You Say You'll Keep Your Resolution / We'd All Love To See The Plan

It's really been exhausting, hasn't it?

The holiday season and all the hustle, the bustle, the rushing around.

Oh. Yeah. That, too.

I'm actually talking about being exhausted listening to experts on geopolitical matters and governmental/military strategies with international ramifications and global consequences.

And, at least in this particular conversation, I'm talking about "experts" being defined as people who, when it comes to geopolitical matters and governmental/military strategies with international ramifications and global consequences irrefutably and monumentally don't know their ass from a hole in the ground.

You'd like to think that kind of irresponsible, clearly uneducated and/or misinformed individual would be difficult to find in a nation that prides itself on being number one in the world when it comes to sophistication, education, erudition and aspires, at all times, to seeking a higher level of understanding about life and the myriad complexities that make up the incredibly complicated existence that is, in fact, life.    

Difficult to find? Turns out, not so much.

It's actually easier...far, far, far too easier than shooting fish in a barrel.

All one need do is find any posting on Facebook having anything to do with Donald Trump. Then scroll down to the comments section.

Every now and then, depending on the circumstances of the posting, one might have to bypass the first one or two or few comments to hit pay dirt. Every once in a while, a little click on the "view more comments" link is necessary to get to the wellspring of high school level wisdom and Fox News nurtured brilliance.

Such was not the case as I came upon the first post regarding a major news summary of Trump's sudden, out of the blue decision to end American military involvement in Syria. And, good on me, because, obviously, as we all know, it's a very busy time of year and there's not a lot of time in the daily to-do list for excessive scrolling, so, luck be a lady, I found a plethora of experts with the first roll of my scrolling finger.

The news summary's underlying theme, of course, was that this unexpected, sudden plan to simply flip the switch, strategically speaking, was, across a broad cross section of observers and insiders from all political parties, being viewed as, at best, an extremely ill advised move and, at worst, a rash and dangerous action.

Here's a more than just a little warped Whitman's Sampler of insight, perspective and analysis provided by a variety of obviously seasoned academicians and geopolitical scientists to that Facebook posting.

"Funny how Democrats can never figure out what they really want. They are like children. They want it until they can have it and they they no longer want it."

Astute analytical contribution from someone whose parenting techniques are surely in huge demand on the lecture circuit.

"Good. We spent eight years being alarmed now our country had no leadership."

Yes. I noticed the incorrect, conflicting grammar, too. No. I have no idea what she actually means, either.

"I was alarmed at the Democrats actions during the Kavanaugh hearings. So now we're even."

Nothing teaches political opponents a lesson like putting entire regions of the planet at risk of further bloodshed, upheaval and, eventual American re-involvement,most likely at a much higher cost in terms of resources, materials and American lives.

"I thought Democrats didn't want us involved in overseas conflicts. Which is it assholes?"

Ah. Now there's an articulate query from someone I feel confident has all five tuners on his car radio fixed on hard rock or country and not a one on NPR.

Here's a couple of more deeply considered, complex interpretations of the possible repercussions and/or ramifications of Trump's switch flip.

"Here's the Republican platform: Border security/booming economy/better trade deals/infrastructure...here's the Democrats platform: hate Trump."

Uh. Yeah. Uh. No. We'll get to that in a minute.

But, among the minor shiny pearls of wannabe wisdom, here's the crown jewel of this thread's selections.

"Get all the troops home! If ISIS regains strength, nuke them and finish them off."

I've often, and freely, admitted that while I consider myself a spiritual person, I am not, in all honesty, a very religious person.

That said, I also freely admit that I indulge myself the luxury of praying, from time to time, that there is both a literal Heaven and a literal Hell, if only to additionally pray that there is the proverbial special place in the bad place for the kind of senseless stupidity living amongst us that offers "nuke em" as a go-to when it comes to navigating the tricky waters of global activity.

Far too often, these days, useful discussion and debate gets derailed from the get go, primarily because we can't get past the basic disagreements triggered by insights like that. And the one offered in the earlier "comparison" of the respective political party "platforms".

Allow me.

Border security? You mean other than the border security that has been in place for decades? Or the border security that consists of the first there is a wall and then there is no wall and then there is melody that Donald and Company stop the show with every performance. With a little encore of first Mexico will pay for the wall and then they won't pay for the wall and then they will.

And...hang on...let me check....

At this writing, uh, nope. Still not gonna pay. No way, Jose'.

There is, meanwhile, a GoFundMe page on which our more patriotic and, clearly, again, expert in foreign affairs and relations Americans have already ponied up a million buck, or seventeen million, depending on which totally unbiased report you might read from whatever unbiased source you are surely employing to get the honest, factual, you could swear to God's face and not fear His wrath kind of truth.

Coming soon: mall kiosks where you can fork over wall moolah in person. Red cap and auto-pen autographed color glossy for only $59.95 with each donation.

Booming economy. Stock market in the deepest part of the crapper since 1929. Resulting in large measure from uncertainty about tariffs both in place and yet to be birthed, which brings us around to ......better trade deals?

Uh, yeah. In Donald's head. Pretty much not anywhere else.

Infrastructure? Where? When? Oh...and, again. Where? Besides stars in your eyes and a potentially harmful rose colored glow, what are you seeing that most of us are straining our retinas to get a hint of a look at? I mean, 20/20 eyesight may be a casualty of a libtard, snoflake lifestyle, but I'm pretty sure we'd notice the historic and massive program of rebuilding of our roads, bridges, causeways, freeways, Interstates, even that annoying pot hole on pick any street name in the good ol US of A you want.

Of course, we'd be remiss if we didn't sprinkle the conversation with Donald's current supposed executive spin on holding his breath till he turns blue,  essentially holding the country hostage, vowing to keep the current shutdown in shutdown mode until Uncle Sam ponies up the 5 billion dollars that the amusing little voices Trump hears inside his head have told him will be the cost of his memorial wall. That's memorial in the satirical sense and memorial in the hope springs eternal sense, while we're at it. Not for nothin, of course, the 5 billion dollars that should, actually, be 99,632,500,000 pesos. What with his brave, courageous, patriotic pledge to build that wall! and get Mexico to pay for it. But say pledge to Donald and he mumbles something like "just dust the tables and leave me alone....."

And, for shits and grins, let's just throw in that the Secretary of Defense became the latest member of this "administration" to recognize a sinking ship when he's aboard one and announced his resignation because, in his own words, he cannot abide the alienating of America's allies and the continued support, endorsement, oh, hell, let's call it what it is, ersatz bromance love affair between Donald Trump and his cutie patootie petunia Putin.

See how easy it is to get all lathered up and go swerving off the highway of productive give and take and crash into the ditch of bitchin?

Hate Donald Trump? I'm being blunt honest when I tell you that, yeah, there are days that it feels exactly like that's what this feeling is. But what's left of the better angels still flying around, bopped and battered though they have been this last couple of years, whisper to me that it's not a hatred of a man. It is an anger and frustration born out of an impatience, even an intolerance for nothing more complex than ignorance.

The kind of ignorance that makes people who can't put a correct sentence together cocksure that they know everything there is to know about geopolitical matters and governmental/military strategies with international ramifications and global consequences.

And that their position and/or opinion and/or supposed insight has a mili-microbe of validity or matters a hoot in hell to anyone except the other self professed experts in geopolitical matters and governmental/military strategies with international ramifications and global consequences.

Oh. And Donald. Because your love, adoration and respect for his brilliance in all those matter, strategies, ramifications and consequences is most probably the only thing that gives him the strength to get out of bed in the morning. Or even go on living.

This piece began in a holiday setting. Indulge me while I simplify it considerably and return it to that atmosphere.

Two years ago, many of you, too many of you chose a blunt tool to do surgical work.

And two years in, you're now experts on geopolitical matters and governmental/military strategies with international ramifications and global consequences but you don't have a single, solitary clue about a simple, basic, fundamental human truth.

Good and reasonable people of any and all political, racial, sexual, philosophical stripe,  all want to get to the same place...but you handed the steering wheel to a two year old and, now, you're annoyed and angry and resentful that so many of us can't "get over" the fact that you handed the steering wheel to a two year old.

And we refuse to "get over" it because it would have been bad enough if you, alone, had to pay for whatever damage, destruction, even death that the inexperience and the incompetence and the childishness and the tantrums will do, but, it's one bus...and we all go over the same cliff.

But here's a thing. And zero in big time and listen to this very closely.

We get it. You couldn't bring yourself to vote for Hillary. And you know what?

It was a totally sucky choice with which you were faced.

Guess what?

Us, too.

But, four years of a woman who may, or may not, have had people killed; who may, or may not, have been in bed with fat cat donors; who may, or may not have ended up being a bleeding heart, libtard snoflake as opposed to a stick up the ass, give tax cuts that only benefit the already rich, drill every last drop of oil out of and/or pollute the living shit out of every acre of National Park couldn't have possibly turned out any worse or done even as much, let alone more, damage than just two years, and counting, have done by the two year old with absolutely no experience whatsoever dealing with hardball, life altering decision making on a global stage, said life altering consequences affecting everyone, not just Hannity, not just Kellyanne, not just Tomi Lahren, not just Rush, not...just...you...

Everyone.

All of us.

So, here's a belated Christmas wish for you and yours...and that includes not only your loved ones, but all those who now test our peace on earth, good will towards men resolve each and every day with each and every new irrefutable proof that this man you chose has turned out to be exactly what we all feared most he would turn out to be.

Actually, make that what the rest of us knew from five minutes into that Rod Serling meets Benny Hill version of a presidential candidacy spawned out of the gold plated ooze.

Incompetent. Unqualified. Childish. Irrational. Perhaps,likely, even psychologically dangerous.

We wish for you and yours, happiness and health. We wish for you a roof over your heads and food in your bellies. We wish for you a safe neighborhood to raise your families and a safe school where you can send your kids to learn and become more educated about truths and facts and how this country, and the world, for that matter, really work, where both you, and they, only have to worry about them coming home with an F in algebra....and neither you, nor they, ever have to worry about never again going home because their school day ended with a bullet in their head.

In that spirit, we wish that if you won't, or even can't, own up to the stunningly obvious failure, let alone danger, that is this "presidency", you will at least do the rest of us the courtesy of putting an end to defending him...at least to our faces....even if the only way you insist on doing that is to post your expertise on a daily, even hourly, basis.

Most of all, we wish that you would do everything you can, all that is within your ability, to remember this two or four years or whatever this mutation of a presidency ends up being...and, along with that, remember that we, all of us, every one of us, you and me and we, the people, all good and reasonable people want to get to the same place, safely and sanely.

And we're frustrated because we recognize you felt like you had to make the choice you made.

But, now, two years and an unprecedented mess later, you resent us for calling it what an actual two year old could recognize and call it...an unprecedented mess.

Many of you have said many times since you first climbed on the Trump Train that you admire somebody who tells it like it is, so, in that spirit, allow me the courtesy to do just that.

You blew it. Work harder to get it right next time. Because we are all accountable for who we let steer the bus...all of us...whether it be to a better nation and a better life...which seems increasingly less likely with each passing day...or over the cliff...which, with each passing day, increasingly becomes a safe bet.

As another clean slate in the form of a new year shows up for all of us, we have a request for many, too many of you. We ask that you give serious, committed consideration to making what's next one of your New Year's Resolutions.

Resolve to be true, blue, red blooded American honest in a fair, factual, you could swear to God's face and not fear His wrath kind of honest that you, in fact, know less than jackshit about everything there is to know, actually, no, make that you know absolutely nothing about geopolitical matters and governmental/military strategies with international ramifications and global consequences.

Unless you're diplomaed,  certified, credentialed and have made such knowledge your life pursuit, academically, professionally, even personally.

New Year's Resolutions. A chance to start fresh. Or an exhausting end to an already exhausting season. Or a whole bunch of both.

Let's not bullshit each other, whattya say?

Chances are pretty good we're not going to go the gym more often....for very long.

The laundry baskets and kids toys will be stacked back on that treadmill in the family room before Valentine's Day, latest.

Sugar is a major food group, okay? Let's stop kidding ourselves.

And you can't quit smoking again. Because until you don't smoke anymore,ever, you haven't ever quit smoking in the first place. You're only stopped once or twice or whatever.

But your inability to keep your resolutions doesn't affect the health of me or mine.

There's one resolution that totally affects every one of us. Every. Single. One.

Be honest about what you know. And what you don't know. And how you've been letting what you don't know play a huge, too huge part in your decision making process this last couple of years.

Stop posting on social media your flawed, failed, useless, mindless, pointless perspective on geopolitical matters and governmental/military strategies with international ramifications and global consequences.

Or, while we're at it, the economy, the global consequences of ill timed remarks or outright misstatements, the intricate, complicated, even delicate nature of interactions among citizens of a country, citizens of other countries and/or all other countries on the planet we all have to inhabit for the foreseeable.

Because you don't know what you're talking about. And you damn well know it.

But here's the real kick in the head.

You know from nothing about those matters.

And yet you actually know more than the two year old to whom you handed the steering wheel two years ago.

Work harder to get it right.

It's a big bus.

But just like that big boat.

We're all in it.

The Punchline, Adjusted For The Season, Includes 'Reindeer Poop'

I'm Scott Edward Phelps. Some of you may know me from my assorted talk radio shows, political and infotainment podcasts or, perhaps, you've checked out my various logs, blogs, like this one, and enterprises at the website I only plug every time the opportunity presents itself, sepradionetwork.com

Today, though, I'm just Scott Edward Phelps, citizen, father, grandfather and enthusiastic spreader of seasonal cheer, with a little holiday message from me and mine to you and yours.

There's a remarkably high statistical possibility that you, or some one you know and/or love, is going to get sliced, diced, conked, bonked or boinged big time before the Christmas season is in the books for this year.

Let's share some stats, together, shall we?

The Consumer Product Safety Commission, tracking just 100 hospitals, of the almost 6000 hospitals that are officially registered in the United States , reported that between the years 2011 and 2015, over 1,700 people suffered, to extents ranging from minor to fatal, injuries documented as Christmas related.

Keep in mind, this is only 100 hospitals out of almost 6000 and doesn't even account for injuries suffered that weren't treated, so, weren't reported.

At the moment, by the way, probably because I know where this discussion is heading, it feels appropriate to mention that out of that 6000 hospitals, 400, or so, of them, are psychiatric facilities.

And that number doesn't include any Federal psych treatment centers or any posh, private, seaside rehabs dazzlingly disguised as resorts where poignantly plagued young performers like Demi Lovato are dueling with demons that, traditionally, didn't show up until at least early middle age and a couple of movie flops mixed with a nasty "uppers to keep working, downers to get some sleep" vicious celebrity cycle.

Over 1,700 reported injuries related to Christmas.

Clearly, for every Norman Rockwell painting affectionately portraying a family laden with brightly wrapped gifts showing up at Grandma's door, there's a Clark W. Griswold hanging desperately to an ice filled rain gutter that's about to put a serious hurtin' on Todd and Margo's state of the art sound system.

And the local E.R. is just a shot away, it's just a shot away.

The list of injury types, here, is farily predictable.

Burns, from cooking and the not-as-unusual-as-you-might-think questionable use of candles.

Head, hip and/or assorted other bone cracks or breaks from falls, from roofs, ladders, indoor or outdoor and even the occasional ill advised substitution of a swivel chair for said ladder.

Lacerations are pretty common, what with broken ornaments and Ginsu knives meant for turkey, not human, flesh lurking around every Christmas corner.

Electrical shocks, all too common when dealing with, you know, electric lights, that can be very uncomfortable, even very harmful, for us. And downright tragic for the family kitty.

And, then, of course, there are the unfortunate, but unavoidably amusing, bumps and bangs that come out of the seasonal silly willy folder.

58 people each year are injured using a sharp knife instead of a screwdriver.

31 people have died watering their Christmas tree while the lights were plugged in and on. Again, I would refer you to the holiday favorite Perry Mason tale, Case of the Fried Feline.

19 people in the last three years have died believing that one Christmas decoration or another was chocolate

Over a hundred people each year are injured by not removing all the pins from new shirts.

And, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus...God is great, beer is good and people are crazy...and 3 of them die each year testing to see if a 9V battery works by placing the contacts on their tongue.

But, injury and tragedy and not just a little gut busting laughter aside, the purpose of my sharing with you today isn't actually so much about holiday injuries and how to avoid them.

It's actually about three lesser known, but increasingly more common, this-time-of-the-year traumas and how and, so much more importantly, why they can be avoided.

The way more naughty than nice list of those three coming up momentarily.

First, though, a little cause and effect conversation.

Took about ten seconds, right at the very beginning of my first thing in the morning scroll through the unwieldy wacky wonderland of social media, before I came across the first inevitable, predictable daily, sometimes hourly, stand up and be counted for Jesus sharing that, again, inevitably and predictably, takes flight this time of year like Rudolph and the boys had been sniffing benzene just before take off.

"Don't tell me", the passionate poster passionately posts, " I have to say 'Happy Holidays' so that nobody gets offended. I'm gonna 'Merry Christmas' the heck out of you."

And, big finish, passionate poster....

"Remember...the Reason for the Season."

Okay. First, with all due respect, an admittedly minor nit to pick.

The capital letters you used there on the words "Reason" and "Season" are, one assumes, intentional. And, again, only assuming, that indicates your position is that the whole phrase, in general, is to be seen in an "official proclamation" sort of spotlight. Okay. Me, I'm inclined to think that it can too easily be interpreted as shouting, as in the usual usage of capital letters in online posting. It generally means shouting.

As in, hi, how are you, listen, I'M GONNA MERRY CHRISTMAS THE HECK OUT OF YOU.

Like that.

And when you shout at people, you run the risk of them turning a deaf ear to whatever you're saying, whatever else you intend to say and/or whatever they actually heard you say before the shouting was replaced by an annoying ringing in their ears.

Tinnitus. Not known to be an effective means of persuading people to see, or hear, as the case may be, things your way.

Of course, I haven't done the due diligence and it's entirely possible that the phrase "Reason for the Season" has been trademarked or copyrighted, so, if that's the case, then you're just doing your due diligence by honoring said trademark and/or copyright.

So, WELL DONE.

Okay, now, here's the main thing.

And I can't, and won't, speak for you and whatever experiences you may, or may not, have had in recent holiday seasons, so I'll just offer up the 411 on my personal P.O.V. and let the reindeer chips fall where they may.

I've never told anyone they have to say "Happy Holidays" so that nobody gets offended.

I've never been told by anyone that I have to say "Happy Holidays" so that nobody gets offended.

I don't know a single, solitary soul on this planet and/or visible to me in this particular space/time continuum who has ever told anyone, or been told by anyone, that they have to say "Happy Holidays" so that nobody gets offended.

Various variations and specific examples of comments, conversations, discussions, etc are readily available for inclusion here but they could, and would, pretty much go on forever and they would do nothing but turn into an annoying ringing in the ears because they would be nothing more than saying the same thing over and over and over...and over.

I've never told anyone, been told by anyone, or come into personal contact with anyone, who has told anyone, or been told by anyone, that I, we and/or they have to say "Happy Holidays" so that nobody gets offended.

Now before you rise up even higher from your already admirable stand up for Jesus posture, let me save you some wear and tear on the knee hinges.

I'm sure there are people who have told other people and or been told by other people....well, you get the idea.

But over 58 people are injured every year using a sharp knife instead of a screwdriver...and 3 people die every year testing a 9v battery with their tongue.

So, if the foundation of your argument is actually that there are really stupid people in the world, then, I'm gonna go ahead and concede that point to you.

And along with stupid, let's be ho ho honest and include rude, crude, insensitive, hysterical, obnoxious, sexist, racist....oh, you know what, it's Christmas. And we don't need to remind ourselves, or each other, that the human being, by its nature, is more flawed than that 7000 Christmas lights on a single string for only 99 cents that you and I both know a lot of people are going to scarf up, take home, plug in....and start counting down to kitty fricassee.

Let me put a little gold foil wrap up on all of this for you.

The aforementioned three lesser known, but increasingly more common, holiday season injuries are:

1) Neck strain from repeated back and forth shaking of the head.
2) Ocular muscle strain from repeated attempts to minimize eye rolling.
3) Exhaustion. More mental than physical.

All three resulting from the stresses and strains of trying to convince far too many people that:

Nobody is going to make Islam the official religion of the United States of America.

Nobody is going to stand idly by while tens of thousands of those brown skinned plunderers and rapists and murderers come pouring into America by the tens of thousands to plunder and rape and murder you or yours or mine or theirs.

Nobody is going to come and take your guns away from you.

Nobody is declaring "war on Christmas". (the aforementioned stupid, rude, crude, etc, notwithstanding)

Nobody is going to lock you, or your kids, or their kids, or anyone or their kids, or their kids, up because you say Merry Christmas.

And, with all due respect ("...and, remember, I said with all due respect..."), the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ being the Reason for the Season (trademark/copyrighted/capital letters and all) gets no argument from me or any other reasonable and reasonably intelligent person in this particular space/time continuum.

But I'd offer that, for a lot of us, peace, love, compassion, caring, maybe even just plain old being decent to one another for no other reason than its the right thing to do.... for more than a day or two or the month of December totally qualifies as being "reasons for the season" (lower case, good for all occasions).

Old saying in Tennessee having to do with the pettiness which we all tend to, too often, let get the best of us.

"...That's picking fly poop outta pepper..."

As I have shared often, for a long time, on my assorted talk radio shows, political and infotainment podcasts , my various logs, blogs, like this one, and enterprises at the website I only plug every time the opportunity presents itself, sepradionetwork.com....

This time of year is not "either/or".

It's "and"

It's not Happy Hanukkah or Happy Kwanzaa or Feliz Navidad or Joyeux Noel.

It's Happy Hanukkah and Happy Kwanzaa and Feliz Navidad and Joyeux Noel.

And it's not Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas.

It's Happy Holidays.

And...

Merry Christmas.

UPPER CASE, lower case, whatever the case may be.

In fact, in this case, you just go ahead and capital letter the heck out of it, okay?

MERRY CHRISTMAS.

Although...you don't have to shout.

Unless, of course, your happy holidays include a trip to the mountain.

To go and tell it.

The PO in POTUS Doesn't Stand For "Plain Ol'...

No one has ever accused me of being a man of few words.

But my affection for, and admittedly sizable use of, the English language shouldn't be mistaken for an inability to shoot fast, straight and succinctly.

Like now.

Donald Trump does it wrong. Pretty much every day. Pretty much all the time.

And if you still support him, you have less than a clue than he does about the way America really works.

Bang bang. Shoot shoot.

Trump unveiled a farm bill yesterday. The tweet announcing it read as follows.

"Farm bill signing in 15 minutes, #Emmys. #TBT"

The Emmys and TBT hashtags refer to, first, an Emmy Awards broadcast from 2005 in which Donald appeared and TBT, for all you parents still struggling with LOL and ROFLMAO, stands for Throw Back Thursday.

Donald was, any first year psych student would tell ya, having a little fun.

Here's the real fun. Included in the tweet was a video of that Emmys appearance in which he sang, in duet with comic actor Megan Mullally,  the theme song from the 1960's sit com, "Green Acres".

Mullally looked as uncomfortable as any reasonable person would imagine.

Trump looked like an idiot.

Which is okay, given the context of the time and his place in it.

Showing off, in one idiot fashion or another, was, besides stiffing contractors and treating people below his considerable pay grade like shit, pretty much what Donald was all about at the time.

Until a couple of years ago, of course.

Including the village idiot video in the "presidential" tweet announcing a farm bill was, again, clearly another attempt by Donald to show how clever, playful, in short, what a fun, creative genius he is.

While making it obvious to, again, any first year psych student that he fancies himself both a clever, playful, creative genius....and just plain folks.

You know. Like that other bunch of just plain folks we hear tell of  'round these here parts.

The base.

The very same base that is, as we speak, zealously defending their head Mouseketeer with some form of snark or another, almost certainly including the words "libtard", "snoflake", DemoRats". You know. Oft heard words from their, by now, very dog eared copy of Thesaurus For Dummies."

And here's numero uno on their go-to list of reasons why libtard, snoflake, DemoRats need to get off "our president's" ass.

Lighten up. It's just a joke. He's just having fun. What's the matter with you libtard, snoflake, DemoRats. Can't you even take a joke? Can't you see he's just plain folks?

Can't you just see that he's one of us?

And that's why we love him so much????

First, actually, yes. I can take a joke. I have a wonderful sense of humor. And, here's something that pretty much disqualifies me from any possible membership in "the base",  if'n, you know, I should ever completely lose my mind and apply for membership in the base.

I'm capable of, and have been known to, quite often, laugh at myself.

Second, and I know this will chap your cheeks, but, no, actually he's not plain folks and he's not one of you.

But, before you cough up another "oh, yes, he is" hairball that will try to suck me into yet another round of "oh, no, he's not / oh, yes, he is / oh, no, he's not", let's come at this from a fresh new direction.

Pretend I agree with you.

He's just plain folks.

He's one of us.

Just an average Joe from an average house in an average neighborhood in an average town across this great land of ours, from sea to shining sea.

With an average education and average ambition and average abilities.

Here's the problem.

I don't want one of us to be President of the United States.

And you shouldn't want one of us to be President of the United States, either.

Recently, while guest hosting on talk radio, a caller who was a little unhappy with me asked "when are you on the left going to stop telling us on the right what we ought to think about things?"

I deflected only because the question was an endless loop of  "oh, no, you're  not / oh, yes, I am / oh, no, you're not" just waiting to happen and I was only sitting in for three hours and wasn't in the mood to play bullshit badminton.

But right here, right now, here's the answer that occurs to me.

I honestly don't know when that's going to happen.

What I do know is that it's not going to happen today.

Because, bet the farm, baby, I meant,. like a rock, what I said a minute or so ago.

I don't want one of us to be President of the United States.

And you shouldn't want one of us to be President of the United States, either.

I want someone smarter than us to be President of the United States. And you should, too.

I want someone kinder than us to be President of the United States. And you should, too.

I want someone tougher than us, but fair and caring and compassionate and capable of seeing the smallest detail of the big picture while mastering the overview of the whole big picture all at the same time. And so should you.

I want someone more hard working than us. Someone who spends very little time on the golf course or watching hour after hour of morning news shows because they're busy listening to smarter, more experienced voices in meetings to determine the most effective way to make America great. Someone who spends hours reading materials, briefing books, critical analytics provided by educated, expert minds who possess the knowledge that can lift a society and the willingness to share that knowledge with he who makes the ultimate life affecting decisions.

I want someone who inspires us to be better than we are. Not someone who incites us to play bullshit badminton against each other.

I want someone who recognizes and admits to their own demons but remains steadfast and determined to call on our better angels.

I want someone who doesn't change their mind about shutting down an entire national government because Fox and Friends called him out for actually considering a compromise.

That's the kind of thing that an average mind is inclined to do.

The vast, monumentally vast majority of people who breathe, eat, sleep, work, pray, love, walk, talk and just try to go about the business of making life better for themselves and their loved ones in this country are average.

Just plain folks.

Think of five people in your life who you would, if being bluntly honest, describe as average.

Now tell me which one of those people you would like to see elected to a position that will directly impact your life and the lives of those you love for generations to come.

Yeah.

Me, neither.

He's not smarter. He's not kinder. He's not really tougher and he's unarguably not fair, caring, compassionate.

Couldn't see the big picture is it was on a 100 inch flat screen with a Fox News logo in the background, doesn't know a briefing book or critical analysis from a golf scorecard, and couldn't care less.

Listens to no one, takes no advice, accepts no counsel. Inspires nothing in anyone. Incites conflict in everyone.

Truly believes he has no demons, let alone deal with any and wouldn't know a better angel if it flew down and blocked the view of his flat screen with the Fox News logo in the background.

He's not just plain folks.

And he's not one of us.

But even if he was.

I don't want one of us to be President of the United States.

And neither should you.

This Little Light Of Ours...We Need To Make Sure We Continue To Let It Shine...

Here's a commonly heard question at this holly and ivy time of year.

"So....what do you want for Christmas?"

Me being me, having a more than probably healthy fixation on mental roads less traveled, tend to wander right off the synaptic path of straight answers regarding questions like that and, as opposed to an answer at all, offer up a question in response to the original question.

"Well, riddle me this, kids. What, exactly constitutes a want.....as opposed to a need?"

In the context of the Christmas conversational theme, the difference between the two is both considerable and potentially problematic.

Not to mention eye-rollingly buzz killing.   

Because when you start asking what someone needs for Christmas in place of asking them what they want for Christmas, anyone who has made it past, say, their fourth Christmas knows immediately what's implied.

The wonderful world of "want" includes everything from PlayStation to flat-screen to season tickets, unless, of course, you live in Dallas, to a luxury automobile complete with one of those almost impossible to actually create massive bright red bows, parked in the driveway on the morning after Santa's fly-by.

The nefarious notion of "need", meanwhile, almost always leads to socks.

A college professor of mine from a long time ago, in an academic universe far, far away had a particularly succinct, if borderline cynical, definition of the distinction between the two.

"Air to breathe, water to hydrate, nourishment to, well, nourish...........there's your needs......"

"....everything else.....is a want."

Ten items or less lines that really stick to their guns and/or hot dog buns that come in packages of ten instead of eight on my own list of "needs" notwithstanding, I'd hazard that a lot of people would add things like shelter, health, even money, in one form, or sum, or another and, amongst the more sentimental in our midst, peace, happiness and don't you want somebody to love..... to their own need list, but I always understood what the prof was professing.

You can live without anything except: air, water and nourishment.

Although survive is the more applicable word, here, because, hey, air, water and nourishment and that's it? You call that living?

Any back and forth after this is really just hair splitting followed by additional, possibly endless, splitting of already split hairs, so let's take a pass on follicle tomfoolery and move right to today's existential pop quiz.

What is it you really don't think you need but should actually loudly assert that you want it because even though you really don't think you need it, you do because, without it, pretty much everything you've ever wanted or, for that matter, will want from now on for the rest of your life depends on your having it?

Yeah, I'm not gonna tell you just yet.

Is this your first time with me? Welcome. And Merry Christmas.

Everybody else, you know the drill.

Put a pin in it. Hold that thought. Whatever floats your sleigh bells in the eggnog.

I cleaned up my DVR library to the tune of one entire film this past weekend.  That keeps my space used at a healthy 35%, a number I arbitrarily selected some time ago as the max out. I know that seems low, what with it leaving me a seemingly generous 65% available, but, hard lesson experience has taught me that a couple of Ken Burns doc-u-series, a few must have, but will never really watch TCM noir classics and the whole eleven seasons of Two and A Half Men later, you're suddenly looking at being forced to delete as opposed to having the choice to delete. And I've long ago made my peace with being highly resistant to doing anything I'm forced to do

With the exception, of course, of my yearly tax returns which I am more than happy and proud to do correctly, truthfully and well ahead of April 15. And, hey, IRS, have I told you lately what a wonderful job you all do?

The movie I viewed was a fairly recent release, moderate buzz, and even though it boasted a fabled director and, at least, two iconic stars, it wasn't a smash success. I'd write that off, actually, to the absence of anything even remotely resembling a super-hero or a Camaro with abilities much more dramatic than first met the eye.

The Post.

Steven Spielberg. Meryl Streep. Tom Hanks.

And the story of the historically dramatic publishing, in the early 1970's by, first, the New York Times and, then, the Washington Post of the Pentagon Papers.

Google at will for details aplenty. For the more attention span challenged, the Pentagon Papers consisted of a top secret study, done by government officials, that essentially assessed the history of the Vietnam War.

And among the more dramatic revelations, hard, documented evidence that America, in the form of its, then, leaders, knew, even as the war continued to be fought in those days, that there was no way the war could be won.

Yet, thousands of American troops continued to be sent to live and fight and die.

Needless to say, the, then, Americans in charge weren't all that jiggy with the notion that a lot of bereaved loved ones, not to mention just your good, old fashioned, garden variety decent human beings were going to find out that those loved ones had been hurt, maimed or died for, pretty much, nothing.

So, the battle to keep the information secret began.

In a nutshell, as the movie sites sum it up, "a cover-up that spanned four U.S. Presidents pushed the country's first female newspaper publisher and a hard driving editor to join an unprecedented battle between press and the government."

The "battle" takes place in the courts.

That's mentioned here so that any folks still holding out hope that Aquaman or Decepticons come into play anywhere in the screenplay won't feel cheated when we're done here.

Or thanks for stopping by. And Merry Christmas.

One mini-review. Spielberg manages to accomplish what Ron Howard also mastered when he made "Apollo 13". It's not easy to create suspense, or even much tension, actually, when you're watching the playing out of a real life event which you already know had a happy ending. But Ron did. And Steven did, too.

With nary an Aquaman or Decepticon in sight.

Fifteen minutes, or so, into the one hundred and sixteen minute running time, it was clear to me that this film, while relating events that occurred in America 1971, was, to sum up movie biz-ishly, "as timely and topical as today's headlines."

It was a hundred and ten minutes in, give or take, that I realized it was not only timely and topical.

It was, and is, an authentic, genuine, accept no substitutes cautionary tale for America 2018. Soon to be America 2019.

And two other things occurred to me at that point.

What it is you may not think you need or, in some cases, want.

And that Hugo Black was a genius.

The first of which I promised a few minutes ago I'd reveal. The second, the why of which I will also reveal.

Soon. Patience. Still a virtue.

Donald Trump is whining.

There's a news flash that fits in nicely with "the sun came up this morning" "water is wet" and "Westworld still makes absolutely no sense whatsoever."

The whine-du-jour has to do with this past weekend's Saturday Night Live sketch parodying the perennial holiday fave, "It's A Wonderful Life", complete with Alec Baldwin lampooning the always good natured, self deprecating Orange Expert on Pretty Much Everything In The Known Universe in the traditionally uplifting Jimmy Stewart portrayal of George Bailey.

The premise, from the duhh folder, being Trump/Baldwin getting to see what life would have been like had he never been born.

I didn't see the sketch. Didn't want to. Or need to, for that matter, although that unintentionally teases that whole want and need thing I'm annoying you with.

Again. Patience. Still a virtue.

I didn't need to see the sketch because I've been watching SNL for forty plus years, I know what they do, I know how they do it and I'm fully cognizant of their approach to all things Donald.

And I'm fully cognizant of Donald's attitude about SNL's approach to all things Donald.

SPOILER ALERT: He doesn't like their approach to all things Donald. And, come Sundays, after Saturdays that include new SNL's, the tiny orange tweet fingers fly faster than Santa as he sees the finish line on the horizon.

Here's Donald's sadly predictable weekly take on how tweet it isn't.

“A REAL scandal is the one-sided coverage, hour by hour, of networks like NBC & Democrat spin machines like Saturday Night Live. It is all nothing less than unfair news coverage and Dem commercials. Should be tested in courts, can’t be legal? Only defame & belittle! Collusion?”

Not sure why, but now whenever I see or hear Donald use that word, I can't help but hear Dana Carvey's voice.

"...could it be....COLLUSION?"......

Well, isn't that special.

We all know that Donald struggles with the annoying limitations of not being able to have everything in existence be exactly and only the way he personally wants everything in existence to be.

And, boy, that pesky Constitution has just been a real thorn in that tiny, tiny orange paw for the longest now, you know?

Let's even cut the slack of conceding that, at this point in this reality show meets Twilight Zone of a presidency, most, if not all, of his sputtering, spewing, whimpering and whining are nothing more than badly disguised attempts at the shiny thing strategy that worked so well for him for such a long time.

Felonies. Indictments. Impeachment. Imprisonment.

Pending.

Cue the shiny things.

Defame! Belittle! Tested in courts! COLLUSION?

Well, isn't that especially pathetic.

At this point...thanks for your patience.

Time for the reveals.

First, Hugo Black.

Black was on the Supreme Court during that "battle" between the Government and the Press.

Writing for the majority in that case, he offered up twenty four amazing bedrock words.

"...in the First Amendment, the Founding Fathers gave the free press the protection it must have to fulfill its essential role in our democracy...."

And these ten words bring it home, baby.

"...the press was to serve the governed...not the governors."

That's a total craw sticker, isn't it, Donald?

And....here's what you may, or may not, think you need but you do. Oh, you so, really, really, really do.

A free press.

I'll spare you a long dissertation on why. And simply lay the bottom line on you.

The free press is the only reason that America, the America that you know and love and honor, in whatever form that takes for you, still exists.

Without a free press, there is little or no light available to shine on places where secrets are kept, conspiracies are born, plots are hatched, where bacteria grow freely.

Where roaches and vermin breed and multiply. Flourish. And infect.

Where dictators begin to plan and plot their corrupted circumvention of hallowed traditions, sacred institutions ...and lawful, fundamental to a free society Constitutions.

Where evil nourishes itself.

Not a climate change believer? Not down with all that science stuff?

Not a problem. Here's a fact even you can't refute.

Where there is no light, there is darkness.

Democracy Dies In Darkness.

Wow. How profound is that?

Oh, had you not heard that before?

Powerful stuff, huh.

Interested in hearing more about it?

Just check out the home of that profound saying.

You can find it on the masthead of an American institution.

The Washington Post.

Where Even Cousin Eddie Could Become The Presumptive Favorite

Traditions a-plenty find their way to the homes and hearths of America this time of the year.

High up, if not first, on that list of traditions is the holiday gathering of kith and kin around the actually big, or made big by shoving fold outs together, dining table for the family holiday meal.

One tradition within that tradition getting increasingly more difficult to honor these days.

Avoiding, by any means necessary, any whiff of a hint of discussion of the terrible two, the twin topics that are guaranteed to set fire to the frivolity, put a stop to the celebrations, turn the carving of the Thanksgiving turkey or the Christmas ham into a potentially catastrophic carving up of one another.

Like tigers on the Serengeti. Sharks in the water. Partridges in a flaming pear tree.

Politics. Religion.

Hey, all you bickering brothers and sisters and maters and paters and grannies and grandpas, it's 2018.

There's a new kid in town.

Immigration.

Naturally, a case can be made that the topic of immigration is actually a sub-topic easily found under the heading of either politics or religion or both.

But. thanks to a presidential candidate who decided a couple of years ago that inspiring people was for pussies, inciting people was electoral gold, Jerry, gold and so undertook an  historic uncorking of the vial where the more virulent strain of the virus bigot-us prejudishus had, at least, been somewhat contained in recent decades, immigration managed to break free of its second tier status and has found a home in an every growing bulge of a folder all its own.

Hold that thought for a minute. Because a question suddenly comes to mind I'd like to inject here.

Did you ever stop to think why people from other countries, who must obviously know what a hot button, spit and snarl subject their desire to come to this country has become in recent months, still risk limb and/or life to come on-a our house, our house-a come on, no matter what?

Well, there is the obvious "if they stay where they are, they're subject to poverty, starvation, persecution, torture, genocide, you know, all the things that make living somewhere else pretty much a buzzkill thing" thing.

If that's your first answer, you get credit for not going all "burning cross/towelhead/they're only coming to murder my family in the name of Allah" on me right off the bat, but, that's really the easy answer, so, think for a second and try a little harder.

And, if perchance, your first answer was to go all "burning cross/towelhead/they're only coming to murder my family in the name of Allah" on me, then, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and suggest you're probably not going to find the rest of what I'm offering up here all that worth your time, so, scootle along, now.....buh-bye.

And allahu akbar to you and yours. Hey, I'm just messin' wit ya. Merry Christmas.

Seriously. At the level that suspicion and mistrust and hostility and downright hot bed hatred have been ramped up to in this here land of the free, home of the brave these days, you've gotta ask why these people knock, knock, knockin' on Uncle Sam's door would want to risk the aforementioned limb and/or life to accomplish what is, one could articulately be convincing in calling, pretty much just a brutal, dangerous journey from the frying pan of one nation to the fire of another.

Other fairly common go-to answers, of course, include more from the evil intent seats in the peanut gallery, you know, take our jobs, recruit our kids, infect us with their blasphemy, take a few french fries from our bag when our backs are turned.

And then, as the evil intent club refers to them, the bleeding heart, snoflake libtard faction comes along with the Hallmark card tested and approved axioms of a better and richer life, the seeing of dreams coming true, giving their own kids a chance at the kind of happiness they would never otherwise find in life.

You know, just more of that insulting, liberal, Pollyanna bullshit. Those moonbeams of malarkey that further blind those who go through life already badly blinded, what with being afflicted with starry eyes and all.

Lately, a little inadvertent research has given me pause for considering a possibility possibly not considered before.

It's about freedom.

And, yes, I know that freedom is already prominently featured on the list of features that come with the premium package here in the land of the free, home of the premium package but I'm not talking about those trying to cross the river or tunnel under the fence or climb over that high tech, state of the art wall, you know, once, and if, there's actually ever a high tech, state of the art wall for them to climb over, wishing to come and live here so they can see their dream of trial by jury finally come true. Or so they can read or hear, each day, all the facts and truths and need to knows that result from living in a nation that honors, respects and critically needs a free press. Assuming, of course, that by the time they get here, that "enemy of the people" shit has run its course and we're not starting our days with " I pledge allegiance / to supreme leader / and his trusty sidekick, Sean Hannity."

But the freedom I'm talking about is a little more abstract, a shade more subtle, a mite more microscopic.

At first glance, the helpers who hear these broadcasts and read the blogs will elbow in and "help" by chirping "free speech!". You're just talking about "free speech!"

Well, first, why, thank you, Mr or Ms. Helper. Now you get your Hot Pocket out of Mom's microwave, have a seat and shush.

Second, credit where due, you're correct. It is about free speech. But not just free speech. It's way more comprehensive and complex than that.

Allow me to elucidate.

Came across a social media posting of a link to a news story published in the Nashville Tennessean. It related the story of  a mother of four walking out of an area WalMart with two of her sons.

The woman's name is Ayat Abu. She covers her hair with a hijab. She is a Muslim.

As she walked out of the store, a man walking into the store looked her up and down and had a single comment to make.

"Terrorist", he said.

Let's skip the knee jerk, go-to, frankly, exhausting, enough already back and forth about hijabs and Muslims and freedom of religion and terrorism and lions, and tigers and bears.

Instead, here's some sadly predictable comments made in the thread that followed that social media post. And while I don't usually name names in cases like this, I'm making an exception this time for a specific reason, which I will explain shortly. I'm also not violating anyone's privacy or rights as these are public posts, easily found by you or anyone else, so, there is no presumption of privacy. Thanks again, Mr. or Ms. Helper. Hot Pocket. Shush.

Kyle William..."go home, witch".

Danny Robinson..."no part of me believes this actually happened."

Mark McCammon..."liberalism is a mental disorder,"

Pat Price..."are you sure that's a woman?"

Regenia Rose Clifton..."all Muslims want to conquer the land they live in...AAALLL OOOF TTTTHHEEMMM!"

Kim Raspatello..."you never know what they are hiding in there."

By there, of course, one assumes she is referring to the scarf covering Ayat Abu's hair.

Previous documented incidents, of course, relating the stashing of knives, grenades, missile launchers, jet fighters and the occasional fully armamented aircraft carrier under those, more than occasionally, brightly colored silks.

You'd think they'd know better than to call attention to themselves with the bright colors and all.

In fairness, a laudable number of comments in response to those comments offer kindness, compassion, rational thinking and even a very humanitarian apology or two for the crude, rude, classless carping of the less tactful in the tribe.

But the compassionless carving there whittles down to this point.

Lots of countries, and/or those who are "in charge" of said countries, talk a good game about privileges and rights and freedoms.

But the pudding so often has a nasty way of being proven to be lacking the proof part.

America, meanwhile, puts its money where its mouth is.

And props and a shout out thanks to the very American voices of Mr Williams and Robinson and McCammon and Ms. Price and Clifton and Raspatello for their, surely, unintentional participation in proving the point.

That, in this country, when it comes to freedom, we don't just talk the talk.

We babble the brainless.

We conversate the contemptible.

We dish the disgusting.

We spew the spewage.

And still get to wake up in the morning, sip that espresso, wobble on down to work, eat, pray, and love, such as it is, without fear of retribution or incarceration.

If there truly is a logical reason why, when its all said and done, tens of thousands of people would risk limb and/or life to live in this land of the free, home of the blowhards, it transcends mere freedom of religion and freedom of speech and freedom of the press.

Who wouldn't sacrifice anything and everything to spend their lives in a land where anything goes, free of retaliation, retribution, incarceration.

In America, obviously.....anything goes.

Anything.

We don't just have free speech.

We've got unlimited free speech.

Take that, A.T & T.

And not only no limit on how long you can talk or how much you can talk, but, with the possible exception of literally threatening to assassinate the President, any President, pick a President, literally no limit on what you can say. No matter how distasteful. Disturbing. Disgusting. Racist. Sexist. Bigoted. Mindless. Moronic...

...or just good old fashioned garden variety stupid it might be.

And thank the Founding Fathers and the good Lord above that that good old fashioned garden variety stupid totally falls under the protective umbrella of free speech in this country.

If it didn't a lot of families would be about to have a terrible, heart breaking holiday, what with their loved ones being locked up and keys being thrown away and all.

Instead of tinsel and holly and egg nog, it would be tears and heartache and weekly visitation.

For the families of Mr. Williams and Robinson and McCammon.

Ms. Price and Clifton and Raspatello.

No Dancer or Prancer or Comet or Vixen.

Just a 6 by 8 cell. And Christmas dinner with no fixins.

That might not be the reason for the season.

But bet your berka that's a heavy duty reason that those who come come at the risk of losing limb and/or life.

You'll probably still want to stay away from politics and religion.

But it might do some good for you to talk about that at the holiday dinner table.

Better yet....

...make it a tradition.