grave of John Kennedy, which is at the bottom of a hill. Robert E. Lee’s House was at the top of that hill, and, according to our guide, the view was spectacular. He said that when John Kennedy was standing on that hill, he had remarked to Jacqueline that he could spend eternity there. That’s why, after his death, the family had him buried there. Our tour guide assured us that he would take us up to the Lee House later in the tour. (But we drove by the back of the house, so we didn’t see any of the amazing view that Kennedy loved.)
I did pick up the best bargain of the tour at Arlington, though. There was a guy in the parking lot selling 10 photo postcards for a buck. I wondered how long a prison term you would get for sending the Arlington Cemetery postcard to President Bush or Dick Cheney and writing “Wish you were here” on it. I also wondered whose name I would forge on the postcard if I ever did that.
Shelley pointed out that the two Senate Office Buildings were officially named recently in an effort to get people to stop referring to them as the Old SOB and the New SOB.
“Is everyone ready to get back on the bus?” Shelley said.
“Hold up a minute, I’ve got to pay a visit to the Wang Memorial.”
Vic Damon, the 3rd Armored Division’s Webmaster, was one of the guest speakers at the final dinner. As a computer geek, he did not appear to be comfortable in the limelight of public speaking, but he sure knew a ton of facts about the 3rd Armored Division. Not only had he read the thousands of tales submitted to the website by hundreds of people, but he had personally researched and visited some of the places of interest. He even had pictures of the Connecticut house where the Division’s leader General Rose was born, and an aerial view of the spot where the beloved general was ambushed by the Germans and murdered. After years of posting all these stories on the Internet and visiting the archives, Vic couldn’t stop thinking of interesting stories related to the main story he was trying to tell. “One last thing, before I get back to my last thing” was an oft repeated line. I guarantee that if you go to the website, you will be fascinated by the thousands of articles, photos, and first-hand accounts of the war. (www.3AD.com)
General Rose’s great great nephew was there to speak about his great great uncle, and wound up very diplomatically giving the praise to the great great troops General Rose had to lead. That got a round of applause and numerous campaign pledges if the young man should ever want to run for public office.
I don’t want to mislead you. This may be a reunion for WW II veterans, but there are a lot of younger people there, too. Most of them are the sons and daughters who either join their parent or who come in honor of a deceased parent. The youngest person at this year’s convention was Jordan, the granddaughter of the 2006 Association President, Bill Heinz. Every one of us wished that we had her energy. She danced. She sang with the band. She led the group twice in the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag. The little girl had so much energy, she made the Eveready Bunny look like a narcoleptic.
One last thing, before I get to my last thing.
There was another incident one night on the tour bus that I was going to omit from this story, but I think that you’re bound to hear it elsewhere, anyway so I might as well tell it here first.
On our way back from the Kennedy Center, an elderly woman went up to the driver and said, “I’ve just been molested!”
The driver felt that she must have fallen asleep and had a dream. So he told her to go back to her seat, and sit down.
A short time later, another old woman claimed that she was just molested. The driver knew he had a bus load of old whacko’s, but doubted if anyone could possibly be molesting these two old ladies?
About 10 minutes later, a third old lady went up and said that she too had been molested.
The bus driver decided that he’d had enough, and pulled into the first rest area. When he turned the lights on and stood up, there was an old man on his hands and knees crawling in the aisles.
“Hey pops, what are you doing down there? ” the bus driver demanded.
“I lost my toupee,” he said. “I thought I found it three different times, but every time I tried to grab it, it ran away!”
Another last thing before I get to my last thing. This one is serious.
After visiting the front lines in WW I, FDR said, “I have seen war. I have seen war on land and sea. I have seen blood running from the wounded. I have seen men coughing out their gassed lungs. I have seen the dead in the mud. I have seen cities destroyed. I have seen 200 limping, exhausted men come out of line – the survivors of a regiment of 1,000 that went forward 48 hours before. I have seen children starving. I have seen the agony of mothers and wives. I hate war.”
And yet he wound up leading the country through World War II.
One generation fights a war so that their children will not have to go to war, but war still does not skip a generation. The men and women in World War II were there because the “War to end all wars,” which their fathers fought, didn’t end all wars. Neither did their war end war. In the 60 years since World War II ended, we’ve had Korea, the Cold War, Vietnam, Persian Gulf 1 & 2, and Granada, to name a few. War gets passed along from generation to generation similar to child abuse. It’s a vicious cycle. Abuse breeds abuse. War breeds war.
I’d like to see one last memorial in Washington, D.C., The War Itself Memorial, a stone to commemorate the death of war. A monument to the day the world learned to live in peace. Make it out of wood, and we, the living, could all go carve our own names on it. Then, the sacrifices made by all the people in previous wars, will finally stop being in vain.
While I gazed on the rows and rows of Graves in Arlington Cemetery. I couldn’t help but think of these words by Bob Dylan:
How many times must a man look up Before he can see the sky? Yes, ‘n’ how many ears must one man have Before he can hear people cry? Yes, ‘n’ how many deaths will it take till he knows That too many people have died? The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind, The answer is blowin’ in the wind.
By virtue of the power of the 3AD Webmaster, and by outliving so many of the other guys from World War II, my father has become the poet laureate of the 3rd Armored Division. The poems he wrote about his army career were collected into a book called Dogface Doggerel. Many of those poems are freely available for all to read on the aforementioned http://www.3AD.com website. After the past weekend, Dad too was nudged by the muse and he decided to put his feelings down in a poem. In extraordinary coincidence #2, it turns out that my father and I did something this week that we tried desperately not to do in the past. We agreed on something. He, too, felt that there should be another memorial in our nation’s capital. He actually felt we needed two more. Here is the poem he wrote to explain why.
WE NEED A NEW MEMORIAL
By Harold A. “HAP” Paulson
I just returned from our reunion, In Washington, D.C. It’s a city full of memorials, To honor folks like you and me.
Tribute is paid to the Air Force, The Seabees and the Marines. Vets from the war in Korea, Vietnam and other scenes.
We honor the women who went to war, And those who stayed behind, And the National cemetery at Arlington, Is a reminder for all mankind.
Please don’t think we have enough now, I’d like to add two more, To the paraplegics, the blind, the lame, All those invalids from the war.
I’d place one on the White House lawn, And one on Capitol Hill, A gruesome reminder to politicos Of those men still paying the bill.
It would have a wheelchair and crutches, A cane for those who are blind, A hospital bed from a burn unit And orthopedics of every kind.
I’d place one so that the PRESIDENT, When he arose each morn, Would get a reminder from it, Of the load these men have borne.
And the one up at the Capitol, As an inscription would have this plea, “The next time you declare war, Enlist yourselves, but don’t send me.”
—————————–
One more last thing, before I get to my last thing.
Studies have shown that more people die in the months just after their birthday than in the months just prior to their birthday. The hypothesis is that looking forward to something helps you keep living. As we get older, and birthdays are less anticipated, maybe we might live longer if we are looking forward to some other things, such as Reunions or Anniversaries (Well, maybe not in all cases, but in some). My dad was the only member of his 703rd Tank Destroyer Battalion healthy and young enough to make it to the Spearhead reunion, and I know it is because every year he looks forward to spending a few pleasant days with the gang who went slogging through hell with him. Now I have something great to look forward to, also, next year’s reunion in Louisville, Kentucky. I’m hoping to bring back some souvenirs from Fort Knox.
Peace and Love, and all of the above, Earl
P.S. We never did make it to another reunion, as Dad wasn’t healthy enough to make the trip, but he still managed to bring good times to the folks in the senior-citizen village in Florida where he spent his final years. Happy Birthday, Dad.
Aaron Judge said that the 2024 World Series will haunt him for the rest of his life. Losing a baseball game, especially an important game like the World Series, should affect you, but not haunt you for the rest of your life. Killing somebody is something that should haunt you for the rest of your life, not an error on a pop fly. I understand how Aaron Judge feels though. He’s an MVP player and he took his eye off the ball for a split second to look at the baserunner. It led to a disastrous 5th inning in a World Series game that the Yankees desperately needed to win to stay alive in the series.
So, what should he do? Wear a hair shirt for the rest of his life? No. He made an error. Nobody died. Sure, millions of people were disappointed, but shit happens. Just minutes before that play, he made a sensational catch crashing into the centerfield wall. He, certainly, didn’t miss the next shallow pop fly on purpose. It was an error. He was trying to make the play and keep an eye on the baserunner, too. Looking back on it, he should have kept his eye on the ball, but you don’t play baseball looking backwards. You play it in real-time, and, in real-time, shit happens. It’s the law, Murphy’s Law, “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and at the worst possible time.
Aaron Judge makes $40 million a year. He signed a $360 million contract for 9 years. He could probably eke by for 9 years on just $320 million, and not have to really give up anything. So, I’ve figured out how he can turn something really bad into something really good. He can donate his entire $40 million 2024 salary to New York charities, or he could start his own charity. That much money, would feed a lot of the hungry, clothe a lot of the naked, house a lot of the homeless, and heal a lot of the sick. He can turn a World Series game gone bad into something that make the world much better for a lot of people. Maybe, management and others on the team might want to chip in something, and be part of helping to turn a lost World Series Ring into a ringing victory for New York City. The shortstop who made the bad throw to third, and the pitcher who didn’t cover first base, both played their asses off for every other moment of the game. They each made just one mistake, but those mistakes will probably haunt them, too, for the rest of their lives, like Ralph Branca’s homerun pitch to Bobby Thompson, or the ground ball that went through Bill Buckner’s tired old legs at first base. Their small errors will take on mythical proportions, unless they can exorcise the demons quickly. They can do that by turning those demons into angels, angels of mercy. I’ll bet that the Yankee players and management could easily raise $100 million and, if their charity had a catchy name, the multitude of Yankee fans might easily match that amount. Right now, I’m leaning towards naming the charity something like, the Call to the Field, or the ’24 Challenge, or The World Serious Fund.
The damned Yankees of 2024 can rise up like a Phoenix from the ashes of the World Series. Instead of letting something haunt them for the rest of their lives, they, and their fans, can use the moment to do things that will make them positively proud of themselves for the rest of their lives, something worthy of a ticker-tape parade. It could positively benefit the lives of many thousands of New Yorkers, probably enough people to fill a baseball stadium.
If he is elected President, Donald J. Trump promised to deport people who disagree with him a.k.a. “the enemy within.” I’m sure that can’t mean all 80 million people who will be voting for Kamala Harris, but it must include the people who openly mocked him on TV, radio, websites, and social media. That would include most of my favorite late-night comedians, especially Jimmy Kimmel, Stephen Colbert, Seth Meyers, and Jimmy Fallon. Colin Jost and Michael Che would have to be included, too. The list is too long to mention, but just about every comedian, with the possible exception of Dennis Miller, would probably be sent to a gulag, while they awaited deportation to someplace else in the world. Tony Hinchcliffe, a.k.a. Kill Tony, the comedian at Trump’s Madison Square Garden rally might be spared, too.
Rachel Maddow, Chris Hayes, Lawrence O’Donnell, Alex Wagner, Ari Melber, Joy Reid, Stephanie Ruhle, Al Sharpton, Ayman Mohyeldin, Jonathan Lemire, and just about everybody else at MSNBC would probably be on the list, too. I’m sure that plenty of people at CNN, CBS, NBC, and ABC would be deported, too, especially anyone who was a moderator in any of the debates, such as Jake Tapper and Dana Bash, David Muir and Linsey Davis, Norah O’Donnell and Margaret Brennan. Of course, anyone who works as a fact-checker would go to the head of the list.
Those of us who have mocked Trump on websites and social media, but are lesser known, might have trouble getting seats on the deportation boats. Complete unknowns like myself, might not even get steerage tickets on the early boats. If Donald Trump is elected, I would much prefer being deported than remaining in a comedian-deprived country where the majority of its citizens would voluntarily elect a twice impeached, convicted felon and sexual predator, who not only tried to rig a Presidential election, but who, when that didn’t work, led a failed coup attempt to overthrow the government. So, I want to plead my case for a seat on the deportation boats by offering just some of the anti-Trump cartoons I’ve circulated in recent months.
At a rally, Tucker Carlson creepily compared Donald Trump to a stern father who would instill good behavior in his “bad girl” daughter by vigorously spanking her. Instead of being disgusted by this image, the MAGA morons in the audience welcomed Trump to the stage with chants of “Daddy Don.”
By calling Donald Trump, Grandpa Poopie Pants, I was, of course, referring to the time the Donald shit his pants on the golf course.
I have also made fun of him for being the stooge for various dictators around the world.
At his rallies, when he’s not droning on about windmills killing whales, birds, and everything else, he drones on about sharks attacking electric boats. Now, he’s come up with a new story about how Arnold Palmer was well hung. So, I countered:
Political cartoonists were soon joining in.
I made fun of his McDonald’s photo op:
The “Stable genius” obviously didn’t know that Hitler’s generals tried to assassinate him.
His court cases and guilty verdicts on 34 felony charges were also worth poking fun at.
He said that nobody leaves his rallies early and proved it by stranding his cult members in the desert.
Hundreds of Trump supporters also found themselves stranded, but this time in prison, after they gleefully accepted Trump’s advocation to storm the Capital and fight like hell.
FILE PHOTO: Tear gas is released into a crowd of protesters, with one wielding a Confederate battle flag that reads “Come and Take It,” during clashes with Capitol police at a rally to contest the certification of the 2020 U.S. presidential election results by the U.S. Congress, at the U.S. Capitol Building in Washington, U.S, January 6, 2021. REUTERS/Shannon Stapleton/File Photo
Trump’s teachers were not very impressed by his intellect.
Neither was Nancy Pelosi.
We all know that he has tacky taste.
But decorating his guest bathroom with stolen classified documents was too much.
So, Ol’ Bone Spurs wants to be the Commander-in-chief of the U.S. Armed forces again.
But hundreds of people who worked in his administration have spoken out against him ever being anywhere near the Oval Office again. I know that his former V.P. Mike Pence won’t be voting for him.
The only thing he is good at is branding. He managed to squeeze a fortune out of his cult followers with Mug shot merchandise.
But now it’s time to see which way the wind blows on Election Day.
Will I wind up being deported, or will he wind up going to jail?
Maya stretched lazily in her garden hammock after returning from the morning’s Star Circle gathering. The community center’s dome-shaped ceiling had been especially beautiful today, its smart-glass panels shifting to show a real-time view of the cosmic particles constantly passing through Earth – a reminder of humanity’s connection to the cosmos that never failed to fill her with wonder.
At forty-six, she was entering her third “retirement,” and this transition felt different from the others. When the medical diagnostic AI had perfected its ability to spot cellular anomalies, ending her career as a pathologist, she’d discovered the Way of Cosmic Wonder. The community had helped her see her career transition not just as an economic shift, but as part of humanity’s greater evolution.
Her first retirement check – society’s way of saying thank you for maintaining that position until automation could take over – had coincided with her first Wonder Ceremony. Standing before the community, she’d presented her understanding of how the same atomic elements that made up her cells had been forged in ancient stars. The parallel between her own transformation and the cosmic cycles of change had brought tears to her eyes.
The automated delivery drone buzzing overhead reminded her of her second career transition. She’d spent eight fascinating years helping design empathy protocols for caregiving robots, until those too had evolved beyond the need for human input. Another partial salary was added to her monthly income, and this time, she’d marked the transition with a Legacy Celebration – not of life’s end, but of a career well-served. The community had gathered in the garden amphitheater, sharing stories of how human empathy had guided machine learning to be more compassionate.
Her neighbor Tom waved from his front porch where he was tending to an elaborate hydroponic garden – his passion project since the automated vertical farms had taken over most food production. He’d been one of the first to benefit from the Automation Gratitude Act of 2042, back when he was a truck driver. Now he supplied half the neighborhood with heirloom tomatoes and taught gardening classes at the community center’s seasonal celebrations. His Winter Solstice workshops on indoor growing had become a beloved tradition.
The transition hadn’t always been smooth. Maya remembered the heated debates in the 2030s when the first wave of AI had begun displacing workers. But then something remarkable happened: the Way of Cosmic Wonder had emerged alongside the economic changes, helping people see automation not as a threat, but as part of humanity’s evolution toward higher purposes. The movement’s emphasis on evidence-based understanding had helped people embrace the change while maintaining their sense of human value and community connection.
The corporate world had transformed too. Companies still competed fiercely, but now within the ethical framework of the Cosmic Wonder principles. The most successful enterprises were those that had mastered both “graceful automation” and community integration. Many had built their own Star Circles, where employees and AI systems collaborated while contemplating humanity’s place in the universe.
Maya smiled as she watched a group of teenagers heading to the neighborhood maker space, wearing the spiral symbols of the Way on their recycled fabric clothes. They would never know the old anxiety about choosing the “right” career that would last a lifetime. Instead, they grew up understanding that their lives would be a series of contributions and transitions, each valued and rewarded by society, each a step in humanity’s collective growth.
Her AI assistant gently reminded her about the community council meeting that evening. They were voting on proposals for using the neighborhood’s automation dividend – the excess wealth generated by the AI systems that now did most of the traditional work. Maya had an exciting proposal: combining the community’s gratitude payments to fund a new kind of art center, where humans and AIs would collaborate to create works expressing the wonder of existence.
As she prepared for the meeting, she noticed the blue dot symbol on her tablet – the community’s reminder of Earth’s precious uniqueness. The economic security provided by the Gratitude Economy had allowed the Way of Cosmic Wonder to flourish, giving people time to contemplate their place in the universe and contribute to humanity’s growth in meaningful ways.
The council meeting would begin, as always, with a moment of cosmic meditation – contemplating the vast scales of space and time that had led to this moment. Maya thought about how different this was from the dystopian futures people had feared. Instead of machines taking everything, humanity had found a way to combine technological progress with spiritual growth, creating a society where both material needs and deeper human yearnings could be fulfilled.
The evening’s discussion would include the latest initiative: integrating the Gratitude Economy’s retirement ceremonies with the Way’s traditional rites of passage. Maya’s own next transition would be marked not just by a new income stream, but by a Union Celebration – a commitment to use her growing financial security to serve the community’s highest goals.
As the sun set, painting the sky in colors that even the most advanced AI still couldn’t fully appreciate, Maya felt profoundly grateful. This, she thought, was the true gift of their age – not just freedom from want, but the opportunity to wonder, to grow, and to contribute to humanity’s journey among the stars.
End of Chapter one.
* Many futuristic stories I read are about dystopian societies. I asked Claude3, my AI assistant to work with me on writing a positive story of the future where people get a pension when automation takes over their job. They move to another job where they are encouraged to find ways to automate that job using AI, and are then rewarded with an additional pension when they achieve success. So, instead of AI taking away a person’s livelihood, it provides an ever increasing income stream as they go from job to job, making the world a better place, where AI does most of the work providing income and more leisure time for people to enjoy themselves and follow their dreams.
As John Lennon said, “Imagine all the people livin’ life in peace. You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us, and the world will be as one.”
In my last article, I wrote about how Donald Trump is promising “No taxes on tips” as a means to gain votes and ultimately as an excuse to fire the new IRS auditors who were hired to investigate multi-millionaires and large corporations.
That’s just one of the reasons billionaires like Peter Thiel and Elon Musk are campaigning for Donald Trump and J.D. Vance. Peter Thiel is also in favor of tearing up the Constitution, which Donald Trump is in favor of doing. So, a Trump victory would be a double victory for him. Musk already is one of the richest people in the world, but he also stands to increase his wealth by getting government contracts. So his giving away $1,000,000 a day to people who sign his petition and support Trump is just a misdirection to hide the many billions of dollars he expects Trump to bestow upon him through Government contracts.
I said before that Donald Trump doesn’t care about tip employees. He’s only working on a plan to make the rich richer. I did a little more research and found that it’s even worse than I thought. In 2017, while he was President, the Trump administration proposed a rule that would allow employers to legally take workers’ tips if those workers earned at least minimum wage.
The Economic Policy Institute (EPI) reported in 2017 that, if Trump’s proposal became law, Employers would pocket $5.8 billion in tips annually. The rule would affect not just restaurant workers but all tipped workers (nail salon workers, casino dealers, barbers, etc.) So, under Trump, tipped workers would actually lose $5.8 billion in tips annually. That number could actually be much higher as tips are often under-reported.
Trump wants tipped employees to think he is putting money in their pockets, while, in reality, he would be picking their pockets. He disguises it to look like he cares for others. He really doesn’t.
Don’t let Donald Trump pick your pocket. Make the rich pay their fair share of taxes.
Juan comes up to the U.S./Mexican border on his bicycle. He has two very large bags over his shoulders. The American guard stops him and says, “What’s in the bags?”
“Just sand,” answered Juan.
The guard says, “We’ll just see about that. Get off the bike.” The guard takes the bags and rips them apart; he empties them out and finds nothing in them but sand. He detains Juan overnight and has the sand analyzed, only to discover that there is nothing but pure sand in the bags. The guard releases Juan, puts the sand into new bags, hefts them onto the man’s shoulders, and lets him cross the border.
A day later, the same thing happens. The guard asks, “What have you got?”
“More sand,” says Juan.
The guard does his thorough examination and discovers that the bags contain nothing but sand. He gives the sand back to Juan, and Juan crosses the border on his bicycle.
This sequence of events is repeated every day for three years. Finally, one day, Juan doesn’t show up. It also happens, that this day turns out to be the guard’s last day of work before he retires. He is frustrated that he never solved this case, and he just has to know what Juan’s been doing all these years, so, after work, he goes to a few bars in Mexico until he finally finds Juan.
“Hey, Buddy,” says the guard, “I retired today, so I won’t do anything to you, but I just know you were smuggling something these last three years. It’s driving me crazy. It’s all I can think about….. I can’t sleep, and I’d like to retire with some peace of mind. Just between you and me, please tell me what you were smuggling.”
Juan took a sip of his beer and casually said, “Bicycles.”
The sandbags in the joke were used for misdirection. It wasn’t so much smuggling that Juan was doing. It was magic through misdirection.
Recently, Donald Trump has been running a lot of ads where he pronounces that if he becomes President again, he will eliminate all taxes on tips. This is good news for waiters, waitresses, barmen, barmaid, bellhops, cabbies, and everyone else who works for low wages and depends upon tips. I had to ask myself, though, “Why is Trump making so much of this?” He’s a man who only thinks of himself. So, what’s in it for him? I saw the trick, but what was the magic involved? Where was the misdirection, and, especially, where was his trademark fear?
Trump focuses his campaign on fear. He says that if Harris wins, there will be World War III, there will be a 1929-style depression, and illegal immigrants will kill you and your family, eat your dog, and take your home and your jobs. He said the same things would happen if Biden was elected in 2020. He plays on fear, and fear of non-white immigrants is his specialty. He got elected in 2016, by promising to build a wall across the entire southern border. It worked then. It got him elected, and, since he never actually built the wall, he is still able to campaign on the same issue. He will say or do anything to make his base fear immigrants. “They’re eating your pets,” he tells them, and he, and only he, can and will be their protector.
Where was the “fear factor” in declaring that he will stop taxing tips, though? It was actually such a popular “concept” that Kamala Harris quickly supported the idea herself, and said her Administration would not tax tips, either.
So, let me play Penn & Teller, who had a television program where they showed you how magic tricks were performed, and I’ll explain the magic trick.
In 2022, Vice President Kamala Harris cast the tiebreaking vote in the Senate to pass a bill that, in part, gave money to the Internal Revenue Service.
Speaking in Las Vegas, Trump told his followers: “Kamala cast the tiebreaking vote to hire 87,000 new I.R.S. agents to go after your tip income.” Two days later, Trump ran an ad that said, “Harris and Biden have literally unleashed the I.R.S. to harass workers who receive tips.”
Frequently during his rallies, especially when talking about one of his court cases, he tells the audience, “They are coming for YOU, but I am in their way.” He, and only he, can and will be the great protector for his followers against the evil “Them.” There’s the fear factor. He told the multitude of people in Las Vegas, who work for tips, that Kamala Harris cast the deciding vote to bolster the I.R.S. and now the I.R.S. is coming after all those workers who haven’t been declaring all their tips for tax purposes. He is the only one standing up for his followers against “Them.” Kamala even wants to increase the number of I.R.S. agents. If Trump wins the election, he promises to drastically reduce the number of I.R.S. agents.
Ah, there’s the rub. That’s the misdirection.
In 2023, the I.R.S. did use money from the Inflation Reduction Act to pay for 13,661 positions, including 495 for enforcement. From 2024 to 2030, the agency expects to hire about 32,500 more for enforcement.
That seems to prove Trump’s point. Magically prove it. But here’s the tricky part.
The I.R.S. has been focusing on enforcement against large corporations and wealthy taxpayers. Since the law passed in 2022, the I.R.S. has collected more than $1 billion from high-wealth taxpayers. They are not targeting the chump change in your tip jar. They are going after the big bucks, the ultra-rich corporations and the people who refuse to pay their fair share of taxes. They are not coming after you. They ARE coming after Donald Trump, Elon Musk, Peter Thiel, the chief contributor to J.D. Vance, Rupert Murdock, and the Fortune 500 companies which pay lower income tax rates than the average high-school teacher.
Donald Trump is not your protector. He is certainly not standing between your tip jar and the I.R.S. He is trying to get you to protect him. Vote for him and he will fire half the I.R.S. agents on Day One. He’ll be glad to do it. The only thing that will make him happier on Day One is pardoning himself for any and all the crimes he’s committed.
According to the U.S. Constitution, billionaires like Pay Pal founders Elon Musk, Peter Thiel, and Rupert Murdoch can’t become President, because they were not born in the United States. Musk was born in South Africa. Thiel was born in Germany, and Murdoch was born in Australia. They can, however, use their vast media enterprises, social networks, and resources to try to buy the election for a not-so-smart aging white guy who can easily be flattered into tearing up that Constitution and happily cutting taxes for the rich and the restless once again.
We, the People of the United States, need to protect our Constitution and our country. We need to keep Donald Trump and his ilk as far away from the Oval Office as possible. We need to elect Harris/Walz in November.
earlthepearl137 