Late Thursday I wrote a column celebrating what had been one of the best weeks ever – but I wrote prematurely, because I only covered Sunday through Wednesday. And the good times did not stop flowing on hump day.
In fact, they continued on Thursday, when Trump went after Pelosi… at a prayer breakfast!
Okay, even I have to admit that that was not a good look for Trump. Hammer the sleazy Dems in a news conference, or standing by a helicopter, or even through a barrage of childish and offensive – and yet hilarious — tweets.
But not at a prayer breakfast! I agree that the SOTU is not a sacred occasion, nor are campaign stops, Rose Garden speeches, or rallies. But I wish that Trump could have held his fire until after the prayer breakfast.
That being said, I am a flawed and fallen person, as are we all. I constantly need forgiveness and grace. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. That thing I don’t want to do, that is the very thing that I do. And etc.
So if Trump’s team had asked me on Wednesday night to write a prayer for him to deliver at the prayer breakfast, l would have asked if Nancy Pelosi was going to be there. And when the answer was yes, I would have said, “Let me think about it.”
Then I would have poured myself a big ol’ scotch, and fired up my computer, and sat in quiet contemplation. The part of myself I like to call “St. Martin of the CO site” would perch on my right shoulder, wearing a set of angel wings and a halo, and say, “C’mon, man. It’s a prayer breakfast.
But on my left shoulder would be “Martacus,” with devil horns and a Roman centurion helmet, working on his third scotch, and whispering, “It’s Nancy freaking Pelosi.”
And then I would high five little Martacus (which sounds like a double-entendre, but I swear it is not!) rub my hands together and cackle like Hillary when she’d just bullied one of Bill’s powerless female victims into keeping quiet. And I would write this prayer – which you should read in Trump’s voice, if you can:
“Oh Lord, — and I don’t mean the pagan god Ra, who was worshiped by a certain person sitting at one end of this table, and who everybody knows was a false god, right? I mean, the body of a human guy with the head of a bird, and he’s supposed to represent the sun somehow? Ridiculous. Totally fake god.
Where was I? Oh yeah: Dear Lord, thank you so much for taking me through the trials and tribulations brought upon me by my enemies. And by “trial” I mean total sham trial. Everybody knows that.
Thank you for giving me a complete vindication and victory over my persecutors, with their pencil necks and their phony transcripts and their bulging eyes and their made-up charges. Sad.
During these trying times, I got great comfort from many parts of life. From my smoking hot wife – love you, honey! — and the record low unemployment, and your generous gift of drones, which I wisely used to kill those three terrorist creeps. Tremendously accurate strikes.
I’ve also drawn comfort from knowing that I am totally acquitted, while you have confused and thwarted my opponents, to the point that they have spent what feels like 40 years wandering in the gymnasiums and VFW halls of Iowa, having lost the ability to do simple math. That was truly a good one, God.
But Lord, I’m not a perfect man. My phone calls are perfect – so perfect! — but I am not. And I know that I need to be able to forgive my enemies, and not hold grudges. And I confess that, frankly, I have been holding a grudge against someone in this room. From the time I first saw her when I was only a child, and she was starring in one of those great 1930s Universal classic monster movies, she has terrified me.
Even further back, when she was standing beside her pharaoh, and Moses brought your 10 commandments – top notch commandments, by the way. Just terrific! — down from the mountain, and she tried to tear them into pieces, like a complete lunatic.
By the way, lord, I also thank You for visiting me in a dream last night, and giving me the idea of having my next 4 SOTU speeches carved on stone tablets, just in case.
In conclusion, please continue to bless this most amazing of countries, and defeat its enemies. Smite them with boils and coronavirus and primary challenges and near-lethal levels of botox, fill their filthy streets with fecal matter and dirty syringes, and make them bleed from the eyes when they say something especially stupid in the middle of a debate.
Okay, so other than Trump letting loose in the prayer breakfast (and I want my president to be better than me, with my sarcastic mockery and hilarious, repetitive mummy jokes), the week ended almost as greatly and bigly as it began.
Later on Thursday, Trump tore some more burial strips off of Pelosi (HA! I can’t stop myself) in a secular press conference setting.
That same day, Grandma Squanto got off of a private plane in New Hampshire, after thundering against global warming and CEOs with gigantic carbon footprints taking private planes everywhere. When she saw a camera man nearby, she ducked behind one of her aides, and kept maneuvering to keep that person between her and the camera. Which was hilarious!
That might have worked when you hid behind your horse as you stalked a US cavalry unit, or snuck up on a horde of delicious, migrating crabs on the plains of Oklahoma, Lizzie. But it doesn’t work in an airport filled with cellphones in 2020! #wemustneverstopmockingher
On Friday, another round of great economic numbers came out, highlighted by almost a quarter-million new jobs created. (Remember Paul Krugman, on election night? “The economy will never recover from Trump’s election!”)
But there was one job loss announced that day. That was Qassim al-Rimi, the leader of terror group al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula, who underwent an unscheduled rectal exam via a drone-fired missile in Yemen. After he had survived a raid earlier in Trump’s administration, al-Rimi taunted Trump, saying that “the new fool of the White House received a painful slap across his face.”
When asked about that at a press conference, Trump said, “Ooh, I got a rhetorical face slap. And now al-Rimi is “al-ream-y.” What a loser!”
Okay, Trump didn’t say that. But he should have. And admit it, you heard that in his voice, didn’t you?
And after all that – after the Three Stooges show in Iowa, and dessicated mummy hands impotently tearing up the triumphant SOTU speech, and a not-even-close acquittal and another dead terrorist – it was Friday night. And the Democrats had another debate.
And it was beautiful!
Seven leftist dwarves took the stage (insert your own “Bloomberg is the 8th dwarf” joke here), and proceeded to stake out the farthest left positions they could.
My summary of the transcript: “I’m more unelectable!” “No, I am!” “No, my outlandish positions will offend and repulse way more regular Americans than yours will!” “No more malarkey! 23 skidoo! Remember the Alamo!”
Ugh. There were way too many idiotically repugnant positions to sort through, so I’m just going to pick one: America is RACIST!
Bernie had perhaps the most perfectly condensed statement of the main idea, when he said, “We have a racist society from top to bottom!”
His statement was slightly more hyperbolic than the others, but all of them joined him in the idea, with Mayor Pete indicting our racist ”justice system, education, healthcare and housing.” Then, when a moderator asked Grandma Squanto if that was “a substantial answer” from Pastor Pete, the Potawatomi Prevaricator™ (copyright by me, right now, in case she gets the nomination and I need to start turning out t-shirts and bumper stickers to supplement my meager writing income) said, “No,” and went on to up the ante even more on how terribly racist America is.
Amy Klobuchar, afraid that she wasn’t going to get a chance to crap on our country too, got the moderator’s attention by heaving a binder right into her skull. Witnesses differ on whether that pitch was more of a curve or a slider, but everyone agreed it hit the sweet spot of the strike zone. Or in this case, the moderator’s right orbital bone.
While paramedics gave the moderator medical attention, Klobuchar took advantage of the air time to condemn,` “the systematic racism when it comes to voting.”
Okay, I made up the part about the binder throwing. Because she is always careful to do that behind closed doors, and only against aides who are unimportant enough that nobody notices when they disappear, and their bodies are never found.
But I didn’t make up her quote, which is much more damning than the niggling question of whether she may have pelted an intern or two – or 28 — with a blunt object here and there. Because at least her bad temper might pay off in the White House, when she could potentially lose it and bean Soleimani or Al-bag-deady or al-Reamy when they are attacking our country.
Oops – she can’t do that. Because Trump already killed all of them!
So why do we need to elect an angry little America-hater with a Triple-A level arm, at best?
That’s right. We don’t.
Sing it, Ray Charles: “Oh happy day…”