The old 1-2
“When the full extent of your venality, moral turpitude, and political corruption becomes known, you will take your rightful place as a disgraced demagogue in the dustbin of history. You may scapegoat Andy McCabe, but you will not destroy America…America will triumph over you.” – John Brennan (former head of the CIA) tweet to Donald Trump on his firing the deputy director of the FBI.
“Reluctantly I have concluded that President Trump is a serious threat to US national security. He is refusing to protect vital US interests from active Russian attacks. It is apparent that he is for some unknown reason under the sway of Mr Putin.” – Tweet from retired 4-star Army General Barry McCaffrey.
“They’re clearing the decks for war. Operation Desert Stormy has begun….”
Enjoy your retirement, Mr Secretary
So, farewell then, foxy Texy-Rexy Tillexxon, silvery-haired Secretary of State for the USA.
Despite your air of distinction you were fired over ‘chemical’ differences with the President (he doesn’t have any chemicals, he’s pure physics… That’s the difference.)
He complains about your body language: while he sat in meetings with his arms defiantly folded like a three-year-old refusing broccoli, bottom lip pouting against a roomful of hateful courtiers queuing to advise him about stuff he already knows more about than anyone ever, sucking up their grovelling effusions of sycophancy and lust for power, he says you slouched and looked sour when you didn’t agree with him, which was most of the time.
You never told him bedtime stories over cheeseburgers about the Greatest President a Grateful World has Ever Lavishly Heaped Praise On for His Many Mighty MAGA Triumphs.
You never told him he could be President for Life.
Why you stayed so long is a mystery as he was continually sidelining you. And Little Donny always hated you because you were a real bidnessman, unlike the negative-billionaire reality show clown invented by NBC.
You in turn called him a “fuckin’ moron” and opposed his vain attempts to make foreign policy on the hoof, such as promising a completely unprepared and unstructured meeting with the cuddly North Korean tyrant, hailed as a ‘reset’ of all the failures of previous Democratic administrations (actually, it was W Bush advised by wolfish neocons who screwed up a Clinton-era agreement to halt N Korea’s nuclear program while Kim’s dad discussed a rapprochement with the South. Who knew he was Il?).
Of course, the Kim summit won’t happen. It was all to divert salacious media attention away from the big bribe his lawyer gave a porno actress not to say they’d had an affair while Melania was still having little Barron wetnursed by illegally trafficked Rhinemaidens, especially the bit as he fucked her (in the normal way, obviously, Ms Daniels recalls nothing outstanding) about her reminding him of his daughter, Ivanka.
Trump doesn’t do serious, the show has to go on despite his terrible ratings, his love of family and his obvious mental incapacity. Add to which, incest?And as he’s now suing Ms Daniels for $20 million while it appears the money his lawyer gave her came out of campaign funds, it’s likely to run and run, the big sap.
Not helpful. And we have not forgotten how earlier, Mr Trump had undermined his chief diplomat, having his pet missing-link, Gorka state publicly that Tillerson had “nothing to say” on the subject of negotiations with… North Korea.
Nevertheless, you lasted a little more than a year in the job, Rex, longer than most, during which your department was hollowed-out, losing all its key staff and failing to appoint senior diplomats to posts including the rather essential ambassadorships to Japan and South Korea.
You weren’t popular with your junior staff, especially when the order went out that they were never to address you directly or look you in the eye. What, are you God? We should be told.
But how much of it was your fault? Mr Trump doesn’t do diplomacy, only great deals (“pay me or I send in the boys…”)
Thirteen months is a long time in the Trump White House, where more than fifty staff the Gilded One personally appointed, all of whom did a great job, obviously, because he only hires the best, had already quit or been fired by March 2018. Another record he can trump about.
Even that didn’t give you a hint you were only there because of your $9 trillion deal to drill the hell out of the melting Arctic, that you did while you were making $100 thousand a day at Exxon, happy days, with Trump’s only remaining friend, Mr Putin.
A bigly successful deal the Great Dealmaker would no doubt have killed his own mother to have been able to do, if he weren’t so poor on detail. If only she hadn’t despised him so.
And when the Congress refused to lift the blocking sanctions, as Trump had so clearly promised Veselnitskaya they would do if her boss Mr Putin helped him with the little matter of getting his fat furry orange ass elected, Rosneft pulled the plug on the deal, leaving you standing in your stripy silk underpants with nowhere to pee but on the Aubusson rug.
Last night you perfectly correctly sympathized with the UK government over the unbelievably messy and dangerous chemical warfare attack by the GRU on an emigré Russian double-agent living openly in Salisbury, an ancient and sleepy county capital at the heart of the British defence industry, incidentally poisoning a policeman and 131 others, and made it clear the US blamed the enigmatically smiling Mr Putin.
Who else would it have been?
That was the last straw for his friend, special agent Trump, who despite being frequently waterboarded by the White House press corps has steadfastly refused for nine days to condemn Russia on a wait-and-see if anyone else confesses basis.
So that’s the last we’ll hear about it from our Special Relation. (Lord knows what Trump thinks is a Special Relationship. Should we ask Ms Daniels before he destroys our steel industry?)
Mr Secretary, The Pumpkin is hoping you have secretly compiled a shedload of dirt on this dirty orange sack of rotting cheeseburger and will take huge pleasure in dumping it over him.
But no, you’ll just head on home to the ranch with your $240 million pension fund, to dandle your grandkids on your knee while you explain to them why, thanks to you, they will never dandle any of their own.
Meanwhile, paraphrasing dear Oscar, to lose your Secretary of State might seem like a misfortune; to lose your Chief Economic Adviser and another Communications Director within seven days, after all three of them had reluctantly come to the conclusion you’d be better off in psychiatric nursing care, looks like a real coup d’êtat for the dumbfuck tendency.
As if to make the point:
Steve Goldstein, a top State Department official under Tillerson, told reporters that his boss learned of his firing through social media and was “unaware of the reason” he was forced out.
Goldstein was terminated by the White House soon thereafter. (Washington Post)
No-one is safe from the Wrath of Don. Not even the last out of six Under-Secretaries of State still standing.
For now we can look forward to a State Department run by Mike ‘waterboarding is too good for ’em’ Pompeo, an insane advocate for invading Iran and noted Trump bumguzzler, ably assisted at the CIA by a psychotic Rosa Klebb, a terrifying middle-aged librarian in a twinset who looks like everyone’s favorite central-casting Auntie Jane, but who ran a black torture site in Thailand for illegally renditioned Muslim prisoners, and had the tapes burned afterwards.
Well, it was International Women’s Week.
You’re well out of it, you’ll soon come to realize. They’re clearing the decks for war. Operation Desert Stormy has begun….
Enjoy your retirement, Mr Secretary.
What should we do about Russia?
Russia suffered an unimaginable 27 MILLION casualties in the Great Patriotic War against Hitler.
That’s a hell of a sacrifice we must surely honor. More so, maybe, even than the Holocaust of the 6 million European Jews, as it contributed so mightily to the ultimate defeat of the Third Reich.
But it was not a war against Nazism in Europe. It was a defensive, scorched-earth kind of war to save their vast country.
Retaking Poland was part of the plan – you murdered my ex-wife’s uncle at Katyn, then tried to blame the SS.
What difference? It might just as well have been them, but it was Stalin’s idea to execute 20 thousand Polish intellectuals, doctors, teachers and army officers in case they were taller and smarter than he was,. A difficult problem for Churchill, as both countries were notionally our allies.
And, I suppose, our gratitude should reflect the obvious fact that, if Hitler had not turned eastwards in 1941, imagining that Goering’s Luftwaffe would never prevail to a sufficient extent to protect his invasion barges collecting in the Channel, England – maybe the British Isles – would have been subjugated to the Nazi yolk, as were the Channel Islands and much of Europe.
But as Marshal Zhukov massed his tanks in 1944 and pushed the Germans back to Berlin, finally overrunning the Hitlerbunker where Adolf and Eva’s corpses lay smouldering in the garden and raising the red flag (twice – once for the cameras) over the ruins of the Reichstag, The Pumpkin wonders if he ever acknowledged his debt to the British merchant seamen, whose convoys had kept his country supplied with food and arms in the dark days after Operation Barbarossa launched in 1941?
I am haunted by the memory of one particular, tiny group of astonishing heroes, to whom these thieving, cowardly bloodsuckers in the Kremlin offer no respect when they sneer at our highly advanced investigators looking at their salty fingerprints all over this crude, politically motivated murder mission to poison one of our more agreeable cities.
To try to deflect the war of attrition, as von Doenitz’s U-boats began to inflict unsustainable losses on the North Atlantic supply line and thousands of gasping, terrified, brave, oil-soaked, non-combatant seamen, Britons and Canadians perished, burning alive or drowning in the freezing gray waters as their ships slipped below the waves, a thousand-mile skittle-alley northeast of Orkney, in desperation merchant ships were hurriedly fitted with catapults to fire off just one solitary Hurricane fighter aircraft, armed with two small bombs, to attack the submarine wolf-packs.
British pilots who volunteered to fly those missions knew it was suicide: there was no way back. The ships had no landing decks. Sitting here, I cannot conceive of so much heroism on behalf of an alien people they would never know, I cry bitter tears of gray Atlantic salt even while trying to type these words.
If your mission was successful you might possibly ditch in the heaving waters close to an allied ship and survive long enough – four minutes you were allowed in that cruel sea – to be picked up barely alive. Few were.
The alternative was to try to make it to Russia: Murmansk, Archangel, 500 miles with the added risk if you managed to make landfall without running out of fuel that you might be shot by some pig-ignorant Soviet collectivist mistaking you for the invading Germans.
Still, I’m sure it takes a kind of courage to perch like a house-elf behind an outsized desk in an enormous room with gilded moldings, two chocolate soldiers at your door (Sugarplum and Fairy?), issuing deniable orders to stockily built comrades to go and commit mayhem on other people’s territory, knowing your friends’ superyachts are going to be impounded as a result.
Never again, you lying little shits.
In the body of international law relating to chemical and biological warfare, for whatever it’s worth, it is laid down that one nation accusing another of a violation must give the presumed transgressor ten days in which to produce evidence of innocence before taking retaliatory measures.
So when after roundly condemning the outrage Mr Corbyn, the leader of the Labour party, responded with a speech to the Prime Minister’s unequivocal assertion that Russia had launched an all-out attack on a park bench in Salisbury using a banned 1980s ‘just add water’ nerve agent they no longer make, although it has been admitted that it could take the police months to prove or disprove the details which politicians have imagined in a matter of hours, he asked if she intends to comply with Foreign Minister Lavrov’s perfectly legitimate demand for evidence?
And is instantly branded a traitor and a puppet of President Putin.
The British gutterslime press in full cry, again.
Someone who is evidently not a puppet of President Putin is President Donald Trump.
After ten days during which he refused point-blank to condemn the outrage in Salisbury other than in general terms, refused to point the finger at the Kremlin, ten days during which he fired his Secretary of State by tweet only minutes after Fox News reported on a rash statement Tillerson had made, blaming Putin for the attack on the double-agent and his daughter, Mr Trump has changed his tune.
Fuckabee has been sent forth to inform the waiting press corps of her master’s displeasure with the Kremlin.
“Gee, Vlad, I gotta say something, we’re losing elections here…”
“Okayski, comrade, just this once. I’m winning mine…”
According to BBC News just a moment ago, the death of TV darts show compere Jim Bowen, 80, is trending three places higher than that of Professor Sir Stephen Hawking.
Attack on Boglington: Russia suspected
From: The Boglington Post, 14 March, 2018. (Sponsored by Boglers Windowcleaner’s, your friendly local windowcleaner’s).
Police (Constable Cadwaladr) were combing pubs and clubs around Boglington-on-Sea this morning, after the recumbent form of a man known to neighbors only as Special Agent Boglovitch was found in his garden room, groaning and sneezing, clutching a box of soggy tissues and typing rubbish.
“There seems to have been some sort of a biological attack from the Soviet era”, explained Constable Cadwaladr kindly. “Mr Boglovitch has not been found to be in this condition for many years since relocating to Boglington at cost to the ratepayer, but now as anyone can see, he has gone viral.
“Look at his eyes, man, they’re positively streaming!
“Persons sighting any Russians should not attempt to answer their jovial, heavy-handed request for directions to the station, but instead call 999, go home and take a hot shower with your clothes on”, he warned. “Nobody once they are here ever gets out of Boglington alive.”
Neighbors spoke of Mr Boglovitch as a quiet man with a funny accent, who occasionally could be heard through the wall, screaming abuse at tiresome Today show presenter, John Humphrys.
“He moved here about six years ago”, said Mrs Annie Nannie, 36 and counting. “We didn’t think he’d fit in at first, and he hasn’t. Keeps himself to himself, know what I mean? He’s got this magical cat, see, and a dog with orange eyes…”.
Following an urgent council meeting, the Mayor, Mrs Mairi Mayer, 61, issued an ultimatum to the Kremlin. “Come on now, own up, who was it?” she tweeted furiously. “Who have given Mr Boglovitch his dreadful cold, risking the life and limb of every resident?
“Unless we hear by four o’clock when the council office closes”, she continued, “this borough will be at war with Germany! Make no mistake, we shall keep the whole class in until I find out who dunnit.”
President Putin was unavailable for comment.
Romania – Hundreds Evacuated as Rivers Overflow. “Qn 14 March, 2018, seven people were rescued after they were left isolated by flooding in areas around Șercaia and Mândra in Braşov county.”
Brazil: one 20-minute rainshower turns the streets of Belo Horizonte into a raging torrent as hundreds of cars are swept away. Towns all across this vast country have experienced torrential rains and flooding.
CEWN #103 pt1/ Floodlist