 Happy Monday…I’m happy to be here and proud to serve…which reminds me, it’s Memorial Day. Be sure to attend any one of several observations done by the VFW or American Legion where you live.
Although I’m a dues-paying member of the VFW, I’m ashamed to tell you that I have yet to attend a meeting. It’s tough to do that, what with the weekly meetings of the Pathetic Order of the Jackrabbit – Original Charter (P.O.J.O.C.) being on the same night. Actually, the P.O.J.O.C. meetings are really nothing more than an excuse to sit around a table playing cards, telling lies and drinking in the winter and sitting around the ol’ chimenia, telling lies and drinking every other season. Besides, attending meetings at the VFW means I have to make another trip into Cosmic City where the police are handing out tickets to raise revenue for the city so they can buy more ticket writing books…it’s a vicious cycle, people! And speaking of vicious cycles…okay, not so much. I really need to work on my segues. Of all the things there are to worry about living in this great state – and there’s a lot of them…wild-eyed bat-shit crazy legislators, cranky inept governors, an ODOT that seems bent on paving over farmland (“Let them eat gravel!”)…oh, and then there’s the tornadoes, freak hail storms, rabid skunks, and horny badgers…the worst and I MEAN the worst is the old snake-in-the-toilet worry. When I moved The Wife out here from the east coast, the first thing I told her…well, one of the first things after I asked to put out her filterless Pall-Mall while I was pumping gas at Jiffy Trip…was to always look in the toilet before you sit down. Think about it…you’re at your most vulnerable as you drop your behind down onto that seat. The last thing you want is to become a victim of the old snake-in-the-toilet worry. Apparently, they can come up through the septic system and people have found them curled inside the bowl. Oh my! Don’t believe it!? Well, KFOR in OKC recently broadcast a story about such an occurrence though this was in Thailand – Thailand the country, not Siam, OK (it’s right next to Lebanon, OK). So, anyway…our Hapless Thai in search of a little peace, sat upon his throne anticipating nothing bad happening. He is truly king of his domain. Here in Oklahoma, we would expect someone to check that we were in the correct bathroom to match the picture on the door and then hand us a bill for a Porcelain Facility Replacement Fee, the proceeds of which actually go to pay for Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin’s next cosmetic surgery…a necessary thing since the Oklahoma Attorney General has cut her off from his evidence fund. Besides, we need to keep her looking good so maybe The Trump will whisk her away and make her his VP. PLEASE! But, I digress…back to Hapless Thai. So, the poor guy sits down and suddenly finds a python attached to his penis. Great coogleymoogley! This is a dire circumstance brought on by an evil diabolical serpent, me thinks. So, rescuers arrive to find the snake’s head tied to the door of the bathroom with a piece of rope, the rest of it was still inside the toilet drain. Hapless Thai is, I’m sure, gripping his business and wondering why he can’t wake himself from this nightmare. He lost a lot of blood, but somehow will survive. The toilet had to be disassembled to safely remove the snake, authorities said. WTF?!!! Safely remove the snake? I’d have safely removed the snake (safe for me, anyway) by blasting the G-D toilet with a shotgun. It’s The Compounder’s way of dealing with things. One Thai official pointed out that the snake is non-venomous…like that would make a damn bit of difference! Repeat after me, all snakes must die! Die snakes, die! He went on to say that the snakes are not harmful, but if you come across them it’s best to leave them alone…WHAT?! One more time, all snakes must die! Die snakes, die! This is a public (pubic?) service message brought to you by the Cosmic City Blog. Remember, boys and girls (particularly boys), always look inside the toilet bowl before sitting down. The flesh you save may be your own…or words to that effect. Cousin Fred and I are headed to California later today. We decided to drive out there. So we’ll be back on the Stump with The Trump…ummm, what the hell rhymes with Hillary…or, Picking Dander with Sanders…no, that doesn’t work either. Eh well.  Welcome all, to Salvation Friday, the day we’re delivered from further harm by those rat-bastard morons in the Oklahoma State Legislature.
Glad I got that off my chest. Their 2016 session ends today and while there are ugly rumors that a special session will be called, it won’t happen. Each and every one of them…male or female…Senator (hic) or “Representative” (sic)…incumbent or rookie, is too eager to get back among their constituents to make Memorial Day speeches about the great things he or she accomplished. Which, was…not much really. I guess they got a new budget hammered together, by cutting services to the people they’re supposed to serve…oh, and declaring war on rural healthcare by making cuts that will force more rural hospitals to turn their buildings into carpet warehouses. Well, cuts to every agency except the one that serves the legislature…the Legislative Service Bureau. Over the past few days, we’ve heard legislator after legislature defend the 184% increase in funding that the LSB received. How else are these brokedick dumbasses going to get paid? Paid? They should be paying us!!!! I’m sure every newly elected legislator throughout the history of this great state has gone to Oklahoma City thinking they had the answers to fix the state government or at least they went there with a personal agenda in mind. In the end, they wind up like the rest - broken, angry, and pathetically useless. And, plotting their reelection. This session, we’ve seen these parliamentary punks raid the CIRB (gives money to counties to fix roads and bridges – gee, that seems important), spend FAR too much time agonizing over stuff that really isn’t a problem (transgender bathroom bills chief among them), and generally scratch their collective legislative asses as they attempted to fix education in the state by cutting funding for teachers and schools even more than they did last year, just to name a few. Now I guess we’ll be left with a state of poorly educated people who can’t go anywhere anyway because there aren’t any roads to get them there. But I suppose there will be employment for those brave individuals willing to stand outside of restrooms and make sure your biological sex matches the frigging picture on the door. Now, that’s diversifying the economy! Oh, and let’s not forget that in addition to scaring every teacher to another state, the state legislature is also doing their best to drive doctors out of state as well. Thank you, Oklahoma State Legislature, thank you! I know, I know, we’ll use the Ph.D.’s to patch us up! Yeah! There’s plenty of those! Enough is enough. You want to do some good? Impose term limits on your exclusive club. Hell, I’ll even go for imposing a term limit that would make you sit out the next term and then you can run for election again. “Oh, but Mr. Robin, we wouldn’t have enough time to finish the work we went there to do,” State Legislator X said. “YOU DON’T DO ANYTHING ANYWAY!,” Mr. Robin responded. I’m sure glad the liquor modernization bill with all of its weird language and hidden landmines made it through. That is undoubtedly this Legislature’s legacy…and, I thank you for that. Seriously.  Good Thursday everybody. It’s been a weird spring here at The Compound. Not a lot of sunshine and abnormally cool temps. In fact, Happy Hands Morgan said last night that temps this May have run 3.5 degrees cooler than normal. I think that’s reflected in the plant growth here. I have noticed the tomatoes and melon plants have responding positively to the sunshine and warmer temps of the past few days.
But, we’ve not had as much rain as we did last year. So this year there won’t be a Lake Mountebank just north of The Compound where last year we were renting out RV and camper spots and the Brother-in-Law lost so many marine craft. I may smoke a pork butt on Saturday. Cousin Fred is certainly keen on the idea. It’s a long process, but what the hell, there’s not much else to do. The problem is, I can’t find the BBQ sauce that I discovered when I was living on the East Coast. It’s not made its way out here yet. Too bad, it was soooooo good on pork. I could make my own, but I’m getting lazy in my advanced timeline so that’s not likely to happen. If anyone knows of a good store-bought sauce that can be found in these here parts, let me know. We’re waiting for the nod to head to California. Southern Living magazine has given us a contract to cover the primaries there on the 7th. Plus we have an open expense account for…ummmm…expenses. They obviously don’t know Cousin Fred and me very well, do they? I give it two, three days tops and we’ll corrupt the minder they’re sending along. We’ve not met this person yet…no idea if it’s a woman or a man, but we’re ready in either case. I had hoped to get to SoCal over the weekend, but Southern Living said they wouldn’t start paying the bills until the 2nd, so fine…I’m not writing anything for them until then. Which is a shame, because The Trump is already in Los Angeles making an ass of himself. During a recent speech in Anaheim, he was pounding on the Queen of the Unindicted (aka, Clinton2) for claiming she’ll make a better president because she has experience in government as the Secretary of State. Trump’s stand is that she was sleeping at 3AM when an important call came in and no one could reach her. The Trump never revealed exactly which crisis or event it was that someone was trying to reach her at 3AM. His stand is that he doesn’t sleep much, or as he put it, “I don’t sleep much. I don’t sleep much.” – he kept repeating that throughout his remarks (a true sign of sleep deprivation). The Huffington Post web site takes a lot of pride in its attempts to derail The Trump’s bid to become president. That’s interesting because the site tends to lean to the right. They published a list of things that can go wrong for people who don’t sleep much: 1) You’re more likely to be emotional. Can’t have an emotional President Trump when dealing with the likes of Vladimir Putin or Kim Jong-un, both leaders/despots completely in love with their nukes. 2) You have trouble focusing. Hmmmm…you know, in the biggest scheme of things this may not matter. After all, he can hire people to focus for him – hopefully they’re getting some sleep. 3) You’re more likely to make bad decisions. Uh huh, like which form to shape your hair into that day? 4) You have trouble with learning and memory. Again, not sure this would be a problem since The Trump apparently knows all…especially when it comes to women. 5) You might make less appropriate moral decisions. Hahahahaha…maybe that’s where Bill Clinton (aka, Clinton1) went wrong. 6) You feel stressed, angry, sad and mentally exhausted. Again, not anything that enough money couldn’t buy your way out of. The Trump goes Nixonian and Virginia becomes the die before vote state...must be Wednesday!5/18/2016
 Success! On a Wednesday, no less! Cousin Fred and I have landed our next big assignment, though there are a number of strings attached. Hate strings.
Southern Living Magazine has offered us the opportunity to cover the California primary. It’s shaping up to be a blood bath…literally. But, the strings attached include having one of their reps on site to approve whatever expenses we expend. Kind of takes the fun out of it, but I’m certain we can corrupt the rep to our way of thinking in no time…you’ll see. The California Orgy won’t happen until June 7, so it gives Cousin Fred and me the opportunity to assemble some protective combat gear, you know, like any other embedded journalists would normally wear in places like Kandahar, Kunduz, or 2300 North Lincoln Blvd. Actually, I told Cousin Fred that we have to play this one straight. If we do, I’m certain we’ll get sent to cover the GOP fiasco in Cleveland and the Democratic melee in Philadelphia. The past 24 hours have been fascinating to watch. The Queen of the Unindicted won in Kentucky, which she all but HAD to do. Not that there was any real chance of The Curmudgeon catching up to her delegate-wise, but it would have looked unseemly to go into California with a string of May losses. The Curmudgeon took Oregon. No surprise there…that state has Sir Bernie written all over it. Still, and again, it doesn’t give The Curmudgeon enough delegates to do much damage at this point, but a win’s a win and it points to fracturing in the party. But, we’re beginning to see new tactics emerge. For instance, it almost passed without anyone noticing, but new details are being revealed that show that the Nevada Democratic State Convention this past weekend may be a sign of things to come. Well, before I dive into that, let me just point out that the Democratic Party has long been the party of if it feels good, do it. When I think of a Democratic state convention, I think of people lounging lazily in chairs as they engage in spirited discussions about whether there’s still time enough to get a measure to decriminalize marijuana on the November ballot in their state. And, of course, there isn’t time…it’s a very Democrat thing to procrastinate until it’s too late, but there’s always next time. So, there was no one more surprised at the chaotic near-riot that the Nevada State Convention became. And, get this! The sort-of revolt was led by The Curmudgeon’s followers! Who could have seen that coming? The very man who daily manages to look like an unmade bed and/or a second year college student’s couch…doesn’t fit a Che Guevara image, does it? Perhaps The Curmudgeon is more of a fighter than I originally gave him credit. It seems that there were charges of the Nevada convention being “rigged” and “fixed” for the Queen of the Unindicted. Going into the convention, it appeared that The Curmudgeon had the most delegates lined up, but when it got to the end, several of his delegates had been disqualified and Her Majesty appeared headed to the Philadelphia National Convention with the most delegates from Nevada. People were throwing chairs around and shouts of a corrupt convention were heard. The police were called. Feelings were hurt. It’s about as unruly as Democrats can manage honestly. Now, the Nevada Democratic State Chair is receiving death threats and having her phone number and email address posted on line. Those are tactics worthy of Republican troublemakers - they have a long history of doing crap like this…goes back to Nixon…he is dead, isn’t he? Finally, The Curmudgeon had to emerge from the shadows and denounce the violence – chairs and shouts of a corrupt convention count as violence in the Democratic Party. I seriously can’t help but wonder if this isn’t some sort of plot by The Trump’s henchmen to throw the Dems into utter chaos before their national convention. Very Nixonian. He is dead, right? The Trump is on cruise control to his national convention, he all but owns the Republican Party now. Unless he does something really stupid like drop trou on national TV to show Megyn Kelly what kind of man he really is – it’s a done deal. In fact it’s been so quiet from Republican side that The Trump is making an effort to tweet and re-tweet veiled threats at Her Majesty that keep him sort-of on the fringe of the news. On Tuesday, CNN’s breaking news was that Trump had filed a new financial disclosure that said he made $560 million last year. I guess that’s a compromise for not allowing your tax return to be released. I’m telling you people, this presidential cycle is unprecedented in its rancor, mischief, and plain old bullsh*t. But, rest assured that Cousin Fred and I will be there, every step of the way to stay up with the body count. And, speaking of body counts, there was a 68 year old woman from Virginia who died a few days ago. Her obituary read (and I swear I’m not making this up), “Faced with the prospect of voting for either Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton, Mary Anne Noland of Richmond chose, instead, to pass into the eternal love of God on Sunday.” Yep, it’s all long haul to November, people. Check your seatbelts and raise your seat tray to the locked position. There’s turbulence up ahead.  Alrighty then…it’s Tuesday morning and I’m already behind schedule! I know, I know, most of you don’t believe I do anything, but trust me when I tell you I’m a lot busier than I want to be. So anyway, I’ll be brief.
Apparently, there’s a whole herd of you who just don’t get it. Judging by the emails I receive, you think I’m some sort of major supporter of The Trump. Really? I would encourage you to read the homepage of this web site where I stress – and this is a quote – “Through the clever (if I do say so myself) use of humor, satire, and parody I hope to provide a different perspective to the loads of crap happening around us.” I know most of you read this from Facebook (and soon Twitter) and probably have never even landed on the homepage so I thought I would share that. Now, please keep in mind, everything else is true…of that you can be assured. Cousin Fred is real. Our adventures, whether it’s chasing The Bigfoot (The Trump’s long lost brother) through the mountains in Colorado or hosting a wild-ass all-nighter in a hotel suite in Indianapolis in honor of The Trump, it’s all true. But a major supporter? Eh…he’s entertaining and an easy target, I’ll give him that. So please, no more emails about who I think he will pick as a running mate. And for goodness sake, no more “insider” information about The Trump’s past girlfriends. You should call the New York Times or CNN, they seem to be the only news outlets interested in that sort of thing. And while I’m on the subject, let’s start with last week, shall we? So, CNN’s big lead last week, hell, they tied up three days’ worth of airtime over this…was that The Trump had pretended to be his spokesman over the phone to a reporter. There was even a tape. Yes, it sounded just like him on the tape. Analysts pored over the tape, speculating that it could have been Mr. X (sorry, X, I don’t remember your name) who worked for The Trump at the time (when we still respected him because he was filthy rich) and sounded an awful like his boss. For three days we had to listen to this nonsense – we’re still having to listen to it since it comes up at least three times in the news cycle. CNN, MSNBC, and even the morons on Fox (cough) News are trying to convince us that it somehow goes to The Trump’s integrity. What?! In the words of my old colleague, senior German Naval Officer, friend and fellow traveler, NATO Harry (Freier), Whiskey GAS (WGAS) – Who Gives a Sh*t? Indeed, WGAS. I thought it was kind of brilliant that The Trump did that. At least he found a way to control his message. I will say, that in my time as a C-level officer in corporate America (yes, that’s true), I never had time to spend talking to some idiot reporter on the phone. I’m guessing The Trump figured if he wanted to get his point across, he’d better do it himself. And why would you admit to the reporter on the phone that you’re The Trump? So she could crow about her exclusive with The Trump? Goes to his integrity? No…this is more an indictment of the arrogance of the media, I think. Everybody wants to be a Carl Woodward (sic). They can’t stand that The Trump got over on them back in the day. So they’re doing their best to make a case for us to despise him (even more). The fact that The Trump has gotten as far as he has says a lot about the state of America today. This is more about people standing up to the GOP Elite’s bullying tactics of shoving candidates down the throats of GOP faithful than anything else. Tea Party? The party is over…the keg of Cream Soda is running dry. It didn’t work for Gingrich when he threw a grenade emblazoned with Contract with America, trying to resurrect Reagan conservatism. It didn’t last with that religious rightwing loudmouth nut Jerry Falwell and his Moral Majority brand of conservatism. And the Dems are no less guilty of that kind of crap. Remember when they shoved Jimmy Carter out on stage, saying he was the second coming of JFK? How did that work out? Clinton the First did the same crap. Okay, that worked a little better, at least he was reelected. The Trump, right or wrong (shudder), is the face of America today. We’re getting what we deserve, me thinks. I don’t care that he pretended he was someone else on the phone with a reporter. She probably got what she deserved. I don’t care whether the stories about his dealings with women in the past are true. Yesterday we heard that some women are recanting. Who knows what the truth is? The New York Times certainly isn’t going to back down at this point. We'll probably never know the full, unvarnished truth, but do we care? We probably should, but deep down we don't...we get what we deserve. It’s politics in America, people. We get what we deserve (where have I heard that before). Thank you for listening to my cynical rant. WGAS  Well, here we are – another stinking Monday. Cousin Fred and I are still on The Compound. There were no nibbles over the weekend from People or the National Enquirer for our services as serious embedded journalists.
I suppose we could cover events from here, but it’s more fun when there’s a $400/night suite and room service bill the equivalent of a the GNP of a small country involved…at someone else’s expense, of course. Hey, schmooze costs money. And remember kids, in politics schmooze is everything, substance is nothing. Still, a weekend at The Compound gave Cousin Fred and me the opportunity to relax and get some things done around here. Okay, actually we didn’t get much done at all. I did catch up on the news here in the state of Oklahoma, where the state legislature is continuing its war on the poor and teachers before they run out the door to start their paid vacations that go until January. I didn’t attend, but I heard from a good source that our local state senator at last week’s Eggs and Issues forum promised his constituents that the legislature won’t have to rob the teacher’s pension fund this year to make ends meet. He also promised that the money they have stolen (er, borrowed) in the past will be returned before I turn 100 (hint, that’s a ways off). I guess that’s good news. Eggs and Issues…ha! If you’ve not attended, I would suggest doing so and asking the hard questions. You won’t get an straight answer, but it’s fun to watch them sweat. They’re counting on no one asking hard questions, they just want to have a little breakfast, brag about their accomplishments (like legalizing switchblade knives in Oklahoma – their crowning glory from the 2015 session), and then drive as fast as they can to get out of town. Be sure to bring a bottle of Maalox along…you’ll need it. So, as I was catching up on the news, I came across something that really caught my eye. In fact, I read the entire article, which is rare for me because I usually start reading and about half-way through I’m screaming “God, God, why are there so many stupid people on Earth at one time?” at which point I lose my place and move on to the next piece. But this particular article had my full attention. I don’t believe in coincidence – it’s just an easy way of explaining seemingly connected events that actually have at their root a causal connection. I went into this in some depth (okay, not much) in my book “A Matter of Time”, which if you’ve already read it, you’re nodding your head thoughtfully and saying, “yes, he did.” If you’ve not read it…buy it! But, I digress… Truth be told, reading this particular article had me rethinking my philosophy of life with regard to coincidence. Let me start by pointing out that I personally have nothing against Temple Houston and the golden pedestal upon which he has been placed. He was without a doubt, the most colorful, interesting person who ever walked the streets of Cosmic City. Locals have long traded on the name, the legend, and the legacy of Lawyer Houston. We’ve raised statues to him; we gave him a room in the local museum to display items that were his when he walked the Earth, including a Colt Peacemaker that belonged to him; we’ve named streets after him; we quote his eloquent manner of speech; the State of Oklahoma (last year) issued a proclamation declaring his birthday Temple Houston Day in Oklahoma; and, we’re even working to steer tourists to his grave on the edge of town. Truth be told…he was a bad drunk, a philanderer, and a little too quick to settle a dispute at the end of the aforementioned Peacemaker. But, by all accounts he was also a gifted, charismatic lawyer who did whatever was required to win for his client. Flawed though he might have been – and who among us is not flawed – he’s our flawed hero and I suppose the citizens of Cosmic City will continue to hoist him (or at least his corpse) up on their shoulders. There’s an Oklahoma City criminal defense attorney who was arrested at 2AM on Friday for shooting some guy with whom he had a disagreement in the parking lot of a bar. I know, I know, just another night in OKC. But something about this guy struck me and I just felt I had to share it. So hang with me a second, please. The photo above is of Lawyer Jay Silvernail, the Oklahoma City attorney who is currently in the Oklahoma Co. jail on charges of assault with deadly weapon for allegedly shooting someone in the parking lot of a bar called Groovy’s. You’ll please note the long hair on Lawyer Silvernail. Temple Houston known for his flamboyant manner of dress also tended to wear his hair fairly long. This wasn’t Lawyer Silvernail’s first time shooting someone. Almost a year ago, he shot a former client who was coming at him outside of Lawyer Silvernail’s residence. That client was shot dead. Silvernail got off when his actions were declared self-defense. In October 1895, Temple Houston and Jack Love shot it out with a couple of attorney brothers (the Jennings) in the back room of the Cabinet Saloon. Ed Jennings died in that fight – Temple was acquitted in a trial. So now, a year later Lawyer Silvernail shoots some guy he’s been in an argument with inside a bar. This shooting victim isn’t dead…yet. He’s in the hospital with serious injuries. Temple Houston, roughly one year after the Cabinet Saloon shooting, shot Farmer Jenkins for spitting on his son. Farmer Jenkins languished with his injuries for some time before dying. As far as I know, Lawyer Houston was never charged with a crime in that shooting. What do you think will happen to Lawyer Silvernail in this latest episode? If he’s any kind of attorney, he’ll wiggle out from underneath. He’s already out on a $7500 bond, so I’m thinking the judge is already thinking it was self-defense. Okay, the coincidences (which I don’t believe in) end there. Just thought it was interesting. Have a great week and stay the hell out of Groovy’s.  Welcome to the End-o-Week edition of CCB and what a great ride it’s been.
Cousin Fred is still moping around here over the loss of The Trumps hair-doer Gigi, who earlier this week was of course “rescued” from The Compound by The Trump’s jack-booted, armed thugs. Cousin Fred claims that Gigi isn’t returning calls or texts. I guess it’s kind of like me not hearing anything from MAD Magazine about my article for them on The Trump in Indianapolis. Not a peep. I suspect they’re still stockpiling the bills for expenses and damages and trying to figure out if they can recoup their money by suing me. Trust me MAD, you won’t. When I expressed to Cousin Fred that I was getting a little tired of listening to him whine, he took a different tack, pointing out that he had convinced Gigi to snag a pic of The Trump without his whatever that is atop his gourd. That’s when I began to whine. That photo could have made us all wealthy. Oh sure, The Trump would have sued us and/or sent his private army of thugs back to The Compound, but it would have been worth it just to see all of the major media outlets plastering that photo everywhere people look. Eh well…so, The Trump was in D.C. yesterday morning. Fortunately, he wasn’t making another foreign policy speech from the Mayflower Hotel. Nope, not this time. This time he was there trying to make peace with the party elite. For all the good it did…Paul Ryan called his meeting with The Trump “helpful” but he said he still wasn’t ready to make an endorsement. He also refused to have a photo taken standing next to The Trump lest that be taken as a “sign” – judas priest – what a maroon. The Trump even met with the RNC over at their Headquarters where the RNC chairman whose name no one ever spells or pronounces correctly on the first try, Rinse Pleabrush – see what I mean? – seemed positively giddy about meeting The Trump in person. It’s the orange fake bake tan, I think…it mesmerizes. What the dumbass GOP elite don’t seem to understand is that they created this monster. I’m beginning to think that the GOP is doomed and will soon go the way of the American Party back in the late ‘60’s. Seriously. This is the majority of their constituency that has brought The Trump this far. You turn your back on him now it could irretrievably split the party. On the other hand, they (Republican elite) can’t have that knucklehead zooming around the country running his mouth and alienating those individuals that you’re trying to court and make it seem that the GOP isn’t just a bunch of disgruntled old white men with enlarged prostates in search of a urinal. Seriously, folks, this is great entertainment. And then what will they do if he loses to the Queen of the Unindicted? A scenario that some feel is part of an overall scheme anyway – that The Trump really isn’t in it to become president…he’s just paving the way for his pal Hillary. I have a proposal into a couple of other magazines, this time People (otherwise known as We’ll Make You Look Pathetic Magazine) and the National Enquirer (hey, their pockets are deep, their facts are suspect and they’re sold in grocery stores – it’s just so American) to sponsor Cousin Fred and I for another embedment, this time with the Clinton campaign. If I hear something today, I guess Cousin Fred and I will be back out on the road next week. It’ll help take his mind off of Gigi (he claims she gives great pedicures). Although Tuesday’s primaries are in Kentucky and Oregon, I suspect the Queen of the Unindicted will be headed to California. That primary (June 4) with its 546 delegates is certainly a biggie for her. Besides, I could use a few days in the sun. In the meantime, have a great weekend everybody. And if you see Gigi, ask her to phone home!  Early Wednesday morning here at The Compound. Still contemplating the events of Monday when Trumpocalypse 2016 with its band of fiendishly armed thugs dropped in to fetch back The Trump’s hair-doer, Gigi.
Some compound I live on, eh? Can’t even defend against an air invasion. Well, they were very well armed…but so am I. I’m guessing The Trump was desperate to get Gigi back in time for appearances in West Virginia and/or Nebraska. It now appears that he will preside over a very split Republican Party the most elite of whose membership can’t seem to decide if The Trump is a somewhat less classy, though certainly more cerebral…hmmmm, okay, how about likely more rich…version of Ronald Reagan. Nebraska…who knew they even had a primary? CNN didn’t seem to. If you’re wondering The Trump did take Nebraska. He also smashed The Ghost of Cruz in West Virginia. The Ghost of Cruz now spends his days playing the “if only” game. Seriously, every day it’s something new…this morning’s quote I’m seeing online is “If only Rubio had agreed to be my running mate, we could have beaten Trump.” I guess The Ghost of Cruz can’t be ignored. He does, after all, still have a pocket full of delegates. But, every single day he comes off sounding like an even sorer loser, which I think is what we all kind of thought of him anyway. Give it up Grandpa Munster, save some dignity. My best counsel for The Ghost of Cruz would be to wait another four years and then spring out of the politico grave, kind of like Mitt Romney this year. People will stand around scratching their heads saying, “Oh yeah, I remember that guy! He’s still alive? Who knew?” The Ghost of Cruz’s presumptuous (his presumption, not hers) running mate, Carly Fiorina is wondering why The Ghost of Cruz won’t answer her calls or texts. She’s back to filling out a weekly unemployment form and drawing her $537. “Let’s see, did I look for work this week…yes, was the chosen vice president of the United States candidate…ummm, better leave that off, no one would believe it.” The Altar Boy Kasich is so much dust now. He’s probably back in Ohio shoveling diner breakfasts into his gob and paying consultants to tell him where he went wrong. He spits bits of scrapple at his consultants as he responds to their paid consultation, “Whaddya mean I should have stayed in Ohio? I had some great breakfasts all over this country!” Every day that slides by and The Trump is still at helm leaves people wondering who he will take as a running mate. Who is willing to give up their life for the next four years (assuming The Trump wins) to dedicate elementary schools and play horseshoes with Secret Service on the White House lawn? Rubio seems to be the most likely to be anointed. Haven’t heard much about Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin still being in the running. It would be a good choice though (for the rest of us). Guess she could always get Hellkat One a new trailer. They could park in the shadow of the Washington Monument and steal power from inside the monument with a long extension cord. It would be great! And I don’t mean to imply that the Dems have their act together. Certainly not! The Curmudgeon beat the Queen of the Unindicted in West VA. Apparently there aren’t enough Democrats in Nebraska to even hold a Democratic primary. The Curmudgeon won big though in West Virginia. As he did in Indiana the week before. As he’ll likely do in Kentucky next week. You think the GOP is fractured? The Democrats are even worse. The Queen of the Unindicted had better be paying attentino. Sure, mathematically she’s the presumptive (just love using variations of that root) favorite, but so what? She has the taint of scandal and corruption upon her (deserved or not)…hence queen of the unindicted. Hey, maybe she’ll take HRH Mary of Fallin? Yeah, that’s a great idea! I sooooo want to see Hellkat One living in a trailer somewhere in DC. But I digress… So I spent all day yesterday trying to fix the broken stems on my vast tomato crop on the center lawn here at The Compound. The poor plants were broken and bent from the rotor wash of The Trump’s helicopter. I’ve not seen Cousin Fred. He’s been dragging himself around the place with the hangdog look on his face. Gigi doesn’t return his calls or texts. I have concern he’ll try to get some of his pals from one of the beer joints in Cosmic City to join him in a mission to try to get Gigi back from the clutches of The Trump. Time to lock up the ammo, me thinks.  Good morning everyone. It’s Tuesday, primary day in West Virginia, whose state motto translated from the Latin is “So Tell Us Again Why We’re in the Big XII”.
I’ll try to recount the events of yesterday as best I can. Frankly, I’m still shaky just thinking about it all. As you may recall, Gigi, The Trump’s hair-doer and Cousin Fred have become an item. This was evidenced by their showing up here at The Compound and taking up residence in Hellkat One’s trailer. You regular readers of the blog (all two of you according to the very flawed website statistics provided by my web host – may be two, may be 200) will recall that Gigi was due to fly out of OKC yesterday en route The Trump’s location. As Monday morning dragged on and I didn’t see much activity outside the trailer, I texted Cousin Fred and asked when Gigi would be departing for the airport in OKC. Cousin Fred texted back with “you worry too much…you keep worrying like that you’ll have a heart attack.” Finally, I decided it wasn’t anything I had control over so I decided to let it go. I went back to weeding my vast crop of tomato plants out in the center lawn here at The Compound. I tell you people, by late June, I will be known as Mr. Tomatohead around here. Well, assuming I can keep the jackrabbits and my mutts out of the crop. Around noon, as I was sitting on the front porch here at The Compound, I noticed that the trailer had stopped moving, which I took as a sign that perhaps Gigi’s departure would be imminent. Cousin Fred appeared at the door and stepped out, gazing at the sky as he did so. He saw me and began walking in my direction. He told me that Gigi was finishing up her packing. Odd, I didn’t recall her even having a bag when they arrived. Cousin Fred told me that he had made a deal with Gigi to snap a pic of The Trump when he was without whatever that is on his head…animal, vegetable, or mineral. He explained that there are three phases to making The Trump’s coiffure. There’s the maintenance phase which was nothing but daily maintenance requiring fourteen cans of hairspray and one can of marine-grade shellac. Then there’s the every other day minor maintenance which requires the addition of extra strands of whatever that is to keep the coiffure full of hair-like whatevers. Gigi indicated that takes at least two hours to complete. In the end, there’s the Complete Makeover, which is done once a month. That requires stripping everything off by shampooing The Trump’s scalp in denatured alcohol and rebuilding the coiffure strand by strand. That process requires 5-6 hours and costs a few thousand lives. When I mentioned to Cousin Fred my amazement that he was able to get that much information from Gigi, he said that she was very worried. That she and all of the other servants…er, employees…had signed blood oaths to keep their mouths shut. But when she got back she would to get us a picture of him during Complete Makeover day, which was coming up before his first public appearance in West Virginia. Cousin Fred’s plan was to sell the pic “exclusively” to anyone…everyone who would pay. I pointed out that The Trump was likely to sue him and Gigi, but Cousin Fred didn’t seem too worried. “We’ll cross the litigation bridge when we come to it, I reckon,” he said. “The American people have a right to see the pig their buyin’.” Well put, Cousin Fred, well put. That’s when we heard it…that sound. For anyone who has ever been in the military it’s a sound that causes your stomach to sink. I gazed out over the horizon to see three helicopters appear. They were flying in formation, knap of the earth navigation from what I could see. Egads! We’re being invaded! About a mile out, they kicked on Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries”…I went into pure flashback mode. It was The Trump! I had been with him flying into Shattuck last year when he did the same thing! As they neared, the two helos on the flank peeled off and took up positions about 300 feet off the ground on either side of The Compound. I could see door gunners hanging in their platforms and keeping weapons trained on us. The helo in the center flared slightly to make its landing…RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF MY TOMATOES. Emblazoned down the side of the beast were the words, TRUMP STATES OF AMERICA! The fiends were there to steal Gigi! As the helo landed, men dressed in black poured out from inside. Two made a beeline toward Hellkat One’s trailer. Cousin Fred began to move, but the others were moving toward us, weapons at the ready so he stopped. Gigi emerged from the trailer, walking on her own free will. One of the thugs carried her suitcase. I still don’t remember her having a suitcase when they arrived. The other gently holding her hand as they moved toward the waiting helicopter. Without so much as a wave or a nod toward us, Gigi boarded the helo. The men in black lowered their weapons and retreated to the waiting helicopter. In a flash it lifted off. Over the loudspeaker we heard, “Be not worried puny citizens, The Trump is will make us all great again!” With that it was gone. The two gunships on either side soon departed as well. So, how was your Monday?  Happy Monday everyone! Happy to be here and proud to serve! Okay, not really. I’m just trying to motivate myself, had a tough time getting my ass out of bed this morning. It was a long weekend.
Cousin Fred and I are back at The Compound now. The Nephew got me back to town in time to attend the Twister Alley Film Festival schmooze fest on Thursday night. I was able to be seen and managed to photobomb some selfies of the Hollywood types who were in attendance. People aren’t likely to forget me anytime soon! I was actually headed out the door on Friday afternoon to attend the Okie Shorts block of TAFF, when guess-who drove into The Compound. No not Burton Cummings, yep, Cousin Fred. He just came driving in and promptly went into Hell Kat One’s trailer. No word on where he disappeared to in Indianapolis. No word at all. And, he wasn’t alone. There was a woman who, from a distance, appeared to be Gigi…The Trump’s personal hairdresser. Gadzooks! What the hell is she doing here, I asked? Fortunately, no one answered. She was – is – the most highly sought after interview of this presidential campaign! The one person who can tell us what manner of dead animal or alien prairie grass is atop The Trump’s gourd. I mean…who is minding the presidential plait? The Trump at the time was headed to Washington State. Maybe there’s more than one Gigi. Maybe she is only needed once a week or…something. But what the hell is she doing at The Compound? I had the interview of the year right here, but had already passed off my 4,000 words to MAD Magazine. Maybe I could sell this to the New York Times or, to give it some real weight, the National Enquirer. Regardless, I really wanted to know how Cousin Fred came to be in her company! But, I was in a hurry so I let it go at the time. I wanted to get to the Arts Theatre in Cosmic City for the Okie Shorts, so I could schmooze with Oklahoma filmmakers. Remember, kids, schmooze is everything, substance is nothing. I didn’t see Cousin Fred again until early Saturday morning when I was outside stringing lights for the Derby Day party. It was to be the final blow-out of Cousin Fred and me before The Wife returned from the wilds of Mexico. Attendance at the Derby Day bash was already impacted by a major family event with The Brother-in-Law’s family, so I wasn’t sure how many people were going to show. Still, we were determined to make it happen. And now we were impacted by the presence of Gigi. For some reason this wasn’t settling well with me. Cousin Fred approached me from out of the pre-dawn gloom holding in his hand my missing wallet! Without a word, he handed me the wallet and then climbed a ladder to hang more lights. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any more. I asked if, in fact, that is Gigi in Hellkat One’s Trailer? He responded in the affirmative. So, then, I asked, well who’s mind The Trump’s Coif? Not to worry, he told me. Gigi needs to be back in New York City by Monday evening to “rework” her magic. Oh, great! That means another trip to OKC, but I was determined that Cousin Fred was on his own for that. He told me not to worry about it, that I wouldn’t have to be involved in moving her to the airport. I asked how it was that he had my wallet. He said that his own wallet was lifted by one of The Trump’s loyal supporters (band of thieves that they are) at the party in our suite in Indy. When Gigi suggested they move to her hotel across town, Cousin Fred grabbed my wallet, figuring that he could use my ID if necessary since we look a lot alike (he is a handsome devil, I’ll give him that). The Derby Day party was as expected, a complete drunken brawl. I lost a ton of dough on Gun Runner and continued drowning my sorrows. I think we went through every last drop of booze on the place (and, believe me, that’s a lot…this is a Compound after all, I was stocking up for the Zombie apocalypse). Word has it that the Sheriff’s Dept is still searching for The Compound…it’ll be another few days before they find it. By the time The Wife returned from her trip on Sunday afternoon, the place was pretty much back to normal. Well, except that Gigi was laying out on the chaise lounge in front of Hellkat One’s trailer. The Wife asked, who’s the skank in front of the trailer? I responded, “That’s no skank, that’s Gigi.” The Wife lit an unfiltered Pall Mall and disappeared into her bedroom, locking the door behind her. Yep, we’re back to normal here. |
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