After yesterday, what are the chances Trump will burn down the White House for the insurance money?
The proprietor of this web-log, Aldous J. Pennyfarthing, became ferociously besotted on complimentary samples of something called Schlitz Malt Liquor yesterday while on an intemperate tour (i.e., urban safari) of neighborhood grocers, and he awoke this morning to a niggling sense of remorse.
He had not savaged his ochre bête noire, Donald J. Trump, as previously planned — nor had any one of his three usually eager manservants, who were kept busy procuring a livery service and slop bucket to help contain the ignominy of Mr. Pennyfarthing's unscheduled bacchanal.
But was there any news? A scaffold of humiliations on which to pillory the poo-flinging Lord Gibbon, who wields the power of the sacred Oval Office like an oversexed ape hammering nails into drywall with a Fabergé egg?
Oh, fuck ya, there was news.
Here's just some of the eye-popping carnage from the day:
That's one fucking day! Two days ago — an eternity in Trump-scandal time — McClatchy first reported that Michael Flynn had moved to squelch a planned military operation against ISIS that Turkey, which had paid Flynn more than $500,000 as its agent, opposed.
And of course we all know about the special prosecutor appointment and Trump's loose lips, which decoupled from Putin's bottom just long enough to spill highly classified secrets to the Russian foreign minister and ambassador.
We're 120 days into Trump's presidency and it's already an out-of-control grease fire. He's piled up two full terms' worth of scandals in just four months.
Even Nixon wasn't this prodigious.
