What a fortnight this has been! (That’s Brit-talk for two weeks, and like most Brit-talk, it sounds cooler than the alternative.) I can’t remember having this many political stories going my way since November of 2016, when the Trumpkin passed Secretariat—um, I mean Secretary Clinton – in the final turn, turning the Javits Center into a place of weeping and gnashing of teeth, and making cute little guy Maddow cry.
Let’s start with the Supreme Court. To be transparent, I’m not generally a huge fan. I think the SC has usurped all kinds of power that the Founders never meant to rest in the hands of unelected judges, and it is far more consequential than it should be. I would be open to all kinds of reforms, including limiting the terms of judges to 10 years.
That being said… WOW! This last spate of rulings have landed like a flurry of Mike Tyson jabs, from back when Tyson was at the peak of his powers, before he got out of shape and tattooed his face and started biting people’s ears off. 54 used to be one of my favorite numbers because Brian Urlacher wore it as he patrolled the defensive middle. Now it’s one of my favorite numbers because of all of the 5-4 rulings of late. (And yes, it’s pathetic that some of these calls should be that close!)
In the Christian baker case, the SC made a sensible ruling on not forcing private businesses to violate their principles because customers disagree with them.
In the so called “Muslim ban” case – two of the six countries affected were Venezuela and North Korea, not exactly known for their Muslim demographics, and the ban somehow didn’t affect countries containing 92% of all Muslims – the SC knocked aside the weak cheese arguments of the court lefties. Especially egregious was the argument from the “wise Latina” – and I use that nickname the same way I would use the nickname “Tiny” for a 350-pound bouncer – that the text of Trump’s order wasn’t unconstitutional, but his tweets were. So… she doesn’t like Trump, and therefore he can’t execute the powers of the president.
The court followed that with another common sense ruling that government unions – which even FDR argued should not exist in the first place — can’t force their members to pay dues that then go to politicians with whom those members have a hate-hate relationship.
All of those are good rulings, and none would have happened if Cankles had been elected, and had appointed a Saul Alinsky clone to the Supreme Court.
But then – the clouds opened and heavenly light shone through while harp music drifted earthward – Anthony Kennedy announced that he’s stepping down, giving Trump a chance to put Gorsuch II onto the bench. And if my condition doesn’t abate – it’s already been way more than 4 hours — I’m going to have to call my doctor in the morning.
At this point, I must give due respect to Mitch McConnell. Yes, I may have called him a Chinless Cartoon Turtle in the past, and I may even have done a phlegm-assisted Southern-accented impression of his ridiculous voice to amuse Cassie the Wonder Dog.
But when I think back now to his tussle with Harry Reid – holder of the highest ever Simpson Face Punchability Index™ rating of 9.95 – I cannot help but laugh. When Reid used the “nuclear option” and dropped the required number of votes to stop a filibuster and confirm a judge from 60 – 51, McConnell warned that the Dems would come to regret that move. That already happened, when McConnell blocked Obama’s last-year nomination of Merrill Garland and we got Gorsuch (peace be upon him) instead. And now it’s likely to happen again.
So I salute you, Cocaine Mitch, and bestow upon you the honorary title of Yertle “Nostradamus” McConnell.
But even outside of the court, it’s been a banner week everywhere I look. The Dems went farther off into the loony left by giving a NY primary win to a telegenic 14-year old Hispanic socialist. I guess if you need to have a banner carrier for your socialist contingent, it’s better to take a cute young minority woman with no track record over a screaming, pasty Vermonter in his late 100s. But Smiley Castro-Chavez-Guevara (no, I am not going to waste my precious time looking up her name) then went for the racist-sexist-ageist trifecta, saying that one reason for her candidacy was that old (check) white (check) males (check and mate) like her opponent are icky, and not worthy of a vote. Ah, the tolerant, open-minded left.
But she’s even worse than some leftists, in that she seems prone to conspiracy theories only believed by the truly loony fringe. In an interview, she talked about the need to get rid of ICE (and thus any border enforcement at all), in part because they have created “black sites.” Of course she has no evidence, and the interview just slid on to the next topic on which she is equally unhinged.
By the way, if a conservative had referred to black sites, s/he would have been roundly mocked, and also informed (snootily) that “those should be called ‘African-American sites,’ you racist!”
Not to be outdone in stupidity – a quality in which she has virtually never been outdone – Maxine Waters got hold of what was apparently a three-dollar Mr. Microphone and started hollering at a bunch of mental patients, unemployed drifters and recent parolees (I’m guessing). She excreted some truly inspiring thoughts about how they should find and publicly harass any GOP politicians they can find, at their homes, at gas stations, or restaurants.
Now I know what you are thinking. You’re thinking, “Dementia is a terrible thing.”
I thought that, too. Judging from her angry, incoherent babbling and her apparently melting face, I thought that in her very old age, her mind has given out, and she is a figure to be pitied. But then I remembered that nearly 30 years ago, she cheered the Rodney King- LA riots as a righteous “uprising,” and that she partied with some of the thugs who had assaulted various pale folks when they were acquitted.
She’s always been a malevolent person, and her current advanced age is no excuse. Let’s hope that she stays in good health, and screeches her way through the Trump re-election campaign in the most high profile way possible.
Next up, good old Jeh Johnson also tossed in his two cents on the immigration issue. You may remember him as Obama’s DHS secretary. I remember him primarily as the man with the most annoyingly spelled name since Brett Favre.
Call me old fashioned, and a traditionalist. And even ruggedly handsome, if you must. But I am not one to go along with a society’s insane agreement to pronounce names incorrectly. “F-A-V-R-E” features an “R” that comes after the “V” – therefore, “Fav-ruh.” But all of sports media agreed to call him “Farve.” The same thing happened with Cub shortstop Shawon Dunston (1985-2002), when everyone agreed to pretend that that “O” was not there, and call him “Shawn.”
But not me. I could accept “Shawn” or “Sean,” but not “Shawon.” So I spent the better part of two decades talking about “Sha-won” Dunston and Brett “Fav-ruh.” And people around me continually stared at me with what I choose to interpret as quiet admiration for my fidelity to the rules of English pronunciation.
Which brings me to Jeh Johnson. In a sane world, his first name would have to rhyme with “meh” – which coincidentally enough, matches the emotion that the mention of his name should inspire, in even the best-case scenario.
But no. “Jeh” wants to be called “Jay.” And our sheep-like media just go along with it. But we have a spelling for “Jay.” It’s “Jay.” I could even accept “J” for a first name, because that would be almost cool, and how else could you pronounce “J?”
But come on. Pilots in trouble do not make frantic “Meh Deh” calls on the radio. I don’t sing “Oh Happy Deh” in church on Sundeh.
Where was I? Oh yeah.
So Chris Wallace interviewed Jeh on the subject of the morality of separating children from their parents when those parents illegally cross our borders. Wallace pointed out that this was Obama’s policy, and that such hideously inhumane and cruel proceedings went on for years, with nary a peep from our debased, Jeh-humoring media. Until Trump became president, and then separating children became the new Holocaust.
If you want to watch an example of a politician dancing around his obvious culpability while acknowledging nothing, watch that interview. When Wallace asked him for a solution to illegal immigration, Jeh said, “We can’t have catch and release…” Even though that’s what Jeh and his boss did.
And he said, “We did not want to go so far as to separate families.” But that’s what Jeh and his boss did.
You almost get the sense that Jeh and his fellow leftists wants us to forget that Trump inherited the child-separation policy – the very one that the lefty mobs now claim to be so offended by – from Obama.
I have only one response to that: Not to-deh, Jeh. No weh.
After all this immigration talk, I bet you are wondering – as I was – what some random old Native American lady thinks about the issue. Well, I don’t know that. But I do know what Elizabeth Warren thinks about it.
She appeared at a rally and added her screeching voice to the chorus of hypocrites calling for abolishing ICE: “We need to rebuild our immigration system from top to bottom, starting by replacing ICE with something that reflects our morality.” By which she apparently means, we should sneak into the ICE camp while they are asleep around their campfires, and scalp a few of them, before stealing their horses and skulking away in the night. (#wemustneverstopmockingher)
Finally, to provide the entertaining cherry on this fortnight’s delicious schadenfreude sundae, my favorite leftist propaganda-documentary-making spokes-walrus — Michael Moore – appeared on the Late Show, which is inexplicably still on the air, hosted by totally un-funny “funny man” Stephen Colbert.
Moore pointed to the “migrant family separation crisis” – naturally, without mentioning that it was Obama’s crisis for years. During his interview, Moore called Trump “the devil.” At least, I think that’s what he said. It was hard to understand him, since he conducted the entire interview while chewing on a comically-oversized turkey leg that you would typically only see in a feast scene in a film about Henry VIII.
Moore indicted lazy America, asking, “When are we all going to get off the couch?” (He asked this while sitting on a dangerously over-taxed chair.) His rousing call was that “we all have to put our bodies on the line” to stop Trump. Unfortunately, he flopped his own body on the line, which resulted in powdering the line and driving it eight inches into the ground, and leaving manatee-shaped divot all around the line.
But he’s got a new film coming out in September, and it’s going to really tell the truth about the insidious Trump agenda. So we’ve got that to look forward to.
Speaking of things to look forward to, I’ve been anticipating getting my home office squared away since we moved into our new/old house a month ago. I finally achieved that, and have been able to realize one of my long-held dreams: having an office with floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases! You can see a picture of my new sanctum sanctorum at my web site: Martinsimpsonwriting.com