They’re partying at the Cracker Barrel. Wings are flying out of Hooters. The Olive Garden’s endless breadsticks have been depleted. Wherever Republicans celebrate, cans of Bud Light are being hoisted and the karaoke machine is smoking, because for the first time all year, the Party of Lincoln accomplished something.

Despite being stymied by internecine warfare for 11 months, the GOP came together at the 11th hour to pass a landmark tax reform bill that President Trump referred to as “an incredible Christmas gift for hard working Americans.” Apparently, by “hard working Americans,” he meant everyone who owns a private jet seating more than 11.

Because the vast majority of benefits from the “Tax Cut and Jobs Act” don’t just go to the rich, but to the extremely rich. Why? Because excessively rich people need more money, that’s why. The rest of us are expected to do better by scavenging when very rich people’s plates runneth over.

As Iowa Senator Chuck Grassley pointed out, you can’t give tax cuts to the middle class because they “are just spending every damn penny they have, whether it’s on booze or women or movies.” Which admittedly does sound like the makings of one fine weekend in Vegas.

Through a straight party line vote, anybody who makes less than $500,000 was ceremoniously tossed a couple of the overflow crumbs while millionaires get to eat cake and billionaires added another line of franchised bakeries to their portfolio. This is the tastiest tax break in years.

You could say the bill was rushed. You could also say that sitting on a cast iron park bench in the Yukon at midnight in February gets brisk. In order to weave this piece of legalized larceny through the maze of their own special interest factions the GOP promised recalcitrant Congresspersons enough favored amendments to stuff a goose the size of Wyoming.

Many were added at the last minute. Some additions were so late they couldn’t be typed into the document, but had to be scribbled in the margins. It’s the first tax reform legislation that looks like it was illegibly scrawled by a third-grader while riding the bus to school.

The plan not only adds $1.5 trillion to the deficit, but the cuts for rich people are permanent while the ones for the poor, expire. Which we should all do soon and decrease the surplus population. A not unprobable outcome since, oh yeah, this so- called reform also manages to push 13 million Americans out of their insurance. That’s known as adding injury to insult.

Many people are saying the President lied when he promised impossibly fantastic returns emanating from his tax reform but looking close, you can see he told the truth. For instance, that part about being able to do your taxes on a postcard, that was true, you’ll just need a really, really, really big postcard.

And remember when he promised the tax plan would not be good for him, well, it isn’t good for him, it’s greeeeeaaat!! It is estimated he’ll save 30 million dollars a year, even down the road when middle class taxes go up. He stole from the poor to give to the rich. Songs will be written about this new Robbing Hood. Alas, due to FCC language restrictions none will be played on AM radio.

Let’s send a big fat congratulatory shout out to former US Attorney Doug Jones for capturing the Senate seat in Alabama, the first Democrat to be elected to that Yellowhammer State position since Richard Shelby won a second term in 1992, but then switched allegiances to the Republican Party two years later. Which, to be perfectly honest, is cheating.

Democrats are hailing Jones’ upset victory over twice removed Alabama Chief Justice Roy Moore as a rebuke to President Donald Trump’s agenda and anticipate transformative midterm elections next year on the order of replacing all the hounds of hell with baby kittens. Or at least a simple impeachment-indictable majority.

The goal is to take the House and put a stop to the GOP corruption, malfeasance and trampling of the middle class, and replace it with their own corruption, malfeasance and trampling of the middle class. Which is the same only with healthier snacks.

To nurture this dream they willfully ignore their own suspicions that this is an isolated incident. To call Roy Moore a flawed candidate is like referring to the use of balsa-wood sledge-hammers to smash concrete as dodgy. Going swimming with the sharks in a raw meat wetsuit- not the best of ideas. Baking cookies in a 650-degree oven; a tricky proposition.

We’re talking about a man who was kicked out of the Alabama Supreme Court twice, and the Gadsden Mall Food Court once. While Trump’s ratings are mired in the low 30’s and Congress hovers around the 20’s, Roy Moore was dipping into the teens.

The 70 year-old Republican West Point graduate wasn’t a slam-dunk even before numerous accusations of inappropriate sexual behavior erupted. With a couple of the victims so young, they still played jacks.

It was, as they say, a binary choice, between an accused pedophile and a Democrat. And the Democrat won by the whopping margin of 1.5%. So close that if some of Roy Moore’s accusers had been older and voted, they might have turned the tide. Roll Tide.

With this unexpected pickup in the Senate, Democrats are partying like Oprah just handed them a fleet of cars. The party hasn’t been this optimistic since Hillary Clinton was a dead solid lock thirteen months ago.

Curiously, Republicans didn’t cry too many tears and appear semi-relieved they don’t have to defend this electoral albatross in every district next year. Just a series of unconscionable endorsements.

Democratic leaders went so far as to force Minnesota Senator Al Franken to resign so they could assume the moral high ground in the area of sexual harassment. A ground that is not very moral and only considered high by the vertically challenged.

So, the big question is, how will Democrats screw this up? Because they will. These guys could fall off of a raft and miss hitting water. They possess the killer instinct of butterscotch pudding. Have the unique ability to blow a twenty-point lead with less than a minute to go.

The smart move would be to make sure that Steve Bannon stays healthy for 2018. Because if anybody can unearth more Republican US Senate candidates who are also accused child molesters, he’s their guy. They should consider shipping him a large package of supplemental vitamins for Christmas. It’d be downright neighborly.

Put down the nog. Let in the dog. Delay your spouse’s jog. Buy a mask for the smog. Alert the press in Prague. Because the eagerly awaited list of Top Ten Comedic News Stories of the Year has finally arrived. It truly is… the most wonderful time of the year.

But first, a word of caution: these stories are not be confused with the Top Ten Legitimate News Stories of 2017. No. No. No. They are as dissimilar as Ruth Bader Ginsburg and strip poker. Like aluminum snow shovels and chocolate lava cakes. Oxblood wingtips and tufted wrestling mats.

These are the events that most lent themselves to jocularity. The ones with a comedic angle. You will find no mention of snipers, Nazis, hurricanes, wildfires, terrorism, Democrats or sexual assaults. Those may have been major occurrences during the past year, but in terms of mockability, not a match. So, here they are: THE TOP TEN COMEDIC NEWS STORIES OF 2017.

10. SEAN SPICER. Donald Trump’s proxy punching bag. Kept waiting for him to show up at a press briefing with his tie around his forehead and a knife clenched in his teeth sputtering “Who wants a piece of me?” Resigned in order to spend more time lying to his family.

9. SECRETARY OF STATE REX TILLERSON. Refuses to deny he called the president a moron. The new hero of millions. Afterwards the president challenged him to an IQ test even though it is not a slam dunk he could spell IQ if you spotted him the I.

8. INAUGURATION. The 45th president called it the most wellattended inaugural in the history of ever. Despite photographic evidence to the extreme contrary. Still amazed he put his hand on the Bible and it didn’t burst into flames.

7. PRESIDENT FEUDS WITH NORTH KOREA. Imminent nuclear warfare- usually not that amusing. Hopefully this schoolyard tussle between two grown adolescents with weird hair and daddy issues is not the beginning of the sequel to Dr. Strangelove. Every day without a mushroom cloud has to be counted as a victory.

6. ANTHONY SCARAMUCCI. For 10 wonderful days, this train wreck with the name of a 16th commedia dell‘arte villain spun out of control like a gyroscope through 4 magnetic fields on its path to a black hole.

5. RUSSIAN PROBES. Attorney General Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III says the reason he keeps giving different answers to Congressional Committees is because he remembers more whenever he learns there is evidence.

4. DONALD TRUMP JR. The Fredo of the Trump Crime Family. Going to make us an offer we can’t understand.

3. SPECIAL PROSECUTOR. Robert Mueller was appointed in middle of May, which means in four short months, Donald Trump went from zero to Nixon.

2. PRESIDENT FEUDS WITH NFL. Tweeted 24 times about players not standing for national anthem and not once about the ongoing humanitarian crisis in Puerto Rico. That’s leadership like 2 bottles of Jagermeister are dinner.

1. PRESIDENT DONALD TRUMP. The man has single handedly done for political comedy what legalized marijuana did for Cheetos. George W Bush may have been a Wheel of Fortune president in a Jeopardy world. But Donald Trump looks to be more of a Chutes & Ladders kind of a guy.

An avalanche of revelations concerning public figures engaging in various sexual assaults has tumbled down upon our heads and the airwaves are consumed with accusations, recriminations, equivocations and ethical gyrations, not to mention the threat of career annihilations. And it couldn’t happen to a more deserving aggregation of guys.

Since early October, after numerous women came forward to accuse Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein of sexually abusive behavior, huge numbers of high-profile males have faced similar charges and either been fired, allowed to resign, lost committee leadership positions, had projects canceled, entered rehab, become incapable of speech or are favorites to win the vacant US Senate seat in Alabama.

We’re not just talking politicians, but judges and talk show hosts and actors and comedians and producers and professors and presidents and professional athletes and coaches and chefs and reporters and editors and publishers and venture capitalists and rental clowns and we haven’t even scratched the clergy. Which many of them would most assuredly enjoy.

Men Behaving Badly is a tale as old as dogs chasing cats, a concept even more apropos when you consider that most men are horndogs to begin with. It’s a miracle women have survived considering the position of vulnerability various quirks of nature foisted upon them: childbirth, being 10% smaller than male counterparts and a shorter fertility period. Offset by living longer and a tendency to mature more quickly and some might argue owning a monopoly on that particular aspect.

Every single woman you’ve ever met, including your sister, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, (if you met her) has been the unwelcome recipient of inappropriate touching and crude groping and hugs that go on much too long and clumsy pawing and cheek kisses that inexplicably involve wetness and all sorts of leers and ogles and catcalls and having to constantly worry that the provocative or unprovocative clothing they are wearing might provoke the unwarranted attention of some deranged carbon unit with y-chromosome poisoning who thinks he is god’s gift to women. Which admittedly is many of us. Okay. Most. All?

And that categorically has to include grabbing someone by the private parts and the fact we have a leader who bragged about that sort of activity is as helpful as wiring a park bench to a chandelier. That’s not locker room banter, that’s an oafish toad gloating about his clueless entitlement and disregard for decency.

It is way way past the point that we men get hip to the simple fact that no means “no”. It doesn’t mean, “yes, please”. It doesn’t mean, “maybe”. It doesn’t mean, “It’s getting hot in here, so take off all my clothes”.

And it certainly doesn’t mean “You big lug, you’re so cute when you’re angry and thank god you know what I want more than I do and I love it when your face turns that blotchy tomato color.” Because, trust us, nobody likes that blotchy tomato color.

Not only does no mean “no”, it also means “don’t”. Don’t threaten, don’t harass, don’t stand close enough to smell your aftershave and don’t make sly innuendoes, which usually aren’t very sly or innuendoish. This is the second decade of the 20th Century. Time to lose the Middle Ages werewolf attitude and start walking and acting upright. Make your great-grandmother proud. 

And now its time to give thanks for the best American holiday of them all: Thanksgiving. Which could not conceivably come at a better time. 11 months into 2017, a 4-day weekend devoted to food, family, friends, football and forty-foot tethered parade balloon floats might be the perfect remedy to the freaked out fracases currently overwhelming us. We are more divided than a litter of kittens scampering from an air horn.

Because no matter how grisly the events that consume us, the 4th Thursday of November acts as a salve washing over the land like a stick of room temperature butter on a pile of steaming mashed potatoes bigger than your head. Might have something to do with the therapeutic effect of pie.

To not give thanks is downright un-American and probably outlawed by the latest House tax reform bill if anybody could be bothered to read the whole damn thing. So, let us dig deep to come up with a few of the details that make life worth living to this round-headed, political comic in these troubling times.

WE HERE AT DURSTCO ARE THANKFUL:

For Donald Trump because he truly is the gift that keeps on giving.
For Donald Trump putting America back to work. One attorney at a time.
For Donald Trump’s twitter fingers having a mind of their own.
The mind of a 12-year spoiled rich brat.
For Donald Trump’s hair: a marvel of follicle engineering and undoubtedly inspirational to architectural students all over the world.
For Donald Trump who has proved to be not so much a loose cannon as a loose aircraft carrier in high seas.
For Donald Trump for pledging to wait for Obama Care to fail because that’s what you want from a president, the willingness to let constituents die to prove a point.
For Donald Trump who calls his administration: “a finely tuned machine.” Sounds better than “out of control dumpster fire,” but might be a tad less accurate. 
For Donald Trump who keeps issuing executive orders to keep violent extremists from entering the country, but has no problem filling his cabinet with them.
For Donald Trump who says he knows stuff nobody else does. Can’t imagine what that might be, but pretty sure we can rule out anything algebraically based.
For Donald Trump who is either crazy or crazy like a fox but the adjective remains intact.
For Donald Trump who is not a “spoonful of sugar” kind of guy. More of the “wave a sledgehammer to push in a thumb tack” sort.
For Donald Trump’s ability to unite foreign countries; against the US perhaps, but allied, nonetheless.
For Donald Trump’s inability to apologize about anything: because once he got started, he wouldn’t be able to get anything else done.
For Donald Trump’s policy of waging war on multiple fronts: including attacking his opposition, his enemies, his allies, his staff, his cabinet, his party and his family. Everybody, except Vladimir Putin.
And finally, we should be thankful our ancestors back in 1621 feasted on turkey and not squirrel, weasel, possum or raccoon. A fact you can rest assured, Donald Trump, sooner or later, will take credit.
Happy Thanksgiving everybody. And don’t worry about any of that silly tryptophan poisoning propaganda because we have discovered the perfect antidote… more pie.

Just when you thought America had fallen down the rabbit hole entering an undiscovered country with no recognizable features and a strange distorted landscape, whom stops by to say hi? Why, it’s our old good buddy – Class War. Donald Trump adopted him but the Democrats want him back as part of the family.

Democrats love class wars. They understand them. It’s getting back to basics, like putting on your silk boxers before donning your riding jodhpurs. Sitting down to a table with a properly positioned grapefruit spoon. Finding the leather on the lounger in your Lear Jet perfectly reconditioned.

Ironically, it was the Republicans that provided this golden opportunity for Democrats to grab hold of Class War’s swinging pony tail and drag it back home by unveiling various versions of tax reform that differ on multiple points but share one important feature: huuuuge opportunities for people who have a whole lot of money to hang onto more.

That’s why Dems now get to cry to the heavens about how the GOP coddles the rich by cutting their taxes. The conservatives’ predictable response is “well, the wealthy pay a lot of taxes already, so of course they’ll get some of the breaks.” The Democrats fire back with “but this ain’t no some, Chuck. This is huge honking most. This is fork-lift pallet out the back bay of Costco tax cuts.” And revenue neutral the same way West Texas is gridlocked.

Like most domestic squabbles, fingers are pointed and dinnerware thrown at ducking and bobbing heads on both sides, but the dirty little secret is the public couldn’t care less. Your average American is all in favor of extending perks to the rich because they know it’s only a matter of time before they’re raking in the gajillion dollars worth of tax breaks after they too become obscenely affluent. Which should be any day now. What time is it now?

So when Republicans announce, “we need to stimulate the rich in order to boost the economy,” the lower and middle classes just nod their heads and repeat, “yep, yep, yep, and you know who those stimulating tax cuts are going to look good on? Us.”

Rather than get bogged down in sociological semantics, we here at Durstco have unearthed a couple other ways to accomplish the same sort of thing and cost a lot less than $1.5 trillion it is estimated these cuts will add to the deficit. So this is us helping out with a little piece we like to call… 

TOP TEN CHEAPER YET EFFECTIVE WAYS TO STIMULATE THE RICH.
• Torches, pitchforks, crowbars, funnels & hot lead enemas.
• Sub-dermal, cayenne pepper, time-release sinus implants.
• Bracing slaps to the face from stockholders before every corporate board meeting.
• Instead of Botox injections, force the rich to take their botulism toxin orally.
• Subliminal messages while they sleep. “I’m ruining the world.” “My children hate me.” “Social ownership of the means of production.”
• Amphetamine patches. What the hell, amphetamine mesh undershirts.
• Ankle-tethered, rabies-infested, Norwegian rats. 
• All new BMWs equipped with factory installed Galaxy 7 in glove compartment nestled in a pile of kerosene soaked rags.
• Replace all those pink, blue and yellow packages of artificial sweeteners with poisonous Pop Rocks.
• Remote controlled cattle prod suppositories.

The initial grand jury indictments in special counsel Robert Mueller’s investigation have dropped like a box of rocks and include something called “Conspiracy against the United States.” Which sounds like “fake news” the same way “flesh-eating bacteria” sounds like a prescription.

Conspiracy is only one of 12 charges filed against President Donald Trump’s former campaign manager, Paul Manafort, who is also accused of money-laundering, failing to register as a foreign agent, not paying taxes and being such a smug greedy SOB he makes Bernie Madoff look like a bleeding-heart, social worker who ministers sick puppies.

After pleading not guilty to all charges, both Manafort and his longtime business associate Rick Gates are under house arrest, with Mueller arguing they should be considered flight risks, because both have huge amounts of money, the charges are severe and Manafort has a pattern of lying like a rug in his sleep. His haircut alone represents an extreme threat to public safety.

Apparently the Justice Department is worried the guy might try running back to the Ukraine where he still has a bunch of good buddies and possible safety deposit boxes full of rubles and hryvnias. Because what happens in Kiev stays in Kiev, except, of course, when you’re a big-time international money player with multiple passports and offshore accounts.

Lower down the food chain, a Trump foreign policy advisor, George Papadopoulos, pled guilty to lying to the FBI. He was arrested in July, and is described in charging documents as a proactive cooperator, which has everybody in the Trump administration wondering if he spent the last couple months playing that popular Justice Department game, “Dial a Co-Conspirator” while wearing a wire.

The FBI’s modus operandi traditionally offers peripheral players plea deals, encouraging them to turn on their bosses, then rinse and repeat; working inward like termites of justice until eroding the base and the kingpin falls. And you get the feeling the amateur circles surrounding this president would drop a dime on him faster than a sailor at a Carnival Midway the night before shipping out to the South Seas.

Conspiracy charges also allow prosecutors to hold each defendant responsible for the actions of others within the plot. And now that someone has pled guilty, the principals and vice-principals are starting to distrust everyone, including the family dog. Once everyone lawyers up, you have no idea what your colleagues are saying and the image of marching up courthouse steps with a trench coat draped over your handcuffs starts to loom large.

3 House Republicans introduced a resolution calling for Mueller to recuse himself and spokesperson Sarah Huckabee Sanders says the official White House position is the investigation is winding down but that sounds like wishful thinking: a malady that afflicts most politicians, but these folks seem especially susceptible to simple syndromes. Just look at the epidemic of Russian Amnesia sweeping through the administration like kindergarten cooties.

Right now members of Team Trump have to be quaking like a Richter Scale in the back of a moving van with bad shocks speeding over railroad tracks in a quarry. Mostly because, as the Carpenters legendarily told us, “We have only just begun.” Or maybe more like that holiday classic, “It’s beginning to look a lot like Watergate.”

Like the previous week and every one since February, the last 7-day period has been a perfect example of why the current administration gets less traction than a flamingo wearing galoshes on an ice rink. The problem is Donald Trump: King of the unforced error. Shoots himself in the foot so many times, it’s amazing he has either of his knees left.

Started out innocently enough. A reporter asked why the White House hadn’t mentioned the 4 Green Berets killed in Niger 2 weeks earlier. Misunderstanding the query, the president said he was preparing to call the families of the fallen. Which wasn’t the question but would have been fine. If he stopped there. But he didn’t and proceeded to take aim with a shotgun at his shoes.

Shifting focus, the President targeted his Oval Office predecessors by saying “most of them didn’t make calls.” A statement that raised the hackles of Barack Obama, George W. Bush and every other president going back to the first John Adams.

In an attempt to stem the continuing negative press covfefe, Trump hastily called a Gold Star widow who was on the way to pick up her husband’s remains and consoled her by saying “your guy” “knew what he signed up for, but when it happens, it hurts anyway.” As comforting as cuddling up to a quiver of poisoned arrows in a barbed wire sleeping bag.

Florida Congresswoman Frederica Wilson recounted the conversation, having been in the car with her close friend, the widow of Sergeant La David Johnson, when the president called on speakerphone. Trump insisted he never said what the Congresswoman said he said and he had proof. But the proof was never identified or revealed or spoken of again. Proof go poof!

The next day the White House Chief of Staff, John Kelly, a Gold Star father as well as a retired 4 star Marine general, showed up at a press conference with a rhetorical mop and said, yes, Trump did say what the Congresswoman said he said, but only because he, John Kelly, told him to say it. The president simply did it inelegantly. Our rookie president may have many skills, but touchy-feely is not one of them.

Kelly went on to refer to Congresswoman Wilson as an “empty barrel”, saying he was stunned she listened in on the call. Ignoring the fact he was listening as well. Being “stunned” the phone call you were listening in on was being monitored by someone else is like expressing “shock” the wallet you ripped off was stolen.

Kelly has been reluctant to speak publicly of his son’s death but touched on it to defend his boss, recklessly squandering the credibility of the Adult Day Care Office. Press Spokesperson Sarah Huckabee Sanders was asked about inconsistencies in Kelly’s account, and said questioning the word of a 4 star general was highly inappropriate. As opposed to calling a Gold Star widow a liar. Which is very appropriate.

Everybody understands such a phone call is one of the toughest things a president or any human has to do. And Trump could have stopped the misadventure by apologizing for his clumsy attempt. But it’s increasingly apparent why Donald Trump never apologizes; because if he ever started, he’d be forced to spend every waking minute doing it.

Here’s the deal: You don’t start out by calling someone an “f’ing moron.” That’s a final exclamatory heave after exhausting all other slanders. Fool. Jerk. Pinhead. Nitwit. Idiot. Nincompoop. Moron. Until finally… f’ing moron. It doesn’t quite scale the heights of “total f’ing moron” or “banana faced monkey dribbler,” but it’s close.

So Rex Tillerson must have been at the end of his rope when he flung that particular phrase of scorn and contempt at Donald Trump. Sounds like a spontaneous human explosion stemming from a well of frustration so deep it echoes. The sort of expletive one blurts out after bludgeoning one’s thumb with one’s hammer. Repeatedly.

According to NBC News, the outburst occurred after the president voiced his desire to increase our nuclear weapons to 1969 levels of around 30,000 warheads as opposed to the 4,000 available now. Because more is better and most is best. And too much is not enough. And other 80s buzz phrases, all accompanied to the soundtrack of A Flock of Seagulls’ Greatest Hits. Like “Donald Trump’s Kept Campaign Promises,” a short playlist.  

Pentagon officials were aghast and quickly provided the president with an impromptu clinic detailing how today’s smaller arsenal is more nimble and effective than the unwieldy collection of 50 years ago. And the chances they used a pie chart with bright numbers in huuuuge circles and bold arrows in primary colors are high.

As a candidate, Donald Trump said he knew a lot about ‘nuclear” because his uncle was a physicist at MIT. Which makes about as much sense as tie-joists made out of pudding. A lot of us visited the animation room at Disneyland where Tinkerbelle was created, but that doesn’t mean we can poop fairy dust or fly.

When questioned about the purported insult, the Secretary of State feigned outrage saying he would not dignify the rumor with an answer, but refused to deny flinging the calumny. Leaving it all up to our imaginations.

The Donald said the whole thing was fake news, but then challenged Secretary Tillerson to an IQ test saying “And I can tell you who is going to win.” Leaving it all up to our imaginations. So they have that in common.

This IQ thing seems to be a continuing theme with the 45th President. He challenged London Mayor Sadiq Khan to an IQ test and said Rick Perry should take an IQ test before being included in the Republican debates. But then he picked the former Texas Governor to head his Department of Energy. So, apparently he doesn’t hold much stock in his own opinions. Which must come in handy, when you have so many conflicting ones.

On a Sunday morning show, Tillerson took the high road and didn’t accuse Trump of not being able to spell IQ if you spotted him the “I” and told him the rest was between P & R and rhymed with U. But you got the feeling he wanted to.

George W Bush may have been a Wheel of Fortune president in a Jeopardy world. But Donald Trump is more of a Chutes & Ladders kind of a guy. Too bad the presidency, like the sides of toy boxes, doesn’t have a suggested age rating. At least something that said: “For mature adults only.”

Sadly fascinating to endure another predictable dance performed on the national stage by our elected politicians in response to the recent horrendous concert shooting in Las Vegas. Well, not a dance, really, more like the choreographed twitching of an unruly mob. Both parties retired to their respective corners while spasmodically jerking and mumbling hushed gobbledygook that even first graders could recite verbatim in a show and tell version of Hypocritical Clichés.

As surprising as milk-soaked hay after a missile strike on a dairy farm, Republicans slowly shook their heads somberly intoning that in the wake of such a tragic tragedy, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss gun control. Out of respect for the dead and injured we should wait for them to heal or die. And our thoughts and prayers are with the victims and their families.

Meanwhile, the Democrats pointed out that the only right time and right place to talk about gun control is right here and right now because these appalling incidents happen with such frequency we’re stuck in a constant state of perpetual bereavement. Experiencing a remarkable lack of intermissions.

The mythical waiting period is nothing but a ploy to insure nothing gets done, obviously the GOP’s intent all along. (And quite possibly, a secret agenda of the Dems as well.) And our thoughts and prayers are with the victims and their families.

The difference being, this time, both sides may actually reach a compromise on the regulation of something called the “bump stock,” a device that can turn a semi-automatic weapon, more automatic. Battlefield automatic. Video-game automatic.

But considering they didn’t do anything after the slaughter of 6 year olds at Sandy Hook Elementary, the chances of our esteemed representatives accomplishing real change is similar to that of our president admitting he made a mistake. About anything.

The NRA chimed in to say they were not dead set against this new restriction, which seems to indicate the accessory in question is a novelty item and not very widespread or effective. Like banning the use of flasks in the hollow shafts of putters on the PGA Tour. Telling bakeries to give up the habanero sprinkles. Forcing baseball players to use round laces instead of flat ones on their cleats.

The Gun Owners of America maintains its opposition to any regulation, at all. Ever. These guys make the NRA look like a radical wing of the ACLU. You know that new phenomena of conservative politicians getting primaried from the right, well, that’s what the GOA threatens to do to the NRA. “You want extreme, we’ve got your vastly more extremer right here.”

In the wake of Stephen Paddock’s rain of terror, a GOA spokesman said “America will never truly be safe until all the gun-free zones are eliminated.” You know, like schools and churches and hospitals. Because that’s everyone wants; pre-teens playing cops and robbers with real guns.

Their point is gun violence can be stopped by more guns. This is the kind of logic that makes ordinary people chew their fingers off to the third knuckle. So, the best way to deal with floods is more water? To combat concussions- more hammers to the head. Got yourself a rat problem? What you need to do is meet more members of Congress.

Opinions on the recent rash of football players taking a knee during the national anthem are like knobby elbows: everybody’s got at least one. Donald Trump is against it and says any son of a bitch who disrespects our country should be fired, and a surprisingly large number of people agree. Although much discussion centers around which son of a bitch it is that should be fired.

On one hand you have a group of minority athletes exercising their constitutionally guaranteed right to speak against injustice and on the other hand, a desperate politician stoking division to distract his base from a moribund agenda and an approval rating sinking faster than a bag full of lug nuts in a hot tub.

Last weekend the president tweeted 24 times about the NFL and not once about the humanitarian crisis in Puerto Rico where the US Territory was devastated by a category 5 hurricane and lacks such luxuries as water, food, fuel, electricity and hope. That’s leadership the same way 2 bottles of Jagermeister are dinner.

The blue-collar billionaire went on to charge NFL owners with being afraid of their players, and encouraged them to tell their African-American employees to shut up and keep tap dancing. Everyone loves those spirituals.

Nobody’s saying the President is intolerant. Well, not any more than they did during the campaign or the transition or after Charlottesville, but his core constituency does seem to be white males who played football without a helmet. Aiming to be President of Alabama.

To him, it’s all about the rich and the white and the male and definitely not about the poor and the non-white and the female. He maintains the mayor of San Juan insulted First Responders when she called the relief efforts incompetent. The man is a dirty prism. Criticize him and doves cry. Don’t like his policies? Quit hating America.

If there’s one thing Trump excels at, besides making the anchors at MSNBC twitch like tails during the livestock judging at the Texas State Fair during blue fly season, it’s switching the subject from difficult questions to easy answers: in this case, patriotism. Which is good. As opposed to evil, which is bad.

How did this become about offending the military? Colin Kaepernick insists his impetus for not standing during the playing of the Star-Spangled Banner was to protest blacks losing their lives to racial inequality. That ain’t tiddly-winks.

If folks choose to misinterpret the symbolism to be about disrespecting the flag, they’re free to do so. That’s their 1st Amendment right. But they should also be prepared for those beliefs to be misinterpreted as coming from bigots and racists and people who played football without helmets.

And why stop there? The military doesn’t own a monopoly on the flag. By not standing for the national anthem, aren’t the players also offending textile manufacturers, dye-makers, brass polishers, metallurgists, knobs, not to mention disrespecting the Baby Jesus who was born under the same Stars and Stripes?

Please, people; can we just keep politics out of football? Don’t ruin Sundays (and Mondays & Thursdays). It’s the one (3) day(s) of the week we can tell the good guys from the bad guys. Because the good guys are wearing the same colored shirts as we are. Green & Gold. Go Pack Go.

Considering the severity of the cascade of disasters descending upon us lately, we should thank our lucky stars we’re able to talk about them. Earthquakes, heat-waves, flash-floods, non-flash-floods, wildfires raging across the West, multiple Category 5 hurricanes strafing the Caribbean and Donald Trump addressing the General Assembly of the United Nations. The only way things could get worse is if Mitch McConnell embarked on a singing career.

These are not what you call happy times for the Western Hemisphere. Not only does the planet seem especially angry at us, but also newly adept at organizing its individual weapons into a coordinated assault. Mother Nature has gone Rambo. An actual Sharknado cannot be entirely ruled out of the question.

In the most awkward and preventable of the recent litany of bad, the Tweeter of the Free World took his carnival barker act to the UN, regurgitating his “America First” campaign for all to hear. At the UN. Similar to waving skewers of pork kabobs at a PETA convention wearing an ermine coat with pockets full of cottage cheese. Still surprised peace-keeping troops weren’t called in to quell this uprising of Trump’s id.

Reading off a teleprompter in his patented indoor voice, the former real estate developer announced to the world that if Rocket Man, his pet name for Kim Jong Un, doesn’t get his act together, North Korea will be totally destroyed. Ostensibly by B-B-B-B-Benny & the Jets.

As previously demonstrated, our neophyte Commander-in-Chief is not big on the “spoonful of sugar” style of negotiations. More a “wave a sledgehammer to push in a thumb tack” kind of a guy. Imbued with all the diplomatic skills of a rhinoceros suffering from Athlete’s Horn. Crazy, or crazy like a fox, the adjective remains constant.  

Despite receiving death stares that would cauterize a satellite, the orange canopy finished by putting the rest of the world on notice, including Iran, Cuba, Venezuela, Nambia, Chad, Jeremy, Vincent, The Republic of Tiny Dancer and any other entity that might consider crossing him whose name wasn’t then and isn’t now Russia.

Russia being his lifelong irrevocable BFF who as far as he’s concerned can do anything and everything their little heart desires. Including supporting North Korea’s weapons program as long as they keep it on the down low. And refuse to release certain videotapes. No matter how much the New York Times offers. Because that’s not what a BFF would do. Is it Vlad?

Apparently when the professors at Trump University teach the phrase “bully pulpit” the major emphasis is on the first two syllables. But this time, the president’s slander was matched in intensity by the North Korean leader who responded by calling Melania’s husband a “dotard.”  

This archaic insult sent reporters to their Webster’s to discover the definition… “suffering from senile decay.” And when the world’s most notorious psychopath starts calling you names, that’s not good. Of course, Ted Cruz & Hillary Clinton could have told us that.

The more we experience Typhoon Donald’s foreign policy the more it becomes apparent that when future generations discuss our current beloved leader they will most likely develop a custom where they spit on the ground after saying his name. That is, if there are future generations.

And so we bid a hearty “Welcome Back” to our elected representatives as they reluctantly trudge back to Washington following their annual summer recess and the fact that it sounds like a holdover from elementary school is no accident. Ostensibly this respite from the business at hand is meant to renew, refresh, recharge and reload so they can be rested and relaxed as they fight for we, their constituents. Mostly though, they raise campaign funds.

But a few did manage to carve precious minutes from their busy schedules of schmoozing and networking for more pastoral proclivities. And through a series of dogged investigations we here at Durstco were able to uncover those previously unreported recreational activities that they and other public figures engaged in over the break and are proud to offer them up in a segment we like to call “How They Spent Their Summer Vacation.”

Sean Spicer chopped 30 points off his blood pressure by spending the summer in Louisiana tagging alligators.
Paul Ryan spent the summer visiting all 30 MLB stadiums and defied the laws of probability when the home team lost every game.
Kelly Ann Conway broke many nails writing a book on the power of patience and persistence coupled with a strict regimen of willful ignorance.
Donald Trump surreptitiously installed solar paneling on his vast holdings in Guam.
Mike Pence taught Bible School to a group of at-risk youth who just happen to be the kids of Republican Mega-Donors.
Chris Mathews visited secret and ancient Vatican libraries searching for loopholes.
Michael Flynn went off his meds and no one noticed.
Sheriff Joe Arpaio sailed to Jamaica on a raft he personally lashed together from the bleached bones of dead immigrants.
Chris Christie visited many beaches no one else was allowed to.
Mitch McConnell gained experience dealing with President Trump by refereeing the finals of a Pee-Wee wrestling tournament for hyperactive children.
Bernie Sanders attended 3 Comic-Con Conventions dressed as the John Candy character from “Spaceballs.”
Chief of Staff John Kelly took a plumbing correspondence course with an emphasis on leak-plugging.
Elizabeth Warren hitchhiked across Europe with a maple leaf patch sewn onto her backpack.
Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III traveled to Italy to get custom four-inch lifts installed in all his shoes. 
California Senator Kamala Harris piloted a highly prestigious Congressional Task Force that studied the efficacy of task forces.
Jared Kushner followed the New England State Fair circuit hawking vegetable slicers.
Hillary Clinton studied with many tutors so that she could attempt to appear spontaneous on her upcoming book tour.
First Lady Melania Trump consulted with Manolo Blahnik on his Limited Edition “Shoes Fit For a Flood” Collection.
Bill Clinton never left his hammock. Except for twice when it needed to be re-netted.
Anthony Scaramucci spent 30 days in community service in Kalispell, Montana after threatening the life of a KOA campground manager who failed to stock enough marshmallows for the traditional Friday night S’mores bonfire.
Donald Trump Jr. spent the summer writing an infinite number of times on a Trump University blackboard “I will quit being such a dufus.”
Ted Cruz interned at the Calgary Stampede as a rodeo clown.

Labor Day? Already? You got to be kidding. How the hell did that happen? Eight months of the year have expired? 2017 is two-thirds over? That is so frightening because any day now radio stations are going to switch to wall-to-wall Christmas music.

As holidays go, the first Monday of September gets no respect. It’s that last lonely pepperoncino on the festival deli tray. The metal folding chair next to the furnace that only gets pulled out when company invites company. The tomato plant in the back row closest to the fence those darn gophers found so tasty.

Part of the problem is the name: Labor Day. Smacks of major difficulties. Especially to mothers who have experienced birth. Comes really close to glorifying chores. A stress proponent. Futile attempt to promote drudgery. Might as well call it Dentist’s Drill Day.

We need to rename it The Extra Special Day Off Day or Bonus Day. How about Cake Day. Who doesn’t like cake? Anything to better highlight its unique status as the one day we get to take off to honor that small segment of society that actually works for a living. You know, regular humans. You and me. Okay, mostly you.

Although it’s provided 123 years of succor to we masses, the official working man’s holiday encourages a decidedly incognito sort of partying. No ugly bird to burn, a total lack of dead vegetation to string lights around and nary a signature drink to quaff while watching the fabulous line-up of Labor Day themed movies on basic cable.

The beauty is, befitting its egalitarian nature, everybody is free to participate in Labor Day. Not just people who work for a living, but each and every American, including lawyers, investment bankers, politicians and newspaper editors. Hah. That was a joke.  

Because of its particular calendar placement as a holiday bridge halfway between 4th of July and Thanksgiving, Labor Day has also become a seasonal signal flag. The solstice is dead. Long live the autumnal equinox. Take down the back-to-school banners and fill the shelves with Halloween candy.

Time to roll up the garden hose and rollout the snow blower. Bury the flip-flops and exhume the ski boots. Pumpkin spice once again rises while watermelon sinks slowly in the west. The lazy hazy dazy days of summer are over and every evening is once again a school night.

And never forget that Labor Day honors the living, not the dead. Our workforce. A single day off so the real nine to five heroes that keep this country humming can relax before squaring their shoulders and getting back to the job of carving out a better future.  Raising 2.3 kids, paying off a mortgage with enough left over to meet the monthly cable bill, with at least one premium channel thrown in.

So whether you flip burgers or beach houses, run a stockroom full of board length or a lengthy boardroom full of stockholders, enjoy your day off. You deserve it. Gather family and friends and wave a fond farewell to all that excess sunshine and bid hello to the calming of the light. No need to bring gifts, although flowers and wine never go out of style. Make it a six-pack. And while you’re at it, some cake.

Most presidents try to avoid controversy by painstakingly parsing their words like a fifth-grader conserving an allowance at the county fair. Reluctant to reflect even the hint of a whisper of a shadow of a rumpus.

But Donald Trump is not most presidents. He is as singular as a smokestack in a cotton field.

The former New York City real estate developer wields words the way a butcher employs a bone saw. Sometimes revealing more than he intends, such as claiming that reporters ... “don’t know how to write good.” Other times intentionally dropping sticks of rhetorical dynamite into various honey wagons, not caring who gets splattered with what.

Our nation’s rookie chief executive utilizes a special language that is equal parts dog whistle, miscommunication and distinctive code.

And usually there’s a huuuge gap between what he says and what he means. A divide that we here at Durstco have gone to great lengths to decipher so that regular citizens can follow along in a segment we like to call ... What Trump Says & What Trump Means.

WTS: “The media is totally unfair.”
WTM: They insist on reporting the facts.

WTS: “A lot of people don’t know this, but ...”
WTM: Until being told that morning, he didn’t know that.

WTS: “Many people are talking about this ...”
WTM: One guy squatting in a cabin in Upper Michigan tweeted about it in 2014.

WTS: “He’s an idiot.” “A loser.” “Weak.”
WTM: Somebody who disagrees with him.

WTS: “He’s a good person.” “A fabulous find.” “Major talent.”
WTM: Somebody who agrees with him, but you wouldn’t want them to babysit the kids.

WTS: “Tremendous.” “Amazing.” “Fantastic.”
WTM: He likes it.

WTS: “Disaster.” “Total catastrophe.” “A disgrace.”
WTM: Doesn’t like it.

WTS: “Believe me. Believe me.”
WTM: Don’t believe him. Don’t believe him.

WTS: “I have top people working on this.”
WTM: He left a message on Jared Kushner’s voice mail.

WTS: “I’m highly educated. I have the best words.”
WTM: Which he highlights by limiting his usage to about 200 of them.

WTS: “That’s a fact. You know it, I know it, everybody here knows it.”
WTM: He either made it up, or saw it on Infowars.

WTS: “I will let you know in a brief period of time.”
WTM: He has no idea what’s going on.

WTS: “There’s two sides to every story.”
WTM: White supremacists make up a large part of his base.

WTS: “I don’t have time for political correctness.”
WTM: He thinks demonstrating empathy makes him look weak.

WTS: “Absolutely. 100 percent.”
WTM: Probably not.

WTS: “The failing New York Times is one of the worst newspapers.”
WTM: They keep digging up facts.

WTS: “We’re going to build a wall and get Mexico to pay for it.”
WTM: Xenophobes make up a large part of his base.

WTS: “I’m not going to tell you, so as not to alert the enemy to my plans.”
WTM: He has no idea what’s going on.

WTS: “I love the poorly educated.”
WTM: He loves the poorly educated. They make up a large part of his base.

WTS: “Everybody hates the United States.”
WTM: Since last Nov. 8.

WTS: “Fake news.”
WTM: Once again, someone has unearthed evidence.

WTS: “We’re going to Make America Great Again.”
WTM: He has no idea what’s going on.

Someone please tell the radical left to stop getting their panties in a bundle and quit calling our president a Nazi. Donald Trump proved himself a great friend of freedom when he promoted equivalency between the organized hate movement and people disgusted by them. Anyone who hates haters is equally responsible for hateful hating. That is obvious.

After a riot broke out during a Unite the Right March in Charlottesville, Virginia, there was, according to President Trump, violence “on many sides.” He then sagely observed there are two sides to every story. Which is true. There are two sides to every story; it’s just harder to distinguish them when one side is full of Nazis.

Sure, one group carried bats and clubs and body armor and shouted slogans denigrating Jews and blacks but the counter-protestors purposefully dented those clubs and bats with their heads and various body parts. Many pieces of expensive defensive equipment now need to be replaced. At retail.

And yeah, someone might have driven a car into a crowd but most of the casualties were caused by slow-footed liberals who refused to get out of the way and then lay down blocking further traffic littering the surface of a major metropolitan street with toxic substances such as blood. Without a permit.  

Easy to understand why the president refuses to announce there is no room in his administration for racists. All the slots are full. But then the weenie liberal outcry became so strident, the Tweeter of the Free World was forced to fire Chief Strategist Steve Bannon, even after assuring us, “he is not a racist.” That would have sufficed, but unfortunately 45 went on to say that neither was Bannon a drunk, fond of livestock or an incredibly bad dresser who more often that not sported gravy stains on his tie and eyebrows.

All the president wants is an even playing field. That is why he accused the media of being unfair to Nazis. Unlike the editorial room of the New York Times, our blue-collar billionaire leader hasn’t forgotten that white supremacists are people too. They have feelings just like normal human beings. And needs and desires. It just so happens that one of their desires is most of us don’t exist.

They’re not asking us to change, they’re asking us to leave. We need to look inside ourselves: is it really our place to judge them based on the nature of their hate? If we prick a white supremacist, do they not bleed? If we tickle them, do they not laugh? If we poke them with a cobra do they not spawn?

A single thoughtless remark can ruin a white supremacist’s entire day. We need to remind the children the correct term for someone who believes in the superiority of the white race is “alt-right.” The terms “Nazi” and “racist” and “detestable buttwipe” can be so hurtful.

We must never forget that every white supremacist is as individual as a snowflake. Each of them is special. Some, more special than others. Quite a few-extra-crispy special. Many can’t even pronounce supremacist, much less spell it. As Donald Trump once said, “I love the poorly educated.” And now we know why: it’s his unbudgable base.

Time to dig a bomb shelter. Stockpile some Kool-Aid. Nibble some Tootsie Rolls while catching a double feature at the drive-in. Pull out your pedal pushers and Hula-hoops. Stick a transistor radio in a front shirt pocket and Twist yourself into the ground replicating the gyrations of Elvis. Presley. Not Costello.

Hipsters with clunky glasses and skinny ties should feel right at home as the world sinks back into the Eisenhower Era, with a new Missile Crisis currently and clumsily unfolding before our very eyes. It’s a knock-down, drag-out battle of incendiary rhetoric between the US (of course) and North Korea. Another 50s connection. Can’t wait for Ed Sullivan to make a comeback.

The bluster on both sides has ratcheted up to the trajectory of a supersonic missile attempting to intercept another supersonic missile beyond the top edge of the stratosphere. Once again, we ask ourselves, how is it possible to negotiate with a madman whose opening position is “Your tanks will swim in a sea of eyeballs?” The only difference being, this time around, that’s our guy.

Apparently President Donald Trump is eager for people to believe he would go to war because someone looked at him funny. And although you could stuff the whole of his administration’s accomplishments in a shot glass and they would still rattle around like a golf ball in a railroad car, on that looking-funny count, he’s been fairly successful.

We can’t be sure if 45 is responding to Kim Jong Un’s recent demonstration of an Intercontinental Ballistic Missile that could strike the East Coast or if once again, he’s trying to distract us from various Russian nooses tightening around sundry necks. After all, he does love his bright shiny objects. And the annihilation of the human species is about as shiny as they get.

According to staffers, our Glorious Leader improvised his response to North Korean threats when he warned Pyongyang that if they didn’t halt their bombastic behavior, they would suffer “Fire and fury like the world has never seen.” Demonstrating the diplomatic acumen of a screech owl in a phone booth filled with field mice.

The world holds its breath as these two tiny tyrants with daddy issues, masquerading as tough national leaders, play a game of thermonuclear chicken on a chessboard containing 7 billion pawns. Quick, someone find a queen. Hopefully, one with dragons. And a Dothraki Army.  

Because of Trump’s involvement, we can be certain that if an altercation does break out, it will be known as the “Greatest Nuclear War In the History of Mankind.” And most likely, the last. As Einstein said, “World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”

But hopefully, before launching a nuclear strike, the President will change out of his red pants and golf shirt and put on a suit. We know he’s in the middle of a 17 day vacation, but nobody wants their last image of civilization being the President of the United States sentencing billions to a thousand years of nuclear winter while dressed as the Rodney Dangerfield character from “Caddyshack.”

The only silver lining in this ever-darkening storm is that prices for package vacation trips to Guam are going for a song. Let’s hope that song isn’t “The Eve of Destruction.

Donald Trump is a winner. Just ask him. After all, he won the presidential election. They don’t get much bigger than that. And winners find it distasteful to hang with losers. And that is exactly what someone filled his staff with. Big-time losers. Which is why they are getting replaced faster than lead changes in a NASCAR race with staggered starts and the cars outfitted with 12-ounce gas tanks.

The Republican Senate similarly failed the president in their gazillionth attempt to undo Obama Care. And although he can’t fire them, he did intimidate and insult and threaten members of his own party through a series of devastating tweets. You could say, his adept contempt for their inept attempt was to a major extent not exempt of torment. But you probably won’t.

After kicking around the idea of how to replace Obama Care for 7 years, Republicans found themselves bereft of ideas and unraveled to where their mantra of “Repeal and Replace” shrank to a faint echo of “Repeal Now and Then Maybe Replace with Something Else Later On. Maybe Not.” With the emphasis on the “not.”

In a rare televised 2 am vote the GOP Senate proved unable to convince 3 of their own to vote on something called the Skinny Repeal. And it all crashed down to the Senate floor with a thud that could have stirred Everett Dirksen out of his slumbering repose.

The Skinny Repeal was a last ditch effort after the Fat Repeal was discarded for lacking public support. Neither did the Plump, Portly, Rotund or Tubby Repeal display much appeal amongst people destined to lose coverage. And nobody ever talks about the Pudgy or Obese Repeals, which were mothballed without ever seeing the light of day, presumably gathering dust in Senator Ted Cruz’s closet.

The most dramatic moment in the demise of the Skinny Repeal was not the final count, 51 nays to 49 yeas, but the way it went down. Senator John McCain strode briskly forward and cast a decisive thumbs-down, mercifully sending a sleepy Vice President Mike Pence home, who was only hanging around to break a tie. Way past his bedtime.

Not surprisingly, McCain’s motivation is now being questioned. Is this a return to his normal irascible renegade self, or is he purposely sticking it to a President he sees as morally vacant, or after being diagnosed with brain cancer, did he find it repugnant to leave a publicly paid hospital stay in his home state of Arizona, to fly on the taxpayer’s dime to throw millions off health care so rich people could have more money? He’s not talking.

Since the Skinny Repeal failed, Senator Mitch McConnell reportedly has scuttled attempts to fashion a Scrawny Repeal much less a Slender, Gaunt, Malnourished, Emaciated or Anorexic Repeal. And the Cadaverous Repeal is dead on arrival. The upshot being, the Majority Leader might be forced to actually compromise with Democrats. His worst nightmare come true. Then, next week, locusts.

President Trump immediately tweeted his preferred remedy is to let Obama Care implode. Because having a leader willing sacrifice constituents to prove a point is one sure way to Make America Great Again. And Donald Trump will continue to be a winner. Perhaps the only one.

Anybody remember when Donald Trump boasted, “I could stand in the middle of 5th Avenue and shoot someone and wouldn't lose voters.” Now that we’ve seen him operate for six months, we have a pretty good idea how that would go down.

First he’d shoot someone in the middle of 5th Avenue.

• Then he’d maintain that no one in the middle of 5th Avenue was shot.
• Then he’d claim he was nowhere near 5th Avenue when someone was shot but couldn’t speak for his family.
• Witnesses that identified him as the person who shot someone in the middle of 5th Avenue would be disregarded because they voted Democratic in 1984.
• Then he’d claim he had teams of investigators working on who shot someone in the middle of 5th Avenue.
• Then he’d deny that 5th Avenue exists.
• Then he’d insist that the person who shot someone in the middle of 5th Avenue was hired by Hillary Clinton herself, and he would have won the popular vote if millions of illegal votes hadn’t been cast.
• Then Sarah Huckabee Sanders would say that when Donald Trump said he would shoot someone in the middle of 5th Avenue he was only kidding.
• Then he’d say he’d publicly announce whether he had shot someone in the middle of 5th Avenue in a very short period of time.
• Then he would point out a squirrel with a fluffy tail running across the middle of 5th Avenue.
• Then the videotape of him shooting someone in the middle of 5th Avenue would be discredited as fake news.
• Then Sean Hannity would say that people get shot in the middle of 5th Avenue all the time.
• Then he’d reveal that many people told him he was tremendously innocent and this was all an obvious plot by the media to keep him from Making America Great Again.
• Then Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III would say that even if Donald Trump did shoot someone in the middle of 5th Avenue, it wasn’t that big of a deal, but he still had to recuse himself.
• Then he’d say there was something very suspicious about the person who was shot in the middle of 5th Avenue and ask why no one was investigating that.
• Then Kellyanne Conway would say that that the person shot in the middle of 5th Avenue deserved to be shot.
• Then Mike Pence would say he had no knowledge of anything.
• Then he’d say it doesn’t matter if he shot someone in the middle of 5th Avenue because that person was already dead.
• Then Fox News would run a piece detailing the great number of Democrats that had shot people in the middle of 5th Avenue.
• Then he would say he had shot someone in the middle of 5th Avenue but only figuratively.
• Then he’d say that many people had told him they had shot a lot of people in the middle of 5th Avenue.
• Then he would say that Hillary Clinton was responsible for many more murders than he was.
• Then he’d say he was just counter-shooting.
• Then he’d pardon the person who shot someone in the middle of 5th Avenue, no matter who it was.
• Then shooting people in the middle of 5th Avenue would become a very popular excursion option for guests staying at Trump Tower, receiving 4 1/2 stars on Trip Advisor.

And now, a few choice words about Donald Trump… Junior. Seems as if the eldest son of the Trump Crime Family is not the brilliant hotheaded tactician that Santino was in the Corleone Crime Family but more in the mold of Fredo. The Trump most likely to make people offers they can’t understand.

To say the collusion trail is convoluted is like intimating that Wimbledon has found that ripe strawberries are not an adequate substitute for tennis balls. On the advice of lawyers, Jared Kushner amended his security clearance application three times, setting off bells loud enough to wake Richard Nixon’s dead dog, Checkers.

This led to the revelation that Don Jr. held a meeting at Trump Tower with a Russian lawyer, described as a “nothing burger meeting” about Russian adoptions and nobody else was there. And isn’t it time we focus on what really matters to the American people? Hey, look over there… a squirrel.

Well, okay, so maybe the lawyer had some vague connections to the Russian government, but doesn’t everybody? And Paul Manafort and Jared Kushner were there, but they had no idea why. A month before the Conventions, the campaign manager and lead advisor attended a meeting for no apparent reason. With a Russian lawyer. About adoption. And linoleum is edible.

It was so boring, the two left early. And okay, it wasn’t about orphans, but had nothing to do with seeking damaging information about Hillary Clinton. Which wouldn’t be illegal, even if it did. Which it didn’t. Okay, it did. So maybe it was a marinated flank steak meeting.

Then, to beat the New York Times to the punch, Junior released some grass-fed, prime-cut, filet mignon emails that portrayed him as eager to receive the promised damaging information about Hillary Clinton. From an American-born Russian record producer. And an oligarch pop star. Don’t ask.

But absolutely nothing happened and we know that because Donald Trump Jr., Paul Manafort, Jared Kushner and the Russian lawyer all said nothing happened. And why shouldn’t we believe the people who haven’t told us the truth ever. Not once. Oh yeah: this time, for sure.

And a former Russian Intelligence officer also attended the meeting. But don’t worry, because he’s a former Russian Intelligence officer. And maybe a couple other folks were there. No one knows. Doesn’t matter. Look away.

To recap: Donald Trump Jr. colluded with the Russians to uncover proof that Hillary Clinton was involved in Russian collusion, because colluding with Russians would prove a person unqualified to be President. Then again, collusion is not such a bad thing. Everybody does it. As a matter of fact, you’d be a fool not to collude. And nobody wants a fool as president, do they? Too late.

Capo di capo, Donald Trump Sr. applauded Son Number One’s transparency for releasing the grass-fed, prime-cut, filet mignon emails detailing the campaign’s attempt to enlist foreign help to discredit Hillary. Which is like complimenting the bear that mauled you for maintaining such sharp claws.

Soon the senior Don will tweet warnings to the press to totally ignore Don Jr. because he’s not a real Trump son. And neither are Eric or Jared. The only true Trump son is Ivanka. The rest are just Fake Sons. Just like fake news, only different. 

Donald J Trump has many tools at his disposal. Both Houses of Congress. The support of rural America. Friends in high places. His family. A supermodel. Twitter. Fox News. The Russian Federation. A signature scent. And…  Executive Orders. Along with executive determinations, memorandums, proclamations, suggestions, aspersions, insinuations, innuendos and doodles.

An Executive Order is a Presidential shortcut to impose regulations or reinforce policy with the extra-added attraction of bypassing the tortuous labyrinths of Congress. And face it, any day without talking to Mitch McConnell is a victory.

EOs can be historic, as in the Emancipation Proclamation; pure patronage, such as appointing a friend to a federal post or frivolous, as when Woodrow Wilson declared “hunting with a lantern, torch, bonfire or other artificial light,” a misdemeanor. An admirable attempt to level the playing field, short of giving deer automatic weapons.

EOs originated way back in America’s Beta Start-Up phase. George Washington wrote 8, and John Adams one. The first 150 or so weren’t numbered. But in 1907, Abraham Lincoln’s “Executive Order Establishing a Provisional Court in Louisiana,” issued in 1862, was retroactively recorded as Executive Order #1. And there have been 13,801 since. A tidy number, but you wouldn’t want to carve them onto limestone and carry them around in a backpack.

FDR issued 3,728, averaging 307 per annum over his twelve-year and change run. But historians generally agree events back then verged on the hectic, what with a capital D Depression and a World War going on and all. Not to mention gangsters o’plenty roaming the Midwest and Judy Garland terrorizing soundstages all over the greater Los Angeles basin.

During his victorious presidential campaign, Donald Trump derided Barack Hussein Obama for an unhealthy dependence on Executive Orders, accusing the 44th president of being “too lazy to negotiate.” Because during elections and only during elections, “negotiate” is not a dirty word.

Knowing that, you’d think he’d be reluctant to utilize them himself. And once again, you’d be wrong. As wrong as Siberian bike messengers. Like chipotle mayonnaise in a can. 3 tailed monkeys. Glass condoms. Bacon wrapped hot dogs at the opera. An acetylene torch explosion in an ice cave. In his first 150 days, Donald Trump has issued 37, putting him on pace for 92 a year, the most since Harry Truman. And that may be the last time you hear Trump mentioned in the same sentence as Truman, ever.

Executive Orders are usually promoted as proof of campaign promises kept but most are simply press releases with florid signatures. The bulk create task forces, empower reviews and set up commissions, plans, reports, reorganizations, instructions, and eternal investigation into eliminating those dreaded and mythical beasts: fraud, waste and abuse. They’re mostly homework assignments for agency heads.

A few are enduring testaments and others lasting markers of national shame (EO 9066-Japanese Internment) but all subject to the Ping-Pong Effect, where one president enacts it and the next rescinds it. Trump undoes Obama Executive Orders who rolled back George W Bush’s, who did the same to Bill Clinton, etc, etc.

Which means that no matter what damage Trump attempts to do to individual freedoms, the environment and corporate authority, chances are the next president will overturn the most egregious of them which is most. That is assuming there is a next president. Fingers crossed.

Dear Noble Rustics,

Last November, you real and true Americans chose a New York City real estate developer as our 45th President because of your disdain for people who have done this sort of thing before. You wanted a fresh approach focused on Main Street not Wall Street. A doer, not a talker. And we got a blowhard blaggard in lieu of an imperious pol. Close enough for horseshoes, nuclear war and populist politics.  

Speaking for all us commie pinko, yellow, rat bastards, let me apologize for all the ugly names you were called by members of the reality-based community. You know: foolish, naïve, superstitious, stubborn, deplorable. Bigoted, homophobic, misogynistic, obtuse and boorish. Mentally deficient, morally bankrupt and unable to discern fact from fiction. You probably remember.

As it turns out, you farsighted rudimentaries were right and we fancy pants intellectuals were wrong. In a mere six months the Golden Canopy has proved his worth. America is Great Again. Peace is at hand. Budget balanced. The administration-running like a fine-tuned machine. Held together by rubber bands, paper clips and gum, perhaps. But American-made rubber bands, paper clips and gum. That’s our story and we’re sticking to it.

The Tweeter of the Free World has reintroduced Troglodyte to the game. That he is to tact and diplomacy what spun glass models of the Eiffel Tower are to bowling balls is superfluous. Which means, not important.

The Caustic Comet has you stately ruralites convinced that foreigners are different and different is bad. Yesterday was better than today, and the country is now blessedly focused on all our tomorrows occurring in black and white. Preferably white.

Rich people receiving large tax cuts is important because rich people need more money. Poor people don’t need money. They’re poor and lived without it so long, even if some mistakenly did trickle down onto their heads, they wouldn’t know what to do with it. Probably waste it on food.

Another major achievement of the Aerodynamic Coif was pulling out of the Paris Climate Accords. What’s the big deal about global warming anyhow? Who objects to longer summers? Like you care if some South Seas Island does or doesn’t sink, never to be seen again? Those rising oceans could come in handy to douse the raging wildfires soon to engulf us.  

Forget the Russians, Iranians and North Koreans, the true enemy of the people are hosting morning cable news shows. We know that now. The Cheeto-in-Chief only uses Twitter to level the playing field by striking back at the mainstream press, which insists on accurately reporting his words and actions. #Totallyunfair.

And who needs health care? Since the major negative effects will descend on you prescient primitives, thanks for taking a bullet for the team. You really are good-ol-boys. Easy to understand your affection for the man you fondly describe as, “He’s no intellectual elite.” Certainly proved you right there.

Yes, experts are overrated. Schooling is for sissies. Louder is better and deafening is best. And confusing deafening, is the most best, ever. If you aren’t cheating, you aren’t trying. And this administration is full of folks who are obviously trying very hard. You professed a desire to shake things up. So, one question: you shook up enough yet?

Sincerely, Will Durst
Associate Mouthpiece of the Liberal Media Elite

Need to stop and thank all the nice folk who’ve been kind enough to take time from their busy schedules to provide this column with some constructive criticism, and oh, by the way, moron is spelled with two Os, idiot doesn’t have an E and using all caps is frankly, rather rude.

It seems a segment of our loyal audience has come to the considered opinion that this award-seeking, hard-hitting, investigative journalistic feature needs to be more positive as concerns our 45th president, Donald J. Trump. And they do not mean to hear he is positively a puppet of a dyspeptic alien lizard and our country is now knee-deep in despicable doo-doo and will be for 3 years and 7 more months.

It is our most recent musings that have been accused by a grammatically-challenged few as skewing towards the contrary, overly focused on the gloomy and said unsolicited feedback implores us to make efforts concentrating on the uplifting and employing a more optimistic myopia.

It should be pointed out that the job description of political humorist does entail this sort of mocking and scoffing and taunting no matter the partisan nature of the White House occupant. That’s part of the deal. You would think people who supported a guy who called opponents “Little Marco,” “Lying Ted” and “Crooked Hillary” would realize that “Stupid Donald” was in the offing. Especially with such low-hanging fruit.

Everything is fair game, including, but not limited to, all administrative behaviors such as mendacity, stupidity, duplicity, chicanery, hypocrisy, humidity, treachery and treason. Then throw in verbatim quotes, physical features, speech patterns and an exact recitation of actions and the satirical possibilities bloom into a cornucopia of delights.

Admittedly, it is much easier to vamp on the current confusion and malfeasance than during the previous administration when scandals were at such a premium that Fox News once feigned outrage that President Barack Obama wore a beige suit.

But for those of you who feel that there has been a bias on the part of your intrepid correspondent, please accept our heartfelt apologies, and allow Durstco to make it all up to you, by calming the waters with a list of these affirmative aspects of living in America during the Time of Trump.

The next president won’t have to worry about living up to impossibly high standards.
Donald J. Trump guaranteed a post-presidential, promotional tie-in with Twitter.
No longer have to study Theater of the Absurd in French.
Washington DC legal industry specializing in criminal defense experiencing a growth spurt.
The president has done for political comedy what legalized marijuana did for Cheetos.
The phrase “witch hunt” has reentered the popular lexicon.
Even racist, xenophobic, misogynist, incompetent blowhards need role models.
His cabinet announced they are blessed to serve him and that his eyes are dreamy.
Didn't allow Ted Nugent to sing at his Inauguration.
Actual proof to the old adage that in America, anyone can grow up to be President, as long as they’re not a woman.
Both Democrats and Republicans united in their disdain for James Comey.
Don't ever have to worry about this First Lady running for president.
Russian language schools are swamped.
Sales of Maple Leaf patches to be sewn onto backpacks when traveling overseas have skyrocketed.

Millions of Americans watched transfixed as James Comey testified in front of the Senate Intelligence Committee, and no, that’s not an oxymoron. To say the reaction was mixed is like intimating that pillowcases stuffed with live eels are not conducive to long naps.

The general consensus- no bombshells. Or rocket-propelled grenades. Not even a cherry bomb; just a couple of those tiny firecrackers that sort of fizzle and spin on the ground, then die out after two and a half hours of accusing the president of lying like a rug.

Here’s what happened: One guy (Donald Trump) asked another guy (James Comey) to stop investigating his friend (Michael Flynn).  2. The second guy didn’t stop investigating the first guy’s friend. 3. The first guy fired the second guy. Of these three rather unseemly facts only the first remains in dispute.

Liberals allege Comey proved that President Donald Trump obstructed justice and are preparing for an impeachment trial commencing around Father’s Day. Conservatives maintain the former FBI Director revealed he leaked important documents and a criminal trial is imminent. And oh yeah, isn’t it time to restart the Hillary Clinton email investigations?

It boils down to whether you believe Comey’s story that the country’s chief executive cornered him in the Oval Office and said he hoped the Flynn investigation would go away. Or if you believe the President who says he didn’t. and even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. But he didn’t.

A major factor in this “he said/ he said” squabble is a credibility gap the size of the Louisiana Purchase. The ambitious Jimmy Stewart, Boy Scout prosecutor versus the bombastic, make-stuff-up-as-he-goes-along real estate developer. Do you trust the man, who even his enemies admit is the quintessence of probity or the man whose own family warns people to take what he says with a grain of salt the size of Mt. Olympus?

Comey said he told Attorney General Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III he didn’t want to be in a room alone with President Trump. Many women have expressed similar sentiments. Perhaps the President was eyeing him salaciously while popping Tic-Tacs.

After the hearing, The Donald crowed he was vindicated and tweeted “Comey’s a leaker.” Some anticipated the deposed feeb would respond in kind, but alas, Comey don’t play that.

When asked if the 45th POTUS had taped their conversation Comey blurted rather endearingly, “Lordy, I hope there are tapes.” But the president, when asked about the existence of recordings, said “I’ll tell you in a very short period of time,” which makes no sense. It’s a yes or no question. Doesn’t require further study. Although, we wouldn’t want to discourage such activity.  

In his defense, House Speaker Paul Ryan said the president is new to this sort of thing and doesn’t know what he’s doing. Still got his training wheels on. Only had a couple of at bats at Presidential Spring Training. Isn’t quite housebroken. Meanwhile, he’s peeing on all of our shoes.

Who’s surprised? Donald Trump has entered his eighth decade. Pretty sure his learning curve doesn’t have many more bendy parts left in it. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Hell, we just want this old dog to stop barking during the night and chewing off his own limbs.

President Donald Trump possesses a style described by friends as virile and intuitive and by foes as oafish and oblivious. Some see him a breath of fresh air, with a disarming directness and others consider him a blustering bully with the grace of a pile of crumbling cement blocks cascading off a flatbed truck. Passionate versus fool-hardy. Eager slash hasty. Swift or rash.

But these are principally domestic arguments. The international community is not so divided. They view our new Chief Executive as a brutish barbarian whose goal is to antagonize the rest of the planet. Not just the other nations of the world, but Mother Earth herself.

45’s first overseas trip initially dropped him successfully in Saudi Arabia and Israel where he mostly antagonized his wife. Then the reality TV star traveled to a NATO meeting where he scolded its members, and demonstrated how to put America first by shoving the Prime Minister of Montenegro to the side in order to rush to the front of a photo shoot. “Out of the way, pal.”

Arriving home, Trump leaped back onto the Twitter Train, shooting out a midnight tweet ending with the words “press covfefe.” He either spelled the word “coverage” wrong or was rhapsodizing about the java coming out of his French Press. Or both.

What happened after that, nobody knows. Perhaps he drifted off, confident that he had rallied the troops. Or maybe he realized his mistake and tried to correct the spelling but was betrayed by his undersized digits and ended up hitting “send.”

We’ve all done it. Most of us would have stopped, deleted and started over. But President Golden Canopy not only left aloft this incoherent muddle, the next day he doubled down with another incomprehensibility, “Who can figure out the true meaning of “Covfefe” ??? Enjoy!” 

Unable to resort to his usual lame obfuscation: “the tweet speaks for itself,” because it didn’t, Spokesperson Sean Spicer insisted the president and a small group of people knew what the post meant but couldn’t keep a straight face when saying it.  

Because the president is incapable of admitting a mistake. Ever. Not even a misspelled word. Simply put, the malignant orange narcissist is purposefully messing with us. The President of the United States is screwing with his constituents over a typo. He’s 12.

Later he told Planet Earth to take a hike, announcing America was pulling out of the Paris Climate Accord. His reasoning for joining Syria and Nicaragua to stand against 194 signers of the pact is it would handicap our country economically. And with him in charge, the fewer handicaps, the better.

Trump is intent on fulfilling his campaign promise to Make America Jurassic Again, even though over forty major US corporations including GM, GE, Chevron, Shell, Apple, ExxonMobil and BP favor the agreement, because they have come to the opinion that the extinction of the human species might not be good for business.

Liberals fear a hidden agenda of the GOP’s Plan is to step up global warming to raise ocean waters, thereby flooding California coastline cities turning the state’s 55 electoral votes reliably red. Then again, maybe, when the President mentioned that he doesn’t want other countries laughing at us anymore, what he was really saying is he’s ready to step down. Fingers crossed.

Donald John Trump is keeping people busy. He’s got staffers, lawyers, streaming news alert editors, impeachment historians, ethics investigators, hair spray manufacturers, Putin watchers, real-estate interpreters, all frantically flapping and squawking like a flock of seagulls outside a sardine plant at low tide.

Watch any of the network or cable news broadcasts and you instantly note that all the anchors are exhausted. Their “Breaking News” graphic… broke. Half of Washington has gone deaf, what with all the bombshells exploding with little or no warning around their tiny Beltway heads.

A majority of the president’s problems seem self-inflicted. Broken-racketed unforced errors. The Apprentice Chief Executive has made more missteps than the last place finisher in a drunken hopscotch tournament with a watch cap pulled over his eyes on cobblestones. Every time someone escorts the blonde bull out of Ye Olde China Shoppe, he sneaks around back and butts his way through another wall just because he loves the sound of breaking crystal.

Immediately after firing FBI Director James Comey, the president called him “a nut job” and shared classified intelligence with two Russian diplomats. But then the White House assured the country that Mr. Trump was never in possession of any intelligence he could have shared. And America is totally willing to believe that whole “not in possession of any intelligence” part.

In defense of this disclosure of classified Israeli intel, Trump claims he can say anything to anybody at anytime because as President he has special powers. Apparently he was bitten by a radioactive spider. But the biggest and best and most beautifulest of any radioactive spider that anyone has ever seen. This was a huuuuuuuge radioactive spider. Everyone is talking about it.

To say his last week was rocky is like intimating the glove compartment of a car crushed by a compactor is not the best place to store beer. Inexplicably, Trump told the Economist magazine he invented the phrase “priming the pump” which according to Webster’s has been in general usage since 1933. He’s King of the Inexplicable.

Next he’ll maintain he’s responsible for the phrase “out of control dumpster fire” as well. Of course, he has provided one heck of a high bar for all future comparisons.

Deputy Attorney General Rosenstein felt compelled to appoint a Special Prosecutor to get to the bottom of possible Russian collusion and obstruction of justice and all-round, random mendacity. The fastest any president in history has been targeted with a special prosecutor. Ever. In less than 4 months, he’s gone from zero to Nixon.

Getting the hell out of Dodge, the President embarked on a 9 day, 5 city foreign tour visiting Saudi Arabia, Israel, Belgium and the Vatican. For a guy who hates to travel and goes off script like a five year old at “Everything’s Free Day” at Disneyland, visiting the centers of 3 world religions offers more hidden minefields than walking barefoot in the dark through the western sand dunes of Egypt.

POTUS 45’s first overseas trip culminates at the G-7 conference in Taormina, Italy. The G-7 used to be known as the G-8 until Russia was kicked out for annexing Crimea. But now that they’ve annexed us, are they back in the loop? Perhaps that’s a question better suited for the special prosecutor. Time to take the Fifth. Of Scotch.

The firing of FBI Director James Comey by the President of the United States slammed Washington with the suddenness of a two-story bowling ball hitting the South Portico after being dropped from a blimp. And the repercussions have shot across the Capitol like a flurry of Kansas tornadoes, causing the entire Beltway to chant, “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”  

A variety of reasons were given for the hasty dismissal. The FBI is in turmoil. Comey lost the confidence of the FBI rank and file. He did a lousy job. Way too tall. Has weird hair. Talks funny. Passes gas in elevators, pretending other people are responsible, then waves his hands and lights matches.

Supposedly, President Trump was unhappy with “atrocities” committed during the Hillary Clinton email investigation. Six months later, the President objects to actions that might have handed him the Oval Office. Makes as much sense as New England Patriot wide receivers complaining that Tom Brady throws his passes too accurately.

Maybe the President just likes firing people. It is his brand. Eventually he fires everybody: people who help him, people who don’t help him, people who don’t want to help him, complete strangers, employees, chefs, wives, pets, and various pieces of household furniture. Jared Kushner should start worrying about being stripped of his position as consort to Princess Ivanka. Rumor continue to float the reason Melania remains in New York City is proximity to a better class of divorce lawyers.

In the beginning, Comey’s sacking was said to be the recommendation of Deputy Attorney General Rod Rosenstein. This scenario was promoted by Vice President Mike Pence, White House insiders and a newly rolled out apprentice press secretary, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, who is flip-flopping with Sean Spicer, so as not to wear him out. Like alternating two pairs of dress shoes neither of which can walk straight.

But then the President told NBC anchor Lester Holt that he had already prepared to bum-rush Comey, throwing his own staffers so deep under the bus, they got axle grease all over their inaccurate little lips. Trump said one reason for pink-slipping the director is because the guy was a big time showboater and grandstander. Trump said that. About someone else. You can't make stuff up like this.

The irony of this emerging from the mouth of President Braggadocio should be taken not with a grain of salt but an entire 15 pound Himalayan hanging salt lick. A statement of such breathtaking myopia, it earns a plaque in the Self-Delusional Hall of Fame.

POTUS 45 said J. Edgar’s successor told him three times that he wasn’t under investigation which could be construed as obstructing justice and so illegal, chuckles will soon be leaking from Richard Nixon’s grave. Not to mention Hillary Clinton’s bunker. Who would never have fired Comey. Right.

After actually intimating he was thinking about the Russian probe, Trump then walked into a closed door meeting with the very same Russian diplomat, Sergey Kislyak, who’s at the heart of the investigation. Talk about two-story bowling balls.

Firing the guy investigating him does make the aerodynamic coif appear a bit desperate, almost like Raskolnikov, the guilty and paranoid protagonist in “Crime and Punishment.” Another Russian. Coincidence? Well. Yeah. Okay. Probably.  

An epidemic is sweeping the nation, causing sufferers to experience feelings of hopeless doom, certain annihilation and cataclysmic collapse. It’s an existential plague manifesting itself by enveloping the stricken in a black cloud of despairing suicidal thoughts. The malady that is striking down innocent citizens left and lefter is… the Presidency of Donald J. Trump. It is literally making people sick.

Many doctors have taken note of this disturbing trend and some are calling it PTSD2, President Trump Stress Disorder. Definitely not to be confused with the much more serious Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. That is a condition afflicting those that have survived a past dire and/or life-threatening experience. Not a single thing funny there. Don’t even look. Nope. Not close to humorous. Keep moving. Nothing to see.

Rather, PTSD2 is a condition that afflicts people from mostly urban areas or anyplace with a museum or library, who are worrying about a future they may or may not survive. Many safe bubbles were shaken and popped by last year’s election and the soapy fallout is being felt on psychiatric couches from here to Vienna. And you can bet nobody at any of the Big Pharmaceuticals is complaining either.

Victims of PTSD2 find themselves alternately shocked and alarmed and surprised and angry and scared and anxious and confused and amused and amazed and nervous and depressed and worried and thisclose to eye-gouging panic. Both their own eyes and other peoples’ eyes.

An equal almost opposite reaction is affecting an entirely different group of Americans, and that is unbridled joy and spontaneous dancing and the drinking of many frosty adult beverage toasts. Mostly Bud Light. Surprisingly, both these phenomena are being alternately heightened and exacerbated through copious self-administered treatments of medicinal cannabis. 

In order to determine whether you are suffering from the debilitating effects of this harrowing disease known as PTSD2, please consult the following.

TOP SYMPTOMS OF PRESIDENT TRUMP STRESS DISORDER

Inability to sleep or sleep disturbed by recurring nightmares. Most involve a second or third term.
Flashbacks to a simpler time when Trump was a goofy reality TV star.
When using any word that rhymes with Trump you become sick to your stomach.
Find yourself saying to no one in particular “Imagine if Obama had done that?”
Steadfast refusal to watch the news. Too much like enabling him.
For no apparent reason you will start screaming at your cat. Or Alex Trebek.
If and when somebody mentions Obama Care you start weeping and/ or pulling hair from your head.
Constantly replay your movements on November 8, 2016, wondering what you could have done to change the course of events.
Inability to recall anything that happened during Donald J. Trump transition period.
Emotionally numb to the point of not caring about fluffy bunnies or baby ducklings.
Intense feelings of guilt for just not liking Hillary enough.
Laugh hysterically at Garfield cartoons.
Lately the term "moderation" means no tequila shooters before noon.
Hearing his name makes you put your hands over your ears and go “la-la-la-la-la.”
Find yourself saying to no one in particular "Imagine if Hillary had said that?"
Confronted with difficult choices you respond, "Aaah, the hell with it. What difference does it make?"

Seems like decades since Barack Obama handed the keys to the country over to the House of Trump, but that was the end of January, barely 3 months ago. Can’t tell if it’s one of those “time flies when you’re having fun” deals or “it all happened so fast,” like during a car crash or being mugged. Or being mugged during a car crash.

President Trump has made a huge deal about not making a big thing of his first 100 days. Dismissing the whole event as a media creation and artificial benchmark. Mainly because you could stuff the whole of his accomplishments in a shot glass and they would still rattle around like a golf ball in a railroad car.

He’s also contradicting his own campaign rhetoric from when he insisted it would be a yardstick of his awesome, incredible transitional prowess. Once again, covering his bases by bouncing across both sides of every issue like a hyperactive cricket on prom night.

Besides the folks forced to sign loyalty oaths, there are three camps in the whole “How has He Done So Far?” debate. The group that claim he’s a disaster. The few that maintain he’s an incredible disaster and those who contend he’s not as big a disaster as expected.

But either way, the guy deserves kudos for making it to triple digits. So, let’s look at his report card for the first 100 days of term one. Because who knows if he or we will be around for the next 1361.

• Mathematics. C-. Claimed to have more electoral votes than any president since Reagan. Which is only true if you don’t count George Herbert Walker Bush, Bill Clinton and Barack Obama. Outside of that, spot on.
• International Relations. C-. Problems differentiating between good guys and bad guys. Already picked fights with Great Britain, Canada, Mexico and Australia. In terms of diplomatic complexity, those aren’t the tough ones. 
• African-American Studies. D-. Mocked Congressman John Lewis and thought that Frederick Douglas was still alive. Sad.
• Sex Education. B+. No discernable activity at all, which considering his track record, most folks appreciate.
• Health Studies. D-. “Who knew health care could be so complicated?” Um, everybody. Except you. Again.
• Environmental Studies. F. Invested in bringing back the coal industry. And VHS tapes. And sock garters and buggy whips and we’ll make lamps that burn whale blubber again.
• Social studies. C+. Heavy on the social. Light on the studies.
• Physical Education. A+. Getting plenty of exercise on the golf course.
• Dramatics. B-. Performances a bit over the top. As is the makeup.
• Penmanship. A. Signature looks very attractive on extensive series of Executive Orders.
• Physics. D. Unable to grasp simple concepts like all actions having equal and opposite reactions.
• Fashion: D. Still wearing bad shiny suits and ties that look like monochromatic drool bibs.
• Language Arts. D-. Vocabulary limited to adjectives.
• Art Appreciation. F. Just not his thing.
• World History. C-. Seems determined to prove the old adage that those who ignore history are doomed to retweet it.
• Home Room Conduct. C-. Tends to be disruptive. Acts like it’s all about him.
• General Comments. Continues to ignore help when offered. Problems accepting responsibility. Does not play well with others.
• Overall Grade. C-. Tremendous room for improvement.

Enterprising entrepreneurs out there might want to invest in a fleet of tractor backhoes and partial ownership of a limestone quarry, because it’s starting to look like bunker-digging time in America. The threat of nuclear war is spiking like the needle of a meat thermometer on a lava-flow.

Won’t be long before all the Marts; K, Wal, Quickie and the rest, start advertising red, white and blue specials on duct tape and plastic wrap. Survivalist sales. Civilization closeouts. Mankind markdowns.

Various parts of the country are reacting differently. In the south, they’re hoarding grits and preserving tomatoes while California stockpiles cases of organic, heirloom, artisanal, gluten-free cannellini beans from the northwest district of the Tuscany region. Golden State bunkers have hardwood floors and a view.

While President Trump is busy dropping healthy payloads of big-d Democracy on various Mideast miscreants, North Korea’s Kim Jong Un has started to kick demilitarized sand in our face, sticking out his nuclear tongue and wagging thumbs in his ears. Might not even be his own thumbs. Could be his uncle’s thumbs.

It’s 1950 all over again. A brand new serving of the old Cold War with a little kimchi on the side. The difference being the sequel is destined be televised in color and not a single General MacArthur can be found. This time both combatants are overseen by Mad Dogs.

We should have known the Beloved Leader would flip out, having been recently supplanted atop the prestigious “World’s Wackiest Leader with the Weirdest Hair” list. An award that had been in his family for generations. That was the Kim legacy. Poor little chubby Korean kid had one thing going for him, and Trump took it away.  

Interesting to note the two have more in common than worst commander-in-chief haircuts in history. They also have rabid-mammal with cut-paw temperaments. Complicated family relationships. A penchant for rearranging cabinets on a whim. Although removal from the North Korean circle of influence does tend be a tad more permanent.

The Pentagon might be taking the whole thing more seriously if Pyongyang were to develop a delivery system more efficient than a team of musk oxen. Their missiles have a disquieting habit of blowing up on the launch pad like Pop Tarts in a malfunctioning toaster during a power surge.

But the jeopardy is legitimate enough to have spurred Vice President Mike Pence to rattle a few sabers on the south end of the DMZ, where he pronounced the US was about to abandon its "failed policy of strategic patience." Which sounds suspiciously like “straighten up and fly right or someone’s going to bed without dinner. Again."

President Trump even reversed a campaign pledge to label China a currency manipulator in hopes that North Korea’s adult neighbor to the north will keep on eye on the local juvenile delinquent and apply the appropriate economic spanking if necessary. With a leather belt studded with ivory.

After all, China has a vested interest in seeing that nothing happens to us, since we owe them trillions of dollars. It’s a smart dealer that keeps his best junkie from getting beaten up. It’s all so very exciting that every day without a mushroom cloud should be considered a victory. Although, some might call that a bit too exciting.

During the Trump Care Meltdown, when the same Republicans that chanted “Repeal & Replace” for 7 years, folded like a broken down lawn chair in a category 5 hurricane, we learned about a couple mysterious Republican Congressional Caucuses instrumental in torpedoing the AHCA. These two groups come from such opposite sides of the political spectrum they undoubtedly have dartboards with each other’s pictures tacked to the middle.

The Freedom Caucus is made up of members that formerly self-identified as Tea Partiers but changed their name to interact with civilized people. Of course we’re referring to those unsung heroes of the Democratic process: forced to trudge the minefields of ego and weather the storms of unconscionable incompetence, those brave patriots that soldier on in relative obscurity as Congressional staffers.

Way over on the other side is the Tuesday Group, moderate Republicans; which in the 60s were known as the Wednesday Group. Seriously. You got to wonder if there’s a 2nd Thursday in Months that Don’t Have an R in Them Group because if so, they haven’t been much of a factor lately.

Most citizens aren’t aware of these special interest caucuses flying under the radar like sparrows through cable ducts, plotting and lobbying and exerting influence and stiffing caterers all over the greater DC Area. Complete with secret handshakes and hazing rituals. “Last one to raise 200 thousand by next Monday has to pay for the double tray of ‘Dogs in a Blanket.’”

One of the nearly 200 official groups is the Mental Health Caucus ostensibly charged to study the multitude of mental health problems plaguing the country and the lucky part is the wealth of raw material available without ever leaving the Capitol grounds.  

The Bipartisan Heroin Taskforce doesn’t actually use heroin, but they know where you can get it. The Congressional Asthma & Allergy Taskforce meets when pollen counts are low, or not. And the Electromagnetic Pulse Caucus is rigorous about backing up the minutes of their meetings onto multiple hard drives.

There’s the Congressional Cannabis Caucus that one likes to think gets together every Friday at 4:20. And of course, the Friends of Kazakhstan Caucus. Or is it the Friends of Lanie Kazan Caucus? Always get those two mixed up.

Don’t know if The Brotherhood of Liver Transplant Recipients, the 3rd Wives Elimination Group, Tiny Hands Union, The Elvis Caucus, a group of Southerners whose meetings feature a fried banana and peanut butter sandwich buffet or the Floss With Domestic Licorice Advancement Group exist, but they could.

The Blue Dog Coalition is a group of conservative Democrats and totally different than Yellow Dog Democrats, so enamored of their party they would vote for a yellow dog if it were on the Democrat ballot. No Purple Dog Democrats or Plaid Dog Democrats, yet, but the chroma-kennel is definitely growing.

The Congressional Values Action Team exists, but hasn’t spread its sphere of influence very wide. Everyone get honorary membership in the Mirror Appreciation Society, and undoubtedly, there’s a Beelzebub Friendship Network and Bipartisan Flunky & Bootlicker Support Group that operate under different names.

While the vast majority of caucuses are not much more than excuses to drink with friends in private, the most useless and ineffectual group that occasionally meets but accomplishes absolutely nothing is a group you may know as… the Democrats.

Supposedly, the Chinese or the Arabs or the Scientologists or one of those ancient inscrutable cultures, has a saying that goes "May you live in interesting times."  It is generally considered to be a curse. And America right now is living in the most interesting of times.

It’s breathtaking how thrilling and frenetic the news has gotten. Every single day. Almost too exciting. Starting to look like one of those pre-opening credits sequences of a science-fiction movie that takes place in the ruins of a dystopian civilization. "And Then All Hell Broke Loose."

It’s not just we news junkies; the whole world is transfixed. Unprecedented numbers of eyeballs troll the interwebs. Ratings for Fox News and MSNBC have shot past the outer orbits of the Moons of Mercury. Everybody is talking politics. Including people who can’t spell it. News is constantly breaking. And nobody ever fixes it.

Olden-timey analogue formats such as newspapers and magazines are flying off shelves. Wouldn’t be surprised to hear that kindling and blanket sales are way up for those who remain partial to smoke signals. Techies are holding Morse Code Bees on their Google buses.

Washington these days is like a soap opera with ugly people. Daze of Our Lives. The Not-So Young and Extremely Reckless. There’s danger, intrigue, romance, treachery, skullduggery, dirty tricks, double-dealing, skulking, lurking, burping, barking. No sex yet, but it’s coming. As long as Bill Clinton, Bill O’Reilly and Fox News are near the mix.

The House Intelligence Committee, which is an oxymoron of biblical proportions, has a chairman, Devin Nunes, playing cloak and dagger on the White House lawn with administration staffers passing him classified documents that he later relays to the President himself. Peter slipping Paul a note to give back to Pete’s boss.

Revelations continue to pop up like gophers on a freshly seeded sod farm. Terrorism expert Clint Watts testified in front of the Senate Intelligence Committee, which is only an oxymoron of comic book proportions, and told them "Follow the trail of dead Russians." And at the end you find a pot of gold and a cooler full of vodka. 

This is "Homeland" meets "House of Cards", with Kevin Spacey playing all the parts, added to large parts James Bond, but not the cool elegant Daniel Craig version. More like one of Roger Moore’s last appearances as the old and slow secret agent who would ask scantily-clad women to fetch him a glass of water for his teeth.

White House Spokesperson Sean Spicer creeps closer and closer to an inevitable televised breakdown. Already his eyes are spinning like zero gravity, electro-magnetic Frisbees. Any day now, he’ll show up at a press briefing wearing his tie as a bandana and a knife gripped between clenched teeth, taunting the assembled "who wants a piece of me?"  

And now the former National Security Advisor Michael Flynn has announced he wants immunity to testify. Immunity for what? And testify about what? Nobody knows. But his lawyer claims he has a story to tell. And it’s not "Goldilocks & the Three Bears." Although the administration already claims it is a Grimm Fairy Tale. All this, and we’re only 10 weeks in. Stay tuned. This is going to make "Legion" look like "The Brady Bunch."

It has been assailed as the end of democracy. Vilified as a form of slavery. Denigrated, denounced and disparaged. But like a blind, three-legged dog named "Lucky," against all odds, the Affordable Care Act has survived and remains the law of the land.

For 7 years the GOP has beaten President Obama’s signature legislation until they and everyone around them were covered in a fine red mist. In the face of a guaranteed veto by the man they nicknamed the bill after, the Republican House of Representatives voted to repeal it over 60 times, but the first chance they got as a majority, with a sure-fire presidential signature, they choked like a skinny-necked goose being force-fed gravel.

Their oft-repeated mantra was "Repeal and replace" but when push came to shove, they resorted to "Ordeal and disgrace." "Raw deal and lose face." "Surreal and deface."  

For the new President, it was a lesson in Government 101. The head of Trump University got himself schooled. The learning curve for Apprentice Chief Executives looks to be a mite steeper than the reverse trajectory of a bundled tax return wrapped around a vodka bottle thrown off the roof of Trump Tower.

Trump’s legitimate shock at the turn of events seems to indicate he hadn’t been paying attention the last couple of years. And this could very well be why, traditionally, the presidency has not been an entry-level position.

This, the very same consummate Deal Maker that earlier asked, "Who knew health care could be so complicated?" Um. Everybody. Except you. Again.

In defeat, the author of "The Art of the Deal," blasted everyone; the Democrats, the media, Nancy Pelosi, Paul Ryan, Charles Barkley, until finally placing the blame for the scuttling of Trump Care on his own right wing’s Freedom Caucus. The group that demanded concessions, received them, then still wouldn’t vote for the bill. With friends like those, who needs lizard-like, alien invaders?

The problem was, after eliminating standards for minimum benefits including ambulances, hospitalization, prescriptions, maternity care, drug and mental heath treatment, pediatric services, emergency services and labs, the American Health Care Act was less health insurance and more malady assurance.

24 million citizens were estimated to lose health care coverage under the AHCA and that was before the total vivisection of the bill. Making passage even stickier since moderates ran away like avocados leaving Mexico the week before the Super Bowl.

The group switched its name from Tea Party to Freedom Caucus, because they’re fighting for the freedom of all Americans to die without government intervention. To them, compromise isn’t just a dirty word, it’s a hanging offense. Even with the rope strung around their own necks, they are resolute as glue-footed moths on a porch light.

Now Trump says he’s moving on, because "The best thing we can do, politically speaking, is let Obama Care explode." That’s what you want from a leader. Someone willing to sacrifice. His constituents.

But moving on isn’t a total lock either. He hasn’t yet said, "Who knew that a border wall or tax reform or rebuilding our infrastructure could be so complicated," but now that the Tea Partiers have the taste of blood in their mouths, he might. The best news for all concerned is that Obama Care still covers depression.

The entire nation is transfixed like a litter of kittens in front of a fishbowl of hyperactive minnows as the screwy shenanigans known as March Madness unfold. And mad is right. It’s crazy out there. Totally zany. Nuttier than the hospitality suite at a squirrel convention. As kooky as a skateboard rack in the foyer of an assisted living facility.

The productivity of offices has sunk to 4 am levels as Americans find it impossible to turn off our devices and look away from the streaming spectacle of backcourt body slams, missed lay-ups and crowd hysteria. The howling of normally disinterested bystanders periodically shatters the quiet hum as we watch amateurs get smoked and lambasted in the face of daunting odds.

But alas, this isn’t about a bad case of hoops frenzy. We’re talking about the wild, weird and wacky machinations emanating from the Trump White House. Most administrations try to hit the ground running, this one careened out of the tunnel tripping over the ball rack, hoisting crazed half court hook shots while backpedalling into mascots and playing defense. Badly.

Instead of a fast break after his opening tip, both POTUS’s Muslim bans got blocked. The 45th President stomped up and down the court railing against the refs for banning the ban, and the media for calling his Muslim ban, a Muslim ban. One announcer wondered why Muslims wouldn’t enter the country simply pretending to be Christians, as that’s what most of us do. They’d fit right in.

Next, in what should have been a slam-dunk, Trump-Care, was criticized by both teams, the crowd, shoe manufacturer reps, beer vendors and even some cheerleaders, for looking suspiciously like Obama Care, without any of that "Care" part attached.

Although he’s plastered his name on chocolate bars, vodka, eyeglasses and barstools, the president objected to calling the replacement health care bill, Trump-Care. Which sort of made even his own trainers and assistant coaches wince and do a double take.

With the clock winding down on his credibility, both the House and Senate Intelligence committees announced finding no evidence to the President’s accusation that his phones were tapped by former President Obama. He said he heard someone on Fox News making the claim, but even Fox News said, "You’re kidding, right?"

Sean Spicer, the press spokesperson, whiffed on a series of free throws, trying single-handedly to keep the ball in play but got caught double-teamed on the baseline with nowhere to pass, because Kellyanne Conway was back in the locker room nursing a strained microwave or some other subversive kitchen appliance.

The President himself was of little help, demanding to play point guard, power forward and center without any knowledge of the playbook, game, opponent, what was at stake or on which bench the rest of his team was sitting.

Setting records for unforced turnovers with fumbled rebounds, errant passes, double-dribbles, traveling violations and a flurry of airballs, D. J. Trump committed so many flagrant offensive fouls it was a miracle he wasn’t hit with three or four technicals and kicked out of the game if not sent back to the team hotel on the company bus. But he wasn’t, because, as those of us watching at home know: he’s also the coach. And the sponsor.

The English language has a healthy share of euphemisms for lying. Fabrication. Falsification. Making stuff up. Inoperative statements. Alternative facts. Big fat fibs. Untruths. Spinning. Puffery. Flummery. Fast food advertising. NFL owner profit/loss statements.

But they all mean the same thing: saying out loud things you know are not true. No matter which polite term you prefer, America in the middle of a Lying Renaissance. And we have President Donald J. Trump to thank for perfecting the practice of public prevarication to an art form. He is the Picasso of hogwash.

Throughout his career, Trump has deflected trouble by waving a bright shiny object, throwing it into a corner and yelling, "hey what’s that over there?"

In the business world The Donald erected huge TRUMP signs before reneging on promises and stiffing contractors. On the campaign trail he shot out baseless allegations like a t-shirt cannon at minor league ballgame. Now, as President, cascades of groundless gibberish flow from him like rainwater off the Oroville Dam spillway.

Every politician lies and both Bill Clinton and Richard Nixon got caught in whoppers, but not until the end of their second terms. Trump has rocketed out of the gate as the least credible federal office-holder in history. Which is saying something. Like being called the scariest clown at a circus convention.

First Mr. Trump claimed his inauguration was the most attended ever, when photos clearly reveal half of those that assembled in 2009. Who you going to believe, me, or your lying eyes?

He then accused 3,000,000 non-existent people of voting illegally, the same exact amount he lost the popular vote by. Alternative facts are kissing cousins to alternative math. 2 plus 2 is whatever he says it is. And 0 + 0 is 3,000,000.

Recently, the new president accused the old president, Barack Hussein Obama, of wiretapping Trump Tower. With no proof. At all. Even Trump’s own staff were quoted as saying, "hunh, what?" Then were force marched onto television to lob sparkly Christmas ornaments at weekend anchors and production assistants.

James Clapper, the former director of National Intelligence, which is starting to sound like an oxymoron, denied that any surveillance was authorized. But Chief Aide Kellyanne Conway suggested that perhaps it was done through partisan kitchen appliances dabbling in espionage.

One reason President Trump gets away with his fables and fakery is because the media has the attention span of a hover of hummingbirds in a green house on blossom day. Although people are questioning the provenance of his charges, nobody’s talking about his Russian connections anymore. Mission Accomplished.

It’s a genius strategy that can work in real life as well. Think grade school and get creative.

• Tell the boss the report is overdue because it was eaten by a pack of wild Tanzanian boars that have overrun your back yard. Even if you live in a high rise.

• Caught holding someone else’s wallet? You weren’t stealing, but rather protecting their possessions from other unscrupulous persons by hiding the money in your pocket for safekeeping.

• Does your spouse have naked photos of you in the arms of another? Total misunderstanding: this unfortunate person was suffering from hypothermia and you were simply applying life-restoring, body heat. Internally.

Accountability is soooooo… 2015. As Nike used to say, "Just Do It."

Whoever said that a week in politics can be a lifetime, was living so far in the past, they probably have a drawer full of sock garters. Today, in the Land of Trump that time frame has been compressed to an hour. And considering the stormy week we just survived, every one of us ought to have grey hair, be eligible to collect three or four social security checks and have all our earthly possessions catalogued in a living will.

Instead of luxuriating in the rave reviews following his speech to Congress that the 45th President recited in his newly discovered indoor voice, the administration immediately began reeling from rolling disclosures that various members of his staff met with Russians during the campaign, the transition and in their dreams.

The revelations accentuating the perception of collusion between members of Trump’s inner circle and our Cold War opponents gained a potency that exceeded peppered vodka spiked with Siberian methamphetamine and started spilling out like pods of Russian nesting dolls turned upside down.

The U.S. Attorney-General, Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III, meaning there were two other guys named Jefferson Beauregard Sessions, which is frightening enough, recused himself from all investigations, because Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III investigating Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III would look weird and be way too confusing.

Turns out when he said under oath in his confirmation hearing that "I didn’t have any meetings with the Russians," what the former Alabama Governor meant to say was he didn’t have any meetings with the Russians except a couple, that we really don’t need to know about, and should keep our noses out of his personal business, dammit. Which is personal. His business, that is.

Then a couple more Trumpian underlings remembered they might have, perhaps, met some folks, nice people, who could have been foreigners, and seemed vaguely Russianish, maybe in Cleveland or one of those other rusting Midwestern cities. Or was it Miami?

The big question now is how high do the Russian connections go? In other words what did Trump know and when did he know he knew it? To put it another way, what didn’t he know and who knows that he knew he didn’t know and why? Or does he even know that what he didn’t know he knew was unknowable at the time, which is now? And most importantly, who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men. The Shadow knows.

Especially curious is the fact that Trump insults everybody: the media, the judiciary, the intelligence community, Meryl Streep, Nordstrom, people who prefer vinegar based coleslaw, but never Vladimir Putin. Which is as suspicious as an AK-47 with a smoking barrel in your crisper bin.

Trump still refuses to admit it was the Russians that hacked the Democratic National Committee. "Maybe it was a 400 pound fat guy on a couch." Hate to see Chris Christie get thrown under the bus like that. Can’t be too good for the bus either. Sad.

In order to deflect attention from his Russian connection, Donald J. Trump then shocked the world by alleging he had just been told that Barack Obama had bugged Trump Tower. Or perhaps we misunderstood. After all, Donald Trump is a child of the 60’s. Maybe what he meant to say was "Don’t you get it man? I don’t dig that black cat. Barack Obama is heavy-duty bugging me, man."

No matter what you think of Donald J. Trump, you got to admit he’s a cracker-jack salesman with an uncanny gift for manipulating the mainstream media like a three-armed rental clown juggling pin-pulled grenades on an express elevator to hell.

Every single day something he touches starts smoking. You’ve heard of the Midas Touch; DJT has the Hades Touch. His very being is constructed to strike the flint that shoots a spark towards the tetchy kindling he calls staff.

At least living in the Eastern and Central time zones, folks experience the pandemonium in real time while we out west are doubly disconcerted constantly waking up to wonder, "what fresh human bonfire has been set off already?" While we fitfully slept in California the Orange Firestarter had a three-hour head start to light another fuse to Armageddon.

In his first press conference since moving into the White House, the 45th President ignited further conflagrations first by calling the media "dishonest" then disputing both logic and math. Say what you will, he does punch upwards. Logic and math are not lightweight opponents.

The real estate developer turned apprentice leader of the free world is an expert in ranting and raving while holding the press to standards he refuses to live up to or believe in. He bizarrely repeatedly claimed to have more electoral votes than anybody since Reagan, which is only true if you don’t count Clinton, Bush One or Obama.

When a reporter pointed out the discrepancy, Trump dismissed him with, "well, I was given that information." Presumably by the same people who told him he won the debates, enjoys widespread popularity and has accomplished more than any other president at this juncture in his reign.  

Trump mentioned ratings numerous times. He gets good ratings. CNN has lousy ratings. He eats Ratings Bran for breakfast. From out of nowhere he proclaimed "a nuclear holocaust would be like no other," which is like saying total human extinction would be odd. You get the feeling he’d be okay with one as long as the ratings were huge. Which they would be, initially. Later on, not so much.

Anything he doesn’t like or disagrees with gets labeled "fake news." Since the election he’s jumped on the phrase like an old dog with a new chew toy. Fake news. Fake news. Fake news. He repeats the phrase so much he runs the risk of becoming the Fake News President. Although many folks maintain the "news" part is superfluous.

He finished by calling his administration: "a fine-tuned machine." Which sounds better than "out of control dumpster fire," but a tad less accurate. Whatever machine he’s talking about, you’ll want to wear a hard hat and keep the kids 50 feet away decked out in fire retardant clothes. The machine may be fine-tuned but either the mechanics are under-trained, have been given the wrong tools or are disciples of the Three Stooges.

Trump says he knows stuff nobody else does. Can’t imagine what it could be, but fairly certain we can rule out anything algebraically based. Meanwhile the biggest fear of a 3 million-majority segment of America is once this guy realizes he’s destined to go down as the worst president in history, he might prefer to be remembered as the last president in history.

In typical liberal fashion, the mean weenie left has called Donald Trump’s cabinet horrible things. "Corrupt nitwits." "Career criminals." "Greedy thugs." "Clueless dunces." "Bad dancers."

But no one accuses them of being poor. Depending on whether you believe Bloomberg or the Wall Street Journal, the administration’s brain trust will be worth between 8 and 16 billion dollars. Trump’s not just going to drain the swamp, he’s going to subdivide it.

Yes, he railed against Goldman-Sachs during the campaign, but a Commander-in-Chief knows the importance of expert money management, and The Donald has chosen a slew of people who worked at the investment firm. Obviously operating under the biblical dictum; "know thine enemy."

Whether his picks are millionaires, billionaires or gazillionaires, they are all committed to the Trump vision. He may have issued an executive order to keep violent extremists from entering the country, but has no problem filling his cabinet with them.

Predictably, the Democrats resorted to their old stall-and-delay tactics, but haven’t stopped a single confirmation. They make eunuchs look like sperm whales. Let’s dismiss their silly baseless charges right now, shall we?  

Scott Pruitt, the new EPA director nominee sued the agency he’s about to run thirteen times. Big deal. He’s familiar with the legal department.

Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin made millions off the Great Recession by foreclosing on tens of thousands of homeowners. Opportunity doesn’t need to knock twice for this guy.

Secretary of Education, Betsy DeVos, never went to public school or sent any of her five kids to public school. Ever. Which means she’s starting off with a blank slate. No preconceptions.

Tom Price, the new Health & Human Services Director once introduced a bill to Congress that benefited a company he had investments in. It’s a trustworthy man that knows who his friends are.

Linda McMahon, CEO of World Wrestling, now in charge of the Small Business Administration. Want a loan? Prove you can go three minutes without being thrown into the turnbuckle. That’ll separate the wheat from the chaff.

The Ambassador to the United Nations is from South Carolina where ‘foreign relations’ means doing it with anybody who’s not your first cousin. We need someone who’s naturally suspicious.

Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III was refused a federal judgeship for being too racist. But Attorney-General, no problem. A living example of America’s tradition of granting second chances.

Trump’s daughter and son-in-law appointed to key positions along with his two elder sons Uday and Qusay. Because the family that rules together, beats mules together. Or something like that.

Andrew Puzder, Secretary of Labor, CEO of a fast food chain that was prosecuted for stealing from their minimum wage employees. Can’t use the phrase "Tough love" without the word "tough." 

Chief aide Steve Bannon may be a white supremacist but at least he knows how to spell the word, "supremacist."

The new HUD Secretary Ben Carson thinks the pyramids were built as grain silos. Who doesn’t?

Rick Perry, up for Secretary of Energy, wanted to eliminate the agency but couldn’t remember its name. His choice reinforces the compassionate nature of the administration by demonstrating they have no problem hiring the handicapped.

And General James Mattis, Secretary of Defense, is nicknamed… Mad Dog. Who’s going to mess with a country whose Minister of War is nicknamed Mad Dog?

Shattered. Splattered. Scattered. Battered. Tattered. Skewered and plattered. Barely mattered. That was the Democrats after November’s election. But surely in the months since, they’d come together to stand aligned in the face of the flaky imperiousness of our so-called President. You’d think. And ripe bananas make a fine masonry grout.  

The Democrats have lost their direction so completely they need a compass to wipe their butts. Incontestably, incontrovertibly and incredibly… useless. We are not speaking of a trifling of uselessness here. "Totally and utterly and unconditionally useless"- barely scratches the surface. The exact extent of the uselessosity exhibited by Democrats right now is breathtaking in its magnitude. Mythic. Destined to be immortalized in song and dance.

During last year’s campaign they skirted the periphery of worthless and ineffectual and futile and just plain lame, but the degree of uselessness they have recently achieved is best measured in AUs, astronomical units. As evidenced by their reaction to Donald J. Trump’s first unstable weeks in office. Or lack of reaction. They make listless look downright rigid. Limp is their rock.

As useless as an ejection seat in a helicopter. Mudflaps on a turtle. Pistol range in a bouncy house. Costume designer on a porn flick. Solar powered night scopes. An ashtray on a Harley. Glass piñatas. Triangular wheels.

Oh sure, they strut and pose and squawk and stamp their little impotent feet but so far have accomplished nothing. Less than nothing. Negative nothing if that’s even a thing. And no, you’re right, it isn’t.

Our new President celebrates Black History Month by comparing himself to MLK. Goes to a National Prayer Breakfast and asks the assembled to pray for Arnold Schwarzenegger’s ratings on the television show he produces. Picks a fight with Australia. Australia for crum’s sakes. Home of the Koala Bear. We’re about to go to war with Koala Bears. Come on, America, that’s not who we are. Tasmanian Devils maybe.

Falling back into their familiar role as punching bag in an abusive relationship, the Democrats’ squeaks of protest can’t be heard over the sound of the body blows being absorbed. Instead of trading punches, the left responds with splenetic poems and pussycat hats. Going to change the world through rhyming couplets and creative crochet.

Nancy Pelosi displays a look of perpetual surprise but can’t bring herself to do anything but wag her finger and shake her head. Bernie Sanders? Zero. Zip. Nada. Nothing. He hasn’t even threatened to give the President a stern look. Okay, a sterner look.

Barack Obama has left the building. No, really. He’s gone fishing. In Chicago or Hawaii or Kenya or somewhere. Hillary Clinton is no help at all, she just keeps laughing. John Lewis and Elizabeth Warren are the only isolated voices in the wilderness, two lonely figures fighting on the balustrade trying to wave away swarms of raptors. Getting the same support from their compatriots as bulls get from squirrels.

Heads need to roll. Hurdles must be leapt, rivers portaged and careers sacrificed. Loins girded. Photos of administration members in flagrant delicto with livestock have got to go viral. It’s time for Democrats to kick off the Birkenstocks and strap on a pair of football cleats. Lose the mandolin music and download some Led Zeppelin. Once more unto the breach, dear friends. Snarling.

Donald Trump is the political reincarnation of Tina Turner; like her, he doesn’t do anything nice and easy. Also, they’re  both Type A personalities who expend a lot of energy but hardly move at all. And famous for high-maintenance hair.  

Since his January coronation, the New York City real estate developer turned Leader of the Free World has partied like its 1939, issuing polarizing edict after polarizing edict. The surprising thing is Fox News hasn’t started to refer to him as Chancellor Trump. Or Gropenfuhrer. Yet.

Traditionally, a newly elected, first-time president hits the ground running with hand outstretched in a gesture of sociability, solidarity and camaraderie. Not Donny John. He hit the ground whining, with a fistful of disdain for everyone he slapped upside the head: Democrats, Republicans, the media, Iran, Mexico, Great Britain, the media, his own Cabinet appointments, refugees, the media, the NSC, TSA, and National Park Service. And don’t forget the media.

Experts theorized the weight of the White House would settle him down but alas, no such luck. He’s still up till all hours tweeting out a barrage of alternative facts, choosy truths, questionable veracities and marginal actualities that reflect a reality only he can see. As fluid and murky as the Potomac River.

What little presidential honeymoon he enjoyed ended long before the cake was cut. The groom ditched the bride and boogied across the floor alone performing a solo victory dance in front of a mirror. As graceful as an angry anvil.

You could describe his movements since as jerky, spasmodic and frenzied, like when he obsessed over the election being stolen. Ignoring the fact that he won. Even 46’s own staff is having problems negotiating his tricky hairpins turns. Not only does the emperor have no clothes, his skin is really thin and kind of blotchy.

According to the most aerodynamically coiffed president in history, 3 to 5 million undocumented aliens illegally cast ballots for Hillary Clinton causing him to lose the popular vote. It’s the only possible answer. Because how could Donald Trump not be associated with whatever was most popular? It’s unthinkable and unpresidented.

President Trump loves his invisible people. And there’s tons of them. The invisible people who cast fraudulent ballots- totally different than the invisible people who came to Washington to be part of the largest crowd ever to witness an Inauguration but conveniently vanished when aerial photographs were taken. Maybe they’re shy.

And neither of those two groups of invisible people should be confused with the thousands of invisible people who celebrated in New Jersey after the World Trade Center came down. Which only he saw. Maybe it’s a Sixth Sense sort of thing; "I see non-existent people." No wonder Bruce Willis supported him.

During the rest of his first term, we can expect an expansion of Trump’s hallucination theme. Much time will be spent discussing ghosts and leprechauns and sprites and phantoms and pixies and the vast legions of his invisible enemies.

Turns out Donald Trump doesn’t just have a vision for this country, he has an X-ray vision for this country. He’s like Clark Kent only less buff and way blonder. It was bound to happen: America finally has its first super hero President. Erratic-Man.

As extraordinary as it sounds, Donald J. Trump is now the 45th President of the United States. Which is mind-boggling. Like making John Goodman the cover model for this year’s Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. Kim Kardashian-appointed chief scientist at the Atomic Energy Lab. Colin Kaepernick in charge of WikiLeaks.

The liberals’ last best hopes were dashed on Inauguration Day when the Mango Mussolini put his hand on the Bible and didn’t burst into flames. The preacher said the rain that started to fall as DJT took the oath was a good omen in the Bible. Yeah, tell that to Noah.

The speech was darker than the Cleveland Browns’ offseason. Kind of a cross between Nixon and Voldermort. "It’s Mourning in America." Trump will be a president for all Americans except the Muslims, Mexicans, losers, whiners, idiots and nasty women, especially the fat disgusting ones.

But now our attention turns not to the real estate developer’s vitriolic tweets but his diabolic feats. What is the agenda of the Tweeter of the Free World? Here’s what might go down over the rest of the first 100 days of the Donald Trump Experience.

January 31. Day 11. Trump trademarks "White House" and banks a royalty every time the press shows or mentions it.
February 12. Day 23. Congress repeals Obama Care and replaces it with Trump Care, which covers nobody but is advertised as "much more incredibly tremendous."
February 21. Day 32. An Executive Order makes it illegal to use the words "climate" and "change" in the same sentence.
March 7. Day 46. The President tweets a major nuclear reduction pact with Russia.
March 8. Day 47. The President tweets a major boost in our nuclear arsenal to intimidate Russia.
March 9. Day 48. The President tweets a major merger with Russia. The two countries will now be known as the USSSR East & West.
March 12. Day 51. The White House™ press is moved to the basement of a bar in Bethesda, Maryland.
March 18. Day 57. Eric and Donald Jr. are apprehended shooting pandas at the National Zoo with RPGs. 
March 24. Day 63. California Governor Jerry Brown authorizes barricades at all state entrances and begins to charge a $15 cover and a two-drink minimum to enter "Golden Land." 
March 29. Day 68. After Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Sonia Sotomayor are arrested, Trump fills 3 vacancies and the Supreme Court rules abortions illegal and determines voting to be restricted to white male landowners.
April 1. Day 71. The President authorizes a nuclear strike against Ottawa but Secretary of Defense Mad Dog Mattis pulls the plug after figuring out it’s an April Fool’s joke.
April 3. Day 73. President Trump tries to throw out the first ball at a windy Washington Senators season home opener but the ball and his hand get stuck in his hair due to an excess of product.
April 26. Day 96. The Pharmaceutical Industry reports record first quarter profits.
April 29. Day 99. Trump holds a contest among his Cabinet members to see who can sell the most Subway sandwiches in three hours on the National Mall.
April 30. Day 100. Trump tweets that he is bored and wants to quit. The nation is stunned.
May 1. Day 1. Mike Pence succeeds Donald Trump as the 46th President of the United States.
The nation recoils.

All right everybody; time to slap on a happy face and start thinking positively about the upcoming twelve months. And none of that, "You want positive? Okay. I’m positive this year is going to suck big beige banana slugs from Mars," stuff, because that, my friends, is stinking thinking.

Usually when a year goes down as gaggingly awful as 2016, folks frantically try throwing a monkey wrench into their continuum, vowing to make audacious behavioral alterations in an attempt to change the status quo. These adjustments often go awry and end up belonging to the "cut off your nose to spite your face" variety. Also known as the Voldermort Maneuver.

Another problem is most resolutions are as unique as a white sweat sock in a junior-high, boys locker room. Always the same old, same old; lose weight, learn a language, eat healthy, work out, not live under totalitarian regimes, construct a scale model of Trump Tower by bending paperclips. But what about other folks? Let’s waste some valuable time worrying about the important resolutions they probably haven’t made but definitely need to consider.

2017 RESOLUTIONS PEOPLE SHOULD BE MAKING.

• Ivanka Trump pledges to find a foundation color for her father that reads less summer squash and more tequila sunrise.
• Colin Kaepernick vows to kneel for the National Anthem, stand until his Forty Niner offensive line deteriorates, run, then kneel again before kissing the ground.
• Chris Christie promises to perfect his lean and hungry look.
• Rick Perry plans to study up on the Cabinet department he is about to head and is determined to remember its name.
• Mike Pence will insure his people employ the latest strobe technology at press conferences to give the appearance of movement.
• The 115th Congress resolves to supersede the successes of the 114th Congress’ by accomplishing less than nothing.
• The TSA finally solves the most dangerous of all security problems by banning passengers.
• To allay conspiratorial fears, Vladimir Putin will drink a glass of water whenever Donald J. Trump speaks.
• Paul Ryan vows to delineate conditions for a plan to replace Obama Care. The major condition is the buildup of frozen water in and around Hell.
• Donald J. Trump is determined to make increasingly outrageous wacky zany statements until Saturday Night Live finally recruits him as a cast member.
• PBS pledges not to do anything to tick off the new Congress and gradually morphs into the 24 hour Thomas the Tank Engine Network.
• Kellyanne Conway vows to purchase Botox by the gallon jug to insure she betrays no actual emotion except her default mask of smug self-righteousness.
• Anthony Weiner promises to purchase a one-way ticket on the Clue Train to an unknown destination and then stay there.
• Hillary Clinton vows that no matter what happens she will never utter the words "I told you so."
• Bill Clinton, not so much.
• Angela Merkel will take acting lessons to learn how to keep from snickering when discussing international relations with an orange clown.
• Reince Priebus pledges to outline the administration’s plan to fix the Social Security problem once and for all. Unfortunately, it involves raising the retirement age to 90.
• Mad Dog Mattis vows to open his Congressional confirmation hearing with "Who wants a piece of me?

It is our fervent hope here at Durstco that all you loyal readers join us in welcoming the elixir of opportunity that is 2017 and pray that it goes down smoother than that most recently departed year whose name has been wiped from our memory banks. Might have had something to do with a one, a zero, a two and a six. Not necessarily in that order.

"The Year That Shall Not Be Named" sucked like an industrial strength vacuum cleaner designed to inhale rocks the size of Saskatchewan. Leaving a stench in its wake like a twelve-month moored garbage scow with none of the attendant charm. It was a Mt. St. Helens, Jamestown Flood, Titanic, Hindenburg, Mrs. O’Leary’s cow kind of a year.

On a major league suckage scale of one to ten, the previous annum would rate at about four thousand nine hundred and thirty seven. It was to suck like sewage is to stink. The suckiest of the sucky. Suckalicious. Suckatosic. Suck-O-Rama. With a sucktosity able to strip the chrome off the back bumper of a 57 Thunderbird.

Maybe it was that extra leap day that tipped the balance from the merely sucktastic to the sucklandish. Turning ordinary ugly into grievously heinous. But those 366 days of death and destruction and disaster and desolation and disease and despair and diabolical and discombobulation was only tempered by the fact that we survived. Barely, and not all of us. But then, the most fiendish always leave a few alive to tell the tale.

Or could Star Trek’s James T. Kirk have gone back in time thoroughly messing things up again, causing a rift in the space-time continuum? That would certainly explain the Cubs winning the World Series, an orange clown becoming President, a third Kung Fu Panda film and Spam musubi on cauliflower rice.

The year that bridged 2015 and 2017 was to happy times what banana daiquiris are to reinforced concrete support beams. What barbed-wire wrapped bats are to panty hose. Inspector Clouseau and calm analytical judgment. Marbles and scissors.

Queen Elizabeth once referred to a particularly bad year, as an "annus horriblis" and the 31,622,400 seconds we recently escaped was exponentially that, with one of the "N’s" removed. The threat of another 52 weeks like the one we just endured makes you want to build a bunker in the back yard and fill it to the brim with Little Debbie Snack Cakes and bourbon. Not necessarily in that order.

Or perhaps the calendar most recently ripped off the wall was a plot by the Pharmaceutical Industry to sell more anti-depressants. Anyhow, whatever you want to call what recently sunk into blessed oblivion, almanac-wise, good riddance to bad rubbish. Don’t let the doorknob hit you in the butt on the way out. Get while the getting’s good. Even though it’s way too late.

And a big fat wet sloppy kiss on both cheeks to 2017. Come on in, take off your coat. Sit down a spell. Put your feet up. We’re counting on you to take the chill off the air. No pressure. You have some awfully tiny shoes to fill. But hey, Star Wars 8 come this December already puts you halfway to the good.