Happy Saturday everyone! I meant to post this yesterday (no really, I did), but it’s been a tumultuous couple of days here at The Compound. Things are beginning to slow down now, so what the heck…a day late. Did you miss me?

The most interesting thing going past me over the past couple of days is that a group of private investigators say they have cracked the case of the identity of D. B. Cooper by decoding a coded message in a letter Cooper sent out. Or they would have cracked the case, but the FBI closed the case just about two years ago. They (FBI) aren’t having a good year so far, are they?

As you long-time followers of CCB (all one or two of you) know, Cousin Fred solved at least part of the case then, but no one paid attention. It’ll be interesting to learn from the guy (his real name is Rakestraw) exactly how he managed to pull this off, if in fact it was him.

Here’s what we said in that post on 7/14/16:

Quote

Cousin Fred was reading an article about the FBI dropping their pursuit of D.B. Cooper after so many decades of no one being able to find him or for that matter, even figure out who he is.

For those of you who don’t care…lucky devils that you are…here is the bare bones, Cliff Notes version. On Thanksgiving Eve 1971, some guy who identified himself as Dan Cooper bought a one-way ticket from Portland, OR to Seattle, WA. He carried nothing but a briefcase with him. (Quick note for those of you playing along at home – there were no secure terminals or TSA back then. No one even checked the stuff you were carrying. I know, very Norman Rockwell (Google it), huh? And, you could actually walk right up to the departure gate and buy a ticket).

Once the plane was airborne, he presented a note to the flight attendant announcing that his briefcase held a bomb which he threatened to detonate unless his demands for $200,000, four parachutes and a fuel truck were met.

The plane lands in Seattle. His demands were met (go figure). The plane was refueled, and he allowed the passengers on board to disembark (check the overhead bins - oops, there were none then - and be sure to take all of your personal possessions with you). He made a minimum number of aircrew stay aboard and then ordered the plane to take off again.

Cooper’s instructions to the aircrew was to steer the plane in a southeast direction toward Mexico City (ίOlé!). At some point over Oregon, the aircrew got an indication that the aft airstair on the 727 was being lowered and the passenger compartment was depressurizing. One of the parachutes and all of the money was gone by the time the airliner made it back to the ground in Reno, NV.

Nothing was ever found, except pieces of a parachute and a wad of rotting 20-dollar bills totaling $5,800 determined to be among the same serial numbers that had been handed over to Cooper in Oregon. That was in 1980, I think.

Ever since, there has been speculation about whether or not Cooper survived the jump. He was dressed in a business suit and loafers for crying out loud. At the plane’s altitude that meant an ambient air temp of -34 degrees Fahrenheit. Not to mention that he leaped from a plane moving at roughly 200 mph.

So the FBI engaged in a manhunt for the past 45-plus years, but no signs. No real clues. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Butkus. 

According to Cousin Fred, reading the story, the Feebs finally gave it up because according to them, they were expending too many resources on chasing a ghost that could be directed elsewhere (the resources, not the ghost).

At that point, I was only half-listening. But then, Cousin Fred announced that he figured out the D.B. Cooper thing years before. I’m still only half-listening.

“Uh huh,” I said.

“No, seriously. He never left the plane. He was still on it when it landed in Reno.”

Now he had my attention.

According to Cousin Fred, who did some time in the Air Force years ago, there were a “gazillion” access points for maintenance personnel to get to key components in the fuel, flight control, and hydraulic systems on the old 727’s.

Cousin Fred said that Cooper could easily have slid down inside the bowels of the plane and stayed there until it was parked.

I started to ask a question, but he interrupted me. He pointed out that there had been speculation for years that Cooper was a former Air Force or possibly Navy (they used the same model of 727) load master. As evidence of that, investigators pointed out that he wanted the aft airstair ramp lowered before takeoff from Seattle. The pilot told him the plane couldn’t take off with the airstair extended. Cooper argued that it damn well could, but finally agreed to let it stay up and then he (Cooper) would lower it when the plane was airborne.

Cousin Fred figures that Cooper lowered the rear ramp, dumped one parachute and the wad of $5,800 out the back and then secreted himself into one of the maintenance holds just beneath the flight deck.

By the way, the plane landed in Reno with the rear stair ramp still lowered.

In all of the theories I’d read on the case over the years, I don’t recall any about Cooper still being on board. I said as much to Cousin Fred.

Unquote.

You can thank me later!
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That is all!
 
​

Happy Thursday to you all (y’all)! Have the post-voting day blues, I guess. Just can’t seem to get motivated today. Cousin Fred is talking about embarking on a new enterprise that has to do with medical marijuana…I can’t wait to hear about that. He has a backer that wants to talk with us. Again, can’t wait…

Friends, have you ever been to New Orleans (NOLA)? It’s a great place…to visit. I don’t think I’d want to live there, but for a few days it’s not too bad. I’ve never made a trip there (and there have been several over the years) that I could call a bad trip. Well, there was the time I drove from NOLA back to Pensacola, Florida on a motorcycle in a driving rain in November – I don’t think I’ve ever been that f*#king cold and miserable in my life.

But I digress.

I started making regular runs to the Big Easy when I was about 19. My girlfriend had dumped me, so I was looking for new adventure. I was stationed in Pensacola at the time and New Orleans was a fairly easy drive (around 200 miles I think).

Of course, I was making those drives in a 1962 Chevrolet Bel-Air (with the 327 engine) that had ZERO business being on the road. The tires barely passed for tires, but somehow still managed to hold air. That beast consumed oil much faster than it did gas. In fact, I had to stop every 60 miles or so just to put another quart of oil in it. The cooling system was screwed, you couldn’t punch that 327 to life for more than about a quarter-mile before the thing overheated and shut down.

But, when you’re 19 and there’s a woman on the other end of the 200-mile drive…I’d have walked to New Orleans barefoot if necessary. Her name was Marie. We were sorta shacking up…if I could make it to NOLA, I had a shack to “ing up” in. I thought at the time I was in love; most likely it was lust.

I’ve been back to NOLA many times since those days. Marie is long gone, but I never get tired of the city.

Maybe I was lucky that I didn’t get burned by Marie. History is replete with tales of men being led astray by one siren or another. What got me to think about all of this is a story I read online about some poor slob (I use the term poor figuratively – you’ll see why in a second) who while staying at a hotel in New Orleans lost in big way. By the way, the guy was down in the $$$ part of town and as near as I can tell was staying at the Hyatt House on Poydras St.

Details aren’t plentiful, but it seems our high-dollar horndog (hereafter Horndoggie) had been partying in the French Quarter (been the ruin of many a poor boy) on Bourbon St at 2AM where he met an enchantress by the name of Kristen (her story and she’s sticking to it). Soon enough they head back to his hotel (probably about 1 mile away).

I’ll bet they went there for a late-night/early-morning literary discussion of the propensity of latter-19th century French novelists to use footnotes in their fiction. Hey, it’s what I would do!

No, really!

At some point in the middle of their literary discussion, or more likely soon thereafter, Enchantress leaves the hotel with his $100,000 Audemars Piguet watch.

A $100K watch. Who the hell spends that kind of $$$ on a goddamned watch? Obviously Horndoggie did. Hey, maybe he’s married to a sugar-mama (though not likely for much longer) who bought it for him as a gift, “A mere trifle, Dahling! A mere trifle!”

Yep…the fat’s in the fire now…his bacon will cook when them chickens come home to roost. Or, words to that effect.

New Orleans PD is hot on the case. Uh huh. She probably left that hotel that morning and drove straight to Houston to hock that watch. They have a surveillance photo from the hotel of her on “check-out.” Horndoggie told the cops that she has a tattoo on her left thigh that says, “MONEY.” Hey, now that should have been a freaking clue!
​
What have we learned here today, kids?

• New Orleans is a fun place to visit, but you won’t want to live there.
• If you go, be sure to visit Café du Monde on Jackson Square for coffee and beignet donuts.
• Also, if you go, leave the $100K watch locked up in the hotel safe. Better yet, DON’T OWN a $100K watch!
• Avoid the French Quarter after 11PM when the freak parades start. Didn’t you ever read “Interview with the Vampire?”
• 19th century French novelists used footnotes in their fiction and women like to hear about it.
• Somewhere there’s a woman named Kristen with MONEY tattooed on her thigh and a wad of cash from selling a very high-end watch. If you run into her, RUN, but not before she buys the drinks.
• On second thought, just stay the hell away from NOLA!

​That is all!
 

We’re sliding into Wednesday hereabouts. Just did a quick overview of primary election results locally, statewide, and nationally.

After some analysis (at 3AM), I’ve found one fact that rises above everything else. If you’re an incumbent, Republican or Democrat, you may be in trouble when it comes to the mid-terms in November.

Cousin Fred is face down snoring on the floor. He’s a political junkie and while I slept a bit, he was making notes for me that not even the best Egyptologist could interpret. Fortunately, I receive newsfeeds overnight from various services, so I can keep up with what’s going on.

I’ll let Cousin Fred sleep. He’s currently face down in a half-eaten bowl of Cheetos, the orange dust gathered around his nose as though he were snorting the stuff.

And, speaking of Cheetos-snorting types covered in orange dust, I see that The Trump is taking his victory laps around the internet taking credit for primary wins for three candidates he endorsed in a “yuuuuuuge” manner.

One of those is Mitt Romney (remember him?) which seems a bit odd given that Romney seems to be doing his best to hold The Trump at arm’s length.

Oh, and The Trump tweeted that the Democrats are in “turmoil” following the loss of a long-time Democratic incumbent (and rabid Trump critic) in New York, Joe Crowley, to an underfunded opponent. The Trump publicly humiliated Crowley saying that he should have been “nicer and more respectful to his president.”  

<cough>

So both parties saw victories, but now…moving forward…the electric Kool-Aid acid test here is whether each party can present a unified front in November.

The Trump’s crowing overnight about what a political genius he is may crumble if the Dems can find a way to unite the factions within its own party and present a formidable front against the GOP (and The Trump).

But things aren’t any rosier on the Republican side. One thing that came out of the primaries is that GOP candidates who criticize The Trump or oppose the daily nonsense issued forth from the WH don’t necessarily incur the kiss of death from the Republican establishment.

Here in the great (and somewhat oppressive) state of Oklahoma, things are beginning to look up. The sitting Lieutenant Governor Todd Lamb is toast. Mick Cornett, who in my conversation with him while I worked for an almost daily local paper that won’t allow me to mention their name in this stupid blog, came across as a really smart guy (this state could use a lot of that) won overall last night. But, not by enough. He’ll have to face a run-off in August against Kevin Stitt.

Lamb going down is yet another example of the old guard being unseated. But maybe we should have seen it coming, Lamb never really came off as a very smart guy. During that horrific and tragic 2013 Moore tornado (the one where Hands Morgan, Hollywood weather guesser, told everyone to get in their cars and drive south sending them directly into the path of the storm), Lamb rushed in front of the media to announce that children at an elementary school that were sheltered in a basement of that school had drowned in the shelter. He then had to rush back in front of the media to tell them that wasn’t true. Idiot.

And, whether it’s Cornett or Stitt (you can bet we’ll be hearing more about Stitt’s “shady” business practices), it won’t be an easy ride. The Dems will be offering Drew Edmondson, a guy who is pretty centrist for a Democrat and is highly regarded in this state. Hang on folks, it’s a long ride to November.

There are a lot of the races that were so close, the run-offs in August will be just a continuation of the primaries. Can’t wait. More evenings of non-stop political ads.

Cousin Fred was cheering last night about the medical marijuana question winning. It wasn’t a huge margin of victory (57%) but given the amount of sheer bullsh*t issued by those opposed to the measure (reportedly big pharma) it’s a miracle it happened at all.

Now, every adult in Oklahoma is trying to come up with something that would qualify them for a medical marijuana license. Patient: “Doctor, I need medical marijuana, it hurts whenever I do this!” Doctor: “Well, don’t do that…prescription denied!”

Cousin Fred, before he passed out, was poring through a medical encyclopedia looking for a complaint. I pointed out that being irretrievably stupid is not a legitimate medical complaint.

On an even more local, micro cause, the good folks in this county passed (very, very narrowly – 51%) a proposition that extends Oklahoma’s weird liquor by the drink law to include restaurants, etc. being able to serve alcoholic beverages on Christmas (actually called that out in the proposition), Sundays and other holidays.

So I’d be thrilled to go out on Christmas Day and enjoy a tall, refreshing adult beverage, but there isn’t a restaurant within 100 miles that is open then! Seriously. Even McDonalds here closes on Christmas Day.

I know, I know…baby steps.
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That is all!
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Happy Monday everybody! The past few days have been a wild time here around The Compound. With successive storms that seemed to increase in ferocity with each. Last night we had (unofficially) 80 mph straight-line winds. Waiting for the sun to come up so we can survey for any new damage here. The rain was good. Since early morning Friday we’ve had just under four inches of precip out here on this hill according to the crack Compound weather team (Cousin Fred).

The thing was, the weekend Channel 9 weather guesser stand-in got it wrong both Saturday and Sunday nights. He poo-pooed the storms Saturday turning into anything much (trust me, it was) and said he expected the Sunday night storms to collapse (they didn’t) and not become anything (they did).

Weather guessing…it’s what he does, it’s how he makes his mark. Idiots. But then, again, I guess we must give him some benefit of the doubt. After all, weather forecasting on the Plains is, by its very nature, unpredictable.

But, you know what is predictable? The one constant in an ever-changing universe that you can always count on?

Disgraced holy man Jim Bakker (aka, Cry Me a River Jim), that’s what!

He’s back! This time he’s hustling a silver-based gel and liquid that, according to Brother Jim, can cure all forms of “venereal disease.”

He - Cry Me a River Jim - says it’s a “miracle in a tube.”

Now then, we at CCB have been following this nutcase for the past year or so as he launched his survivalist food in a bucket – still trying to force myself to try the freeze-dried opossum stew that Cousin Fred ordered for me.

He’s tried to sell all of us survivalist cabins at his survivalist/prepper resort in Missouri. He never revealed the cost of the alleged cabins, but you can bet it was going to be huge!

In between mouthfuls of opossum stew and 1,000-year biscuits eaten during his show, which is nothing more than a slick infomercial made to look like an actual broadcast show, he’s told us that God will strike down people like me who make fun of him.

Okay, that last paragraph is only partially true. He did threaten those of us who make fun of him saying that God would strike us dead, but he’s never so much as peeked at the crap in the buckets that he sells…for the record.

FDA-approved this miracle in a bottle and/or tube, you ask? Not a chance. He doesn’t even list the ingredients on the tubes of gel or bottles of liquid. One physician in an article I read referred to it as a colloidal silver solution that has been touted as a cure-all for everything from parasites to AIDS to chronic fatigue.

In layman’s terms, snake oil.

And Brother Jim’s magic cure-all isn’t cheap, oh no. Ho ho! It costs money to cure that weird rash on your parts (parts is parts after all)!

$25 for a four-ounce tube of gel (known in the industry as the quarter-pounder) and $40 for a sixteen-ounce bottle of liquid (the pounder). There are supposedly 96 doses of liquid per bottle. A case (one dozen) would cost you $175 for gel and $250 for the liquid (it pays to buy in bulk from this hustler).

And, now we know why he’s hustling these various products, most of which are a day late (prepper stuff, for instance, is so 2016). I suppose next it’ll be a full line of deodorizing products for the Bigfoot.

It seems that Cry Me a River Jim is in deep with those rat bastards at IRS going all the way back to his shenanigans with Tammy Faye and the PTL (Pass The Loot) Club television empire. The man has $5.5 million in IRS tax liens hanging around his neck.

Wow…now I feel kind of bad for bad-mouthing him and risking the wrath of God in the process.
Nah…not really.

But, what the heck, maybe we should all buy a tube of miracle to help a brother out.

That is all!
​

You know, I hate to brag, but I can honestly say I saw all this coming. No, seriously, it’s true. Back in August 2015, I made the prediction that The Trump could pull it off (becoming president that is, not pulling off Stormy Daniels’ bra).

I did.

There was sufficient hatred and grumbling from the radical right to propel him into office. The GOP had been courting untapped and forgotten Americans living across the heartland for years, promising them a better life at some point and return to a Rockwellian America that has eluded us since the days of Nixon (he’s still dead, right?).

I ALSO said at the time that if The Trump did pull it off (again, the presidency, not the bra) it would be the most entertaining four years in American history. Of course, that prediction couldn’t possibly have taken into consideration the kind of sh*t we’re seeing daily rolling out of Jerusalem-on-the-Potomac. Nobody could have seen this coming.

So, I shouldn’t have been surprised yesterday to see the photos and video of the first lady, Melania Trump embarking and disembarking (if one embarks one must disembark after all) from Air Force ONE wearing a fashionable slogan jacket with the words, “I really don’t care. Do u?” across the back.

She was on a trip to visit one of the centers where The Trump’s administration has been warehousing children separated from their parents trying to enter the U.S. illegally. Probably not the best choice of jacket to wear if you’re trying to make a fashion statement (just sayin’) in this particular instance.

The Trump himself put his thumbs to work on Twitter saying that Melania is protesting the fake news media. Mrs. Trump’s own spokesperson countered that by telling the media that it’s just a jacket and there is no hidden message.

I really find it kind of perplexing. If you understand it, please feel free to explain it to me. I’m an idiot, I guess. Of course, Hollywood went wild on the social media slinging flaming arrows at her…but, those people live on a different planet than the rest of us, so I seldom pay attention.

Besides, Melania has always seemed so above the day-to-day minutia spinning around her in that snake pit of a White House.

I thought maybe The Trump, who can’t stand a day without controversy, had slipped that jacket on her as she was leaving, and she didn’t realize she had a statement on her back. I can see him doing something like that. Kind of like the “kick me” signs that kids stick on the back of other kids’ shirts in grade school.

I wasn’t even going to bring it up in this stupid blog today, it was all just too perplexing. What the hell was she thinking?

BUT THEN…I get up this morning to find myself in a “But wait! There’s more moment.” So…

But wait! There’s more.

So now there’s a report (everyone please be seated, you definitely shouldn’t be standing) that Stormy Daniels and her attorney, Michael-something, are headed to one of the child detention centers on the border.

Huh?

Yes, seriously. Now I know most of you are saying, “But, Mr. Robin, congresspeople have gone down there only to be turned away. How will she get in?”

Ah, Grasshopper, you underestimate the power of attorney-client privilege. Avenatti (yeah, that’s the guy) has taken on two of the kids, a 6- and 7-year-old, as clients. They’ll have to let him in. Maybe he’ll declare the porn star his legal assistant.

Who knows? Even if she doesn’t get in, can you see the media flocking around her as she stands outside the gates and pleas for the quick reuniting of children with their immigrant parents? Who could have predicted this stuff? I ask again, WHO?

Cynical Robin sees this as pure genius. Think about it. You have the first lady of the U.S. flying down south to visit the children (not sure she ever actually saw any) followed by the porn star who claims to have slept with her husband.

Think about this from a news producer’s standpoint…the juxtaposition of FLOTUS here and Stormy Daniels there. They (the 24-hour news cycle) will be singing praises of this for the next year. Genius!

I said before this four years would be entertaining, but this…this…administration is the greatest situational dramedy of all time. And, the best part is…you can’t make this crap up! Who could?

I’m going to go wake up Cousin Fred. He won’t want to miss any of this action.
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That is all!
 

This is America! (Unless you’re reading this someplace else.)

We’re Americans! (Unless of course you’re that weird pack of Israelis that repost my blog onto other sites.)

We love us some poorly produced smoked ribs (Swadley’s to name one), idiot legislators (this state is full of ‘em), and trends (pick one, any one).

We here at CCB have spotted a newish trend and feel compelled to bring it to everyone’s attention. Namely, idiots trying to conceal carry weapons who have ZERO business doing so.

First, a week or so ago, there was the off-duty FBI agent with his service weapon tucked down in his ass who tried to do a back flip in a nightclub as part of his dance routine and dropped the weapon onto the floor. When he tried to retrieve said weapon, “it just went off” and injured a bystander. Uh huh.

I don’t recall the type of weapon the agent (we’ll call him J. Edgar) was tossing around the club. Chances are it was a Glock…let’s say it was a Glock…which would be a good thing because a Glock is designed not to accidentally “just went off.” BUT, if you put your finger inside the trigger guard, there’s a trigger safety on the front of the trigger that must be pressed before the weapon will fire.
In watching J. Edgar retrieve his weapon from the floor, he appears to pick it up with his finger inside the trigger guard.

So, now, yesterday a new viral video hit the Internet that has all the trappings of a Mel Brooks western. We see a dude (John Wayne Jr. – Junior to his friends) place a holstered weapon (can confirm it was a Glock) down the FRONT INSIDE of his pants. Seconds later Jr. bends down to pick something up off the floor and there is a loud bang as the weapon fires.

He had a through-and-through gunshot wound to the groin, which of course can be defined as anything between the lower portion of abdomen and upper thigh. I’ll leave it to you to imagine what he blew off.

If you bend over stuff gets compressed in the front. Given that the only way a Glock can fire is if that trigger safety is somehow pressed, I’m betting it caught on the edge of his holster or maybe a belt buckle was involved. I don’t know, it’s impossible tell from looking at the video.

The bad part for this guy is that from looking at the video it took place inside a gun shop. It’ll be tough for him to live this down.

The one thing that both incidents have in common is that both of these fools were walking (and/or dancing) around with a weapon with a round in the chamber, ready to fire.

Now, then, the wannabe bigger-than-life macho gun-toters out there will all tell you that a pistol without a chambered round makes you (the carrier) a liability.

Bullsh*t!

I don’t care how many safeties, external or internal, your daily carry weapon has, if you keep a round in the chamber anything can happen. Cycling a round into the chamber goes quickly enough that I seriously doubt you’re going to lose any real advantage in a firefight.

And, even if you don’t carry a semi-auto, but prefer your weird Uncle Carl’s old S&W .38 revolver with the shrouded hammer “just like they used to carry in the CIA” - for goodness sake, keep the hammer on an empty chamber.

I live in a state where the legislature, year after year, comes up with some new nonsense to free the people of Oklahoma from oppressive government intervention. There’s no vehicle safety inspections…though there damn sure ought to be. We having people thumbing their noses at Federal rules for catalytic converters on vehicles. Seriously, people have them cut out of the exhaust system, so they can get more noise as they roll down the street.

This is a state that passed a law making it legal to carry switchblade knives around despite there still being a Federal law preventing that.

The morons in the legislature tried to get a law through that would allow anyone and everyone over 18 that had not yet (operative word, yet, this state incarcerates more of its citizens than any other) been convicted of a felony to carry concealed or open without going through a safety course. Judas priest.

Surprisingly, that sold-out governor of ours, Her Royal Highness Mary of Fallin, vetoed the law and it was toast…for now.

You know, it just occurred to me that the legislature’s finest moments seem to contribute to the outlaw mentality in this state – just sayin’. This from a bunch of lawmakers who count among their colleagues; perverts, pedophiles, and drug users – but, they’re adamantly opposed to medical marijuana. WTF?!

I offer that a lack of basic gun safety, including concealed carry will lead to more incidents like those we’ve mentioned here.

Let’s be safe out there. And, please don’t chamber a round until you need it.
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That is all!
 
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​You know, there are a few immutable rules of life if you’re a high-roller in Government. Rule #1, for instance, is that if your name appears in print in The Washington Post it’s going to be a very BAD day.

Seriously, most high-level government officials, be they Democrat or Republican hold their breath as they peruse the morning paper every day.

“Oh, please, I pray no one leaked to the Post that, over cocktails last night, I indiscreetly bragged that I can fart my state song in three octaves while standing on a single-legged milking stool. I’ll be ruined if that appears in print!”

You want to get to a politician or bureaucrat? Get him in print. They hate seeing their name in the paper for anything other than grip and grin shots with constituents visiting D.C. for the first time and then only if nothing controversial comes up…

“The wall? What wall? Oh, that wall. Yes, we’re working on that, my boy! Yes sir, I’m in line with the president on that, you betcha. Be sure to tell all the folks back home where I stand! Would you do that for me? Here, you folks take some tickets for gallery seats during a genuine legislative session on the House side this afternoon. Screw those p*ssy Senators. See real Americans at work!”

…or words to that effect.

And, of course, The Trump is making himself crazy over leaks coming out of the WH. It’s the same thing that’s driven most officials nuts over the years. No matter how good the people are that they surround themselves with, someone is going to leak something.

Sometimes, it’s because they’re well-meaning assassins trying to explain what their Boss was thinking when he said something stupid. Often what Boss Hogg was really thinking is not what comes out of well-meaning assassin’s mouth, but you see how this works. Other times it’s simply someone who thinks the person they work for is a f*cking idiot and the world needs to know just how much an idiot he or she really is (sound vaguely familiar?).

In those years that I spent hanging around the high-level types (far too many), I can’t count on two hands how many times staffers and/or PUBLIC AFFAIRS PROFESSIONALS would leak stuff to The New York Times or The Washington Post and then defend their actions as being in the best interests of the nation (cough).

It’s the way Washington works…the same goes for the morons on Lincoln Blvd., I suppose…it helps keep people honest. Or, simply drives them underground.

Take, for instance, a report in today’s Washington Post that leaks the proceedings of a supposedly private GOP luncheon on Capitol Hill yesterday. The report described the exchanges between lawmakers as “unusually personal and occasionally profane”…my kind of lunch!

At the center of the “ruckus” was that creepy Sen. Lindsey Graham who went on the attack against Utah Sen. Mike Lee about an amendment that Lee snuck into the defense spending bill that was designed to prevent Americans from being detained without charges or a trial.

Hey now, I don’t know about you, but I like the sound of that! Apparently, Graham who wants to see every man, woman, and child in America locked up for no reason was furious that Lee has slipped the amendment into the negotiations.

Graham accused Lee of slipping that in solely to raise more money (for what, the article didn’t say). To which Lee responded, “The hell I’m doing that!”

In the end, Graham apologized to Lee who told Graham that if he drank beer, he’d buy Lindsey one.
Ahhhh, now isn’t that nice? Barf!

Next, Graham turned on everyone’s favorite Senator to flog, Bob Corker of Tennessee (bet Graham’s rice pudding was watery…he gets so angry if it isn’t just so).

Graham pointed out that Corker is on his way out and that he’s not doing the GOP any favors, and could he please shut up. That led to “expletive-laced” exchange back and forth.

Corker, a known Trump critic, had told a reporter from The Post earlier in the day that the relationship between the WH and the US Senate was devolving into a cult.

Of course, the people who spilled the beans to The Post  about the luncheon did so on the condition of anonymity, thus ensuring they’ll be invited to future secret lunches.

Ahhhh, Washington in the springtime! Smell the bile!
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That is all!

Happy Wednesday people…it is Wednesday right? Honestly, in all the hubbub of the past several days I’ve kind of lost track of things. It’s easy to do that in the post-summit hangover of intoxicating schmooze over vacuous substance.
But I’ve had the opportunity to think about things a little more once the images of The Trump and Kim Jong-Uno cleared the screen and the media once again focused on the random shootings and car jackings that have become a part of daily life here in the U.S. It begs the question; did we really gain anything?

Certainly not what you would expect to be left holding following the big flourish in Singapore. Sure, The Trump has a trophy…a vague document with little specifics signed by a despot. The Trump will use that as political currency for the next few years running up to his reelection campaign (if it gets that far).

The whole thing was must-see TV. Right? It was an entire season of The Sopranos with a weird Dennis Rodman plot twist toward the end.

I will give The Trump his due on one thing. He managed to get Kim to Singapore and generally agree to dismantle NoKo’s nuclear program…details to follow…probably…maybe.

One thing that struck me as I was watching it all unfold here at The Compound. One – did anyone else notice how tall Kim seemed? I always thought he was a short pudgy dude. The Trump, I believe, is over 6 foot and Kim wasn’t much shorter than him. Was he wearing lifts in his shoes maybe? Oh, wait, maybe it wasn’t Kim at all, but some imposter the NoKos sent to the summit? How’s that for conspiracy theory?

Just about every president (since King George I), Republican or Dem, has gotten something from the NoKos over time…concessions that lifted at least some of the perennial sanctions heaped upon the NoKos by the United States.
Hell, Clinton even brought one of the other Kim’s top generals to the WH for a face to face. Of course, Mr. Bill kept looking over the general’s shoulder asking, “Where the girls?”

Okay, we’re making that up.

Andy Kroll, writing for Rolling Stone, really put things into perspective. Kim got exactly what he wanted and is probably the winner here:

• He was propelled onto a world stage, making him appear less a third-world despot and more a weighty (pun intended) player whom the U.S. superpower must pay some attention.
• That, at least on some unspoken level, with the summit playing out on international television, has legitimized one the most brutal regimes in the world.
• He was able to get The Trump to commit to stopping the annual U.S./SoKo war games that have always been a bur under the saddle for NoKo.
• Agreement on a document that contains little to no specifics as to a time table for denuclearizing the Korean Peninsula.
• Lots of superlatives from the leader of the most powerful nation on earth. The Trump really doesn’t help things by painting Kim as a “great personality” who is “very talented” and that it was a “great honor” to appear beside him.

Will The Trump’s administration enforce the accord such that it is? I’m sure they will at least try. They have to with The Trump taking his victory laps now, though it may prove more problematic than worth the time and effort.

​Time has a way of taking the shiny glow of schmooze down to a dull glint. And, The Trump still has Iran to deal with.

Concerns regarding human rights violations by the NoKo regime were supposedly given some passing discussion. No terms were reached on the repatriating the 5,000+ American servicemen remains dumped into mass graves in NoKo during the Korean War.

And, then, The Trump wants to put up condos on beachfront property there? Seriously?

I hate playing the part of the Doubting Robin, but I would predict this will turn into another “wait, don’t we have an agreement with them?” episode. I hope that’s not the case, but the NoKos have a long history of slippery nonsense.

As even Ronald Reagan once said, “Trust, but verify!”

​That is all!