It begins

First of all, happy new year, and congratulations for surviving—in a very literal sense—what’s sure to be the worst year in everyone’s life. I think I speak for all of us when I say I’m glad we made it, and there’s definitely nowhere to go but up.

Unless of course Cadet Bone Spurs has a(nother) Giuliani-size brain fart and decides to burn the house down on his way out. And out he will go, no matter how many calls he makes to Georgia.

Of course, despite the fact we’re still going to be using masks as a fashion statement, keeping our distance and washing our hands like Howard Hughes for the foreseeable future, there are a lot of things to look forward to in the coming year.

In just a Scaramucci and five days we’ll have a new sane, decent, smart and compassionate president. I don’t agree on all policy with him, but he’s already a breath of fresh sanity.

We’ll also have the first female, Black/Indian vice-president. I’m even more excited about Kamala because she was my first choice for the top job in the primary. My dream ticket was Harris/Buttigieg. It may still wind up being that. No one's getting any younger if you get my continental drift.

Dr. Fauci is staying on, and he’ll have a new president who believes in science, listens to and respects what he says, and will be a partner in finally bringing this horrible pandemic chapter to a close. As well as the run on bleach and hypodermic needles.

The vaccine. Just give it to me in the left arm like the flu shot. I never like waiting in line, but I’m more than willing to make an exception.

And as I’ve done so many times before, I buried the lead. The other thing you’ll have to look forward to, and you know you will, is another year of stimulating, insightful, side-spitting, far too long posts on Rotation and Balance. Now at the risk of sounding like the blogger who cried wolf, this year is actually positioned to be a stellar one in number of posts, if not in quality of writing. You can’t have everything.

Besides, who do you think I am. Round Seventeen?

He has my vote

Like many of you, and by many I mean the nine people that read this blog on a semi-regular basis, and by semi-regular basis I mean you forgot to empty the cache and it came up again accidentally, I thought this day would never get here.

Election day. It's the one we've been waiting four extremely unpleasant years for.

But it's here now, and it's our last chance to replace the racist, lying, misogynistic, name-calling, Big Mac-grazing, nazi-loving, pussy-grabbing, Covid-spreading, division-stoking, dictator-fawning, deficit-raising, veteran-hating, democracy-killing, adderall-fueled, festering piece of shit occupying the White House with someone who deserves to be there.

Someone with a moral compass and an innate sense of right and wrong.

Someone with intelligence that rises to the job and being leader of the free world.

Someone who in times of severe hardship and sacrifice—say a war or a pandemic—we can trust will have our best interests at heart and will act accordingly.

Someone who won't be laughed at every time they're on the world stage.

Someone who will surround themself with a cabinet of intelligent, non-yes men and women (no-men?) instead of swamp-residing, just-crawled-out-from-under-a-rock grifters looking to line their pockets on the taxpayer's dime.

Someone whose kids don't kill wild, endangered species for sport and aren't second-generation festering pieces of shit.

Someone we can respect.

That's why I'd like more than anything to cast my vote for Josiah Bartlet. I'd like to, but I can't.

On the off chance you don't know, Barlet is the fictional president played by Martin Sheen on The West Wing, which it so happens the wife and I have been bingeing for a while now (we're on season 4, episode 17). He possesses all the above mentioned positive qualities, as well as a wicked sense of humor, laser-focus and a keen analytical mind. It sounds great, amIrite?

And while I'm sad I can't vote for Josiah Bartlet, I'm happy I've already cast my vote for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris.

During primary season, Biden wasn't my first choice, he was my fifth. I imagine that's true for a lot of people. My dream ticket was Harris/Buttigieg. Or Warren/Buttigieg. Or Sanders/Buttigieg. Or Buttigieg/Yang. But Biden brings with him the experience, the leadership, the compassion and the decency we've lost as a country. It will take decades to undo the damage the unstable genius has done, but Biden has a roadmap to get there.

Plus instead of a simpering suck-up who looks at him with moony-moon eyes and a schoolgirl crush, in Kamala Harris Biden has a Vice President more than qualified for the job, a trusted advisor and someone who won't be afraid to speak up when she disagrees with policy.

So today I'm going to try as hard as I can to stay away from all the election news—it'll go on for days and months, I'm sure I'll hear about it. Instead I'll be spending my spare time watching more episodes of The West Wing. Because while Aaron Sorkin's stellar, rapid-fire dialogue and precision writing gives me a benchmark to aspire to (you know I can hear you laughing, right?), in each and every episode, and on this day especially, it also gives me something else I've missed terribly and need desperately.

Hope.

Encore post: Stuck in the middle

Some of the posts on here have a rather short shelf life. But some seem to gather more and more relevance and meaning as time goes on. And in light of last night's not-so-great debate, it seemed like the perfect time to repost this little gem.

The traitor-in-chief deserves this more than ever. And my only regret is I don't have time to find more pictures of people giving him the "You're #1!" salute.

Let's show Cadet Bone Spurs how we really feel. Join me won't you in raising your hands high, and your fingers higher.

It's impressive to see the line of black, armor-shielded Chevy Suburbans (Made in America!) pull up to an event. Even if the person getting out is the so-called president and de facto racist, homophobe, misogynist, sexual predator, pathological liar, traitor and spokesperson for the white nationalist movement. And Satan.

Nonetheless, it is important that we, as Americans who love this country dearly, make sure he's greeted at each and every appearance in a way reflective and deserving of the class, elegance, judgment and maturity he brings to the most powerful office in the world. It's in that spirit I offer several examples of people giving what can only be called the most appropriate salutation for the man he is. If in fact he is a man. I hear things.

Anyway, you don't even have to see him in person to show him the exact kind of respect he deserves. I give him this greeting every time I see his fat, orange face and whatever the fuck that is on his head on TV, magazine covers or in my nightmares.

Hold 'em firm and hold 'em high. This one's for you Donald.

2019. Day 8.

Like most people I know, I couldn't wait for 2018 to be over. For reasons we're all too well aware of it had been an extremely stressful year. But as we turn the page into 2019, I'm feeling something I haven't felt since the Kenyan was president: hope.

The democratic house has already started their job. The first thing they did was pass a bill to reopen the government, a bill which Senate Majority Leader and chin mogul Mitch McConnell will not allow to get to the senate floor. Democrats will also be subpoena-ing everyone in the shithole president's world to expose his already on display House 'O Corruption.

Then, superhero Robert Mueller will most likely have some late Christmas presents in the form of evidence, indictments and maybe even the final report on Russia.

The unstable genius continues to be isolated in the White House, and the world watches and laughs while he implodes. His government shutdown is backfiring faster than a '38 Ford, and his constant badmouthing of the generals of the U.S. Armed Forces make me confident they won't let him launch a missile during a temper tantrum.

Tonight the networks, in a serious lapse of judgement, are giving the Liar In Chief airtime to make his case for his bullshit wall directly to the American People. I have it on good authority it'll be the best prime time comedy tonight. Funny to everyone, except the 800,000 federal employees and their families who are being financially and emotionally ruined because of his juvenile, ignorant, narcissistic temper tantrum.

Then towards the end of the month we have his State of the Union speech to look forward to. He's constitutionally required to give one each year. I have a feeling it'll go a little something like this:

TRUMP: The state of our union is strong, very strong. So strong you wouldn't believe it, but trust me, it's really strong.

AUDIENCE: (Hysterical laughter and spit takes for the next 30 minutes)

For whatever reason, and maybe it's my blood pressure medicine, I feel there's a actually a chance that this bottomless pit of neo-Nazi, racist, misogynist, homophobic, traitorous, lying, cheating ugliness he's unleashed in the country might gradually be shamed into crawling back under its rock.

I'm hopeful even his base—and really, was there ever a better word to describe his supporters—who apparently like strong white men, must be getting tired of their whining, tiny-handed, porn-star banging, pussy-grabbing crybaby yelling wolf and fake news all the time. Especially now that they've seen exactly how little their paychecks went up, if at all, post-Republican tax reform.

So as far as I'm concerned, 2019 is a clean slate to turn this ship around. Okay, mixed metaphors, but you see where I'm going here. Let's get after it 2019.

To quote Hamilton, history has it's eyes on you.

Hate of the union

You'll thank me later. I'm going to save you an hour of your life. Because of me, you won't have to watch the orange-faced baboon shithole president drone on in his Big Mac induced stupor as he tries to read off a teleprompter and not go off script. I'll sum it all up for you.

The state of the union is fucked.

Let's review shall we? Regardless of what his press secretary—that condescending, arrogant, lying, daughter of a fake Christian—says, the babyhands administration had everything to do with FBI deputy director Andrew McCabe retiring early. It's part of the systematic degrading of the intelligence and law enforcement community the administration claims to love and support. And it's because they're investigating obvious Russian collusion in the election.

I say obvious because just yesterday, despite rare bipartisan agreement on strengthening sanctions against Russia, Trump refused to do it. Also, Republican lackey Devin Nunes drafted a memo, with carefully curated classified information (I was going to say facts, but then I realized who I was talking about) showing alleged FBI bias in the Russia investigation. It will come as no surprise the House Intelligence Committee has voted along party lines to release the misleading memo, even though the Justice department says that would be damaging to national security. It also won't surprise you the committee refuses to release a Democratic memo answering and debunking theirs.

Let's also not forget the firing of James Comey. Or that Mr. Art Of The Deal has said all 17 intelligence agencies, who agree on Russian involvement with both him and the election, are wrong. There's also the constant accusation the entire investigation is a "witch hunt."

The question isn't what does Russia and Putin have on him. The question is what don't they have on him.

The orange menace is an on-the-record proven racist. Misogynist. Liar. White supremacist. Adulterer. Homophobe. Narcissist. Opportunist. Draft dodger. Thin-skinned baby man. Tax evader. He still has not recanted his statement that Nazis chanting "Jews will not replace us!" are "very fine people." Despite his compulsive tweeting, he hasn't managed to put one out offering condolences to the Kentucky school shooting victims and families, for fear of pissing off (and he knows a little something about pissing) the NRA, a suspected channel for Trump money laundering.

But that's just at home. When you have an assclown as big as the fake president, the vulgarity doesn't stop at our borders.

Remember the wall he talked about during the campaign, the one Mexico was going to pay for? Our dipshit president is now insisting U.S. taxpayers foot the bill. Despite the fact a wall might've been a good idea in the 18th century, with today's surveillance technology, photo drones and increased border patrol agents it's a remarkably primitive and outdated idea. My guess is he's hoping no one tells the Mexicans about ladders.

He has obliterated relationships with virtually every one of our allies, including our longest and most loyal one, Great Britain. He has lowered our standing in the world, to the point of the United States being a laughing stock and punchline for having elected him (which technically we didn't since Hillary got 3 million more votes, but that's for another post). He has the smooth, soothing, reassuring diplomatic skills of sandpaper coated in barbed wire. By shooting off his big piehole about North Korea, and weapons he knows nothing about and has no understanding of—other than thinking they make his puny dick look bigger—he has put us in the very real position of having to live with the threat of nuclear war. He has surrendered our leadership position on attacking climate change by withdrawing us from the Paris Accord. We are the only nation on earth not part of it.

There's just too much bad for one post: his taxpayer-funded golf trips. The Muslim ban. His weakening of clean air regulations (brave taking a position against clean air). Appointing people as uniquely unqualified and with as many conflicts of interest as him to cabinet-level positions. The annihilation of the public school system. Affairs with porn stars. Paying off porn stars not to talk about affairs. Leaving millions without healthcare. Eliminating net neutrality. Privatizing prisons for profit. Trying to privatize the FAA. Twitter outbursts against rap artists, Broadway shows, NFL players and Meryl Streep. Proposing a law saying restaurant owners can keep tips their employees earn. Using tonight's speech to fundraise for his re-election campaign by putting donor names onscreen (true fact).

He is a vengeful, vile, vulgar, vicious, villianous and any other derogatory word starting with "V" little man. His agenda has four missions: wipe out all trace of positive changes from Obama's legacy. Line the pockets of corporations and billionaires at the expense of the middle class. Taking a page right out of Joseph Goebbels playbook, he attempts to demean and diminish the press by calling everything they write about him he doesn't like "fake news." And use the presidency to promote his own businesses.

It is a sad, sobering, depressing time in the history of the nation. Still, if he manages to get through tonight's speech without too much improvisation, the delusional and complicit Republican congress will rattle on about how presidential he was, and how he demonstrated genuine leadership.

Maybe they'll even give him a cookie and let him stay up late.

There is a glimmer of good news. He, along with spineless Paul Ryan and ninja turtle reject Mitch McConnell, have hammered a long overdue nail in the Republican party coffin, which only bodes well for the future. Provided he doesn't get us nuked before it gets here. He has unified America and created a political consciousness that hasn't been this vocal or adamant since the '60's.

And thanks to Robert Mueller, a man Trump once considered for Secretary of State, there's no doubt he'll only be a one-term president. Or with any luck, a half-term one.

So get ready for tonight's lie-fest. The biggest one will be the first, when he comes out, waits for all the boot-licking, ass-kissing, brown-nosing Republicans to stop applauding, and then says the state of our nation is strong.

Fortunately for the country and the world, there's every indication the opposition is stronger.

A glowing recommendation

Summer's coming, and it's never too early to start planning that vacation.

Instead of dragging the kids to some boring, expected vacation destination with things to see and do, like Hawaii or New York, why not take them someplace they'll have memories of for a lifetime? Or a half-lifetime.

The Chornobyl Tour sounds like fun for the whole family. Just read all the glowing reviews.

Like me, I'll bet you have a lot of questions about it. I know what my first question would be, and I'm sure I know what yours is too. But—and this is the funny part—it's not the first question on the website's FAQs. That position belongs to this one about cost:

Even with the answer they give, they don't address the hidden costs. You know, things like replacement shoes, burn ointment, vomit bags—lots of vomit bags, toilet paper—lots of toilet paper, wigs and more. But I'm sure you find out about those soon enough. And as far as that top of mind question you were going to ask, don't worry, they do answer it somewhere around number 11 or 12.

Anyway, I think getting a taste of what the post-Apocalyptic landscape is like is a super idea, and especially timely now that the liar-in-chief is president and will probably nuke someplace just to distract us from the Russia story.

We'll be living in it before we know it.

Of course, Chornobyl is in Russia. So the good news is if we can wait just a bit, we'll be able to make reservations for the Precedential Suite in the new Chornobyl Trump Tower.

Don't worry about finding it. The sign is lit up around the clock.

I've always loved Nordstrom

Since this has been a stellar news day for Nordstrom, I decided to go back into the Rotation and Balance archives—all the way to May 2010—and repost an experience I had with them that's forever made me an advocate for the store as well as a regular customer.

Of course, the reason they're in the news today is that they've decided not to continue their business relationship with Ivanka Trump, which means they won't be carrying her merchandise. The reason is because it wasn't selling. Ivanka's dad, the so-called president and liar-in-chief, thinks it was a political move against him.

Here's a little lesson in economics and American capitalism, just in case he's taking a tweet break and having someone read this to him: if it sells, it stays. Simple as that.

The decision wasn't political, but it did coincidentally align with my political leanings. So naturally I was happy about it.

Anyway, I've always loved Nordstrom's, and this post will tell you why. They're an extraordinary store when it comes to customer service. For example, if you bought Ivanka Trump merchandise in the past, I'm sure they'll let you return it with or without a receipt.

You're welcome. And please to enjoy.

There are things in this world I admit I'll never understand. How deep the ocean is. The vastness of the universe. My income tax forms. And why every store can't offer the same extraordinary level of customer service as Nordstrom.

There's such a thing as going the extra step, and then there's going above and beyond above and beyond. Which is exactly what Nordstom's did for me.

If you know me at all, you know I practically live in black shirts. Specifically lightweight, black corduroy shirts from Nordstrom. These magnificent shirts are incredibly comfortable and amazingly versatile. They're equally at home whether the occasion is formal or casual. They save me a lot of decision making when it comes to what I'm going to wear - kind of like Jeff Goldblum's closet filled with all the same outfits in The Fly. (Point of fact: I'm much more careful going through the transponder).

But I digress.

When I first saw these shirts, it was love. So I bought four of them, thinking that would be plenty to last me. But the years take their toll, and the shirts became threadbare, torn, and faded. I admit I took them for granted. I always thought I'd just be able to hop over to Nordstrom and get some more.

Come to find out that wasn't the case.

When I couldn't find them in the store, I went online. They weren't there either. So I sent an email to a Nordstrom customer service person who replied they no longer carried the shirts and weren't planning on getting them in. I asked if they could special order them, and the answer was a polite no.

Here's the thing - "no" is not an answer I'm fond of taking. I decided to take my case higher up the Nordstrom food chain.

I got the name of a senior management person - let's call him Dave - who I thought might be a good person to talk to. After explaining my situation in an email to him, he said he'd see what he could do and get back to me.

Not only did he get back to me, he got back with the answer I was hoping for.

He said even though they didn't stock the shirts, there was a person in their product development department - let's call her Annie - who could make it happen. Annie figured out that they had enough of the material to make four sample shirts. They'd be made at the sample shop instead of on the line, dyed black, hand-stitched, and they'd be just like the original shirts.

Except custom ordered, hand-made and mine.

So the shirts will arrive this week. I'm forever grateful to Dave for his responsiveness, and Annie for her extraordinary efforts to insure I got the merchandise I was looking for. And to both of them for demonstrating that genuine customer service does still exist.

When you see me wearing one, you may not know it's one of the shirts that Nordstrom hand-made for me.

Don't worry. I'll tell you.

A way out

If you follow me on Facebook, you know what was once a snarky, funny, advertising-bashing feed has turned into one long, deservedly anti-Trump rant 24/7. In light of that, this post may surprise you with its sympathetic tone.

Here's what we all know: Mr. Trump never thought he was going to win the presidency, which was fine with him because he never really wanted the job. What he wanted was publicity and his name in the papers and broadcast news everyday. Then he was going to leverage his provable popularity into a favorable deal for a Trump Network, where one can only assume you'd be able to find reruns of man-crush Sean Hannity, and yet another reboot of the Odd Couple starring Ann Coulter and Rush Limbaugh (SPOILER ALERT: Limbaugh's the sloppy one).

I know the nation wants a way out, and doggone it, judging from how tired he looks and incoherent his thoughts seem to be, I bet Mr. Trump does too.

I'd like to suggest he write a resignation letter, a bold, unexpectedly honest letter to the Secretary of State—who is the person who accepts that letter—and the nation, and simply explain the situation.

And because I'm a giver at heart, I'd like to offer him this draft:

Dear Mr. Secretary of State,

Well, it's been a crazy few weeks. Certainly far more active in every sense than I would've expected. Executive orders, banning Muslims, repealing Obamacare, the protests. Frankly, I'm spent.

Here's the thing: I never wanted the job. I had the kind of life many people admired. Money, beautiful wife, children I like a great deal, my own building in mid-town Manhattan. Don't forget the jet—pretty nice rolling up to runway 25 Left and seeing that baby fueled and ready.

Anyway, the point is I'm tendering my resignation as President of the United States. I believe my biggest campaign promise of bringing the nation together has been done. Mission accomplished. Have you seen those protests? You tell me the last time people were united like that. You're welcome.

Effective immediately, Mike Pence will assume the office of President. Now, Pence is not the ideal man for the job, and let's face it—I'm a tough act to follow. But he knows how government works much better than I do, and he's less likely to launch the missiles over a disagreement. I can admit it, I've got a temper. I'm working on it.

Besides, I was never going to help my base anyway. Did they really think I cared if they had jobs or not? I mean, I could hire a few of them to pull weeds on the back nine at Mar-A-Lago, but that would still leave a lot of them needing jobs.

I know the mayhem I've caused. But it was a wild ride, no? And Pence will look like a hero just for not getting everyone killed. You're welcome Mike.

I also miss Melania. She never cared for D.C. very much, and I can't blame her. I want to be back at Trump Tower, tweeting without all these people telling me not to, and not causing havoc when I say what's on my mind. Which, as you know, is subject to change even within the same sentence.

Frankly, the longer I'm here the more I recognize two things. First, who needs the aggravation? And number two, Obama handled this much better than I can. He's smart, he's calm, he's well spoken. For a guy born in Kenya, you can't do better.

So that's it. United the people. Put America first. Got Alec Baldwin a steady gig. It's time to go back to private life. Johnny, fuel Trump One for take off. Moscow, then Manhattan.

It's been tremendous people, but we're done here. God bless me, and God bless the United States of America.

Although they won't need it nearly as much now that I'm gone.

Yours truly,
President the Donald

Hearing it differently

I've always been a big fan of Ben E. King's Stand By Me (if you recall, and I believe you should have perfect recall of every post I write, I posted an article with several versions of the song here). To me, it's not just one of the great vocals of all time, but also one of the great songs of all time in its purity and simplicity.

Like everything else in life, what it means and who it's being sung to are open to interpretation. Over the years when I've heard it, I've often thought it was a song about lovers and loyalty, staying with each other no matter what.

But today, I have a different take on it.

Here's my truth: it's getting harder and harder to maintain a sense of humor when our country is being dismantled by a mentally unstable, billionaire (?) dictator and the neo-Nazi pulling his strings behind the curtain. I wake up with a sick sense of dread every day, convinced it can't be happening, yet slapped in the face by the reality of the situation with every newscast and social media post about politics.

I know I'm not the only one. There are at least seventy million in this boat with me.

Not to sound preachy (although it may be too late for that), smug or sanctimonious, but in this stark, stripped-down version of Stand By Me sung by Tracy Chapman—which I left out of my original post about the song—I hear something different. In this version, in this time, in this country, it feels like the voices of democracy, decency, morality, kindness, humanity and all things good crying out for us not to abandon them. Is hearing verses about the sky falling and mountains crumbling so far fetched in a time when an egotistical, ignorant, morally and intellectually bankrupt liar has control of the nuclear arsenal? Is it?

This particular version, to me, is everything good about America crying out, asking us to save her and be there for her.

I plan on doing that every second this narcissistic sociopath manages to stay in office.

Again, I know I'm not the only one.

The midnight hour

It sounds like something out of science fiction, but sadly it's not. The Doomsday Clock.

The DC is a symbolic clock face kept by the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists that has the joyful job of counting down the minutes to a worldwide catastrophe. Events like that can be caused by more things than anyone's comfortable with.

At the top of the list is global nuclear war, but ever since 2007, climate change is also up there.

Currently, the clock is set at three minutes to midnight, where it's been for the last couple years. That's alarmingly close, considering way back in 1991 it was set at seventeen minutes to midnight, the furthest it's ever been since its inception. That was because the US and USSR had signed the Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty (START), and in December of that year the Soviet Union was dissolved along with much of the threat.

But as Bob Dylan said, the times they are a changin'.

Nowadays (I'm bringing that word back), seems like every country regardless of size either has or is working on developing a device. The world's an increasingly dangerous place. Sure, you could get hit by a car crossing the street, but at least you wouldn't take the other three billion people with you.

But just for fun, let's say, hypothetically, between the Science and Security Board's last meeting to set the clock and their next one, we elected a temper-mentally, judgmentally, thin-skinned, ignorant, vindictive, arrogant, stupid, childish, unqualified individual for President. Someone who has no control over what comes out of his mouth, and complete control of the nuclear arsenal.

It's a scary thought, right?

In a scenario like that, it's fair to assume the scientists might tick the clock forward a minute or two, since a President like that would definitely be, without putting too much hyperbole on it, a threat to our very existence.

For all our sakes, let's hope the big hand on the clock stays where it is, or even pray for some development that allows it to move backwards a few minutes.

Because while the clock itself is metaphorical, the danger is very real.

Annie was wrong

I don't know if you've heard, but tomorrow is the inauguration of the 45th President of the United States.

Unfortunately, much to the dismay of most of the civilized world, and over half and rising of voters here in America, it seems that in this election cycle, in what can only be described as a freak accident, Donald Trump will be sworn in to the highest, most powerful office in the world.

Let that sink in for a minute.

Tomorrow. That's when it all happens. I'm sorry, I want so much to share her optimism and believe Annie when she says the sun'll come out tomorrow. But I just can't find any reason to. In my heart I believe, as I imagine does every person burdened with conscious and a sense of right and wrong, that the sun won't come out tomorrow.

In fact, just the opposite.

I believe we're going to be plunged into an era of political and dictatorial darkness, where all the progress made over the last fifty or so years—certainly the last eight—will be reversed by the most mentally, intellectually, experientially, temperamentally, judgmentally and morally unqualified person to ever hold the office, along with his band of equally corrupt billionaire friends.

It's a con inside a sham inside a fraud.

The idea by his supporters that this narcissistic, money-grubbing, self-centered, thin-skinned, selfish, crass, tasteless, indecent, disgusting, offensive billionaire has any concern for them is the greatest trick of all time. But then you know what they say:

So while the sun may not come out tomorrow, protesters around the world will. I plan to join them, to be part of the resistance to the ugliness that already is the Trump administration.

With any luck, the next four years that start tomorrow will only seem like a couple months at best. And if we're really lucky, and congress and reasonable Republicans come to their senses, maybe that's all it will be.

That's when the sun'll come out again.

Bombs away

It doesn't take much to figure out what the incoming administration's foreign policy will be.

Speak loudly, in incomplete sentences that make no sense, repeat words like "tremendously" and "bigly" several times, make it sound like total gibberish and carry a big stick.

If you can lift it with those tiny baby hands.

It's clear that with this dipshit elect we're stuck with, whoever looks at us the wrong way, or tweets something he doesn't like is going to get what's coming to them. There's nothing subtle about it. It's right there in the open, almost mob-like in its approach.

"Hey Angela Merkel, noticed you didn't agree with me on Paris climate change agreement. You know, Germany's a nice country. Be a shame somethin' happened to it."

He's a humorless, thin-skinned bully and a thug. And his sons Uday and Qusay are no better.

What I find interesting is way back in 1972, whether it was a premonition, prediction or some other word that starts with a "P", Randy Newman called it. Forty-five years ago he basically laid out in song what the dipshit elect's foreign policy is going to look like.

Back then it was a funny, harmless, politically astute song with a catchy melody that had anyone who heard it singing along on the first listen.

I've seen Randy Newman many times over the years, everywhere from the Troubadour to Royce Hall at UCLA. I've always loved him, and it's still a great song.

It's just not so funny anymore.

Enjoy the ride

If you only had seven days to live, what would you be doing right now? No really, I'm asking.

We're one week away from having the most mentally, intellectually, temperamentally, morally and experientially unqualified person inaugurated as President of the United States.

As you know, besides the big plane, freeway closings, a 24/7 kitchen and great seats at the Kennedy Center (well, maybe not this time), one of the perks of the job is he's the keeper of the nuclear codes, and can launch those suckers anytime he wants at anyone he wants completely unchecked.

He doesn't need congressional approval.

Doesn't have to consult with anyone.

He doesn't even need a witness in the room when he turns the key, or presses the button, or puts his hand on the scanner, or pulls the string or whatever the fuck he does to make it happen.

What could possibly go wrong?

Put the codes together with a thin-skinned, temperamental, vengeful, eighth-grade bully like the one we somehow find ourselves with, and soon every day is going to feel like the fourth of July. Or at least the last one will.

Just want to remind everyone, especially the people who voted for him, that your candidate is someone who's asked several times why, if we have nuclear weapons, can't we use them. It was explained to him each time he asked, but he still kept asking.

I'm not a scientist, but I know for a fact all the people who put on their "I'm with stupid" t-shirts, shitkicker shoes and hopped in their pickups to drive to the polling place and vote for him will vaporize just as quickly as the rest of us.

Maybe faster if you take the moonshine into consideration.

But don't let any of that worry you. In fact, let me give you the same advice about the incoming administration I'd give you about the Matterhorn at Disneyland.

Enjoy the ride. It won't last long.

Have the best 19 days ever!

Happy New Year! I think this one is going to be spectacularly great. I mean that. After all, it can't be any worse than 2016, amirite? Truth be told, I think 2017 will be the best year any of us can remember. All nineteen days of it.

I know, I can hear you saying, "But Jeff, aren't there 365 days in a year?" Well sure, in a normal year. But 2017 isn't going to be a normal year. For starters, our dipshit elect is going to be sworn in on January 20th. Which coincidentally, I believe, is the day the world as we know it will end.

We already know, and he confirms it on a daily basis, that he will be the most mentally, emotionally and morally unqualified person ever to hold the office of President of the United States. If anything good is going to happen before he gets us into a nuclear war with China, sinks the stock market, destroys the environment and makes the air unbreathable, it's going to happen in the first nineteen days of the year.

So my recommendation is live it up. Go to Vegas, fly to Paris, pour gas on the credit cards, kiss whoever's there at the moment, drive fast (I mean even faster), eat badly (I mean even worse) and get ready to go out with a big, fat, toothless, trailer-trash smile on your face.

And if for some odd, unexpected reason—a speedy impeachment (please, please, please) or an act of God (this is the prayer to answer)—he's removed from office quickly and we all manage to continue on with our lives, don't even give a second thought to the many acts of complete abandon, ribaldry and debasement you just committed.

Decency, truth or consequences for your actions won't be coming back for at least another fifty years.

Ron Paul got it wrong on this one

Despite what some of my friends think, it's been a very long time since I've been a liberal Democrat. In recent years, I've been much more of a centrist.

I've always liked Ron Paul. And I find myself agreeing with many of his libertarian points of view. Often times, especially with the debates he's been involved in, he's the only one making any sense (although it's not hard to look that way standing next to Rick Perry or Michele Bachmann).

Every time I've ever listened to Ron Paul, whether it's been in this election or the last one, he seems to come from two places other politicians fear to tread.

The truth. And common sense.

But with this week's killing of Anwar Awlaki, I'm afraid Ron Paul got it wrong. Here's what he said about it:

I can't decide whether to take his statement line by line or overall, so I'll do a bit of both.

He starts by saying he doesn't think it's a good way to deal with our problems. I agree with that. For things like urban blight, water shortages, disaster relief, unemployment, the recession, poverty and most of the other problems the country faces, a Predator missile probably isn't the go-to solution.

But the killing of Awlaki wasn't symbolic of how we handle everything. The action was only designed to handle one problem. Which it did exactly as intended.

Paul goes on to naively say Awlaki was never tried or charged, and no one knows if he killed anybody. This is disappointing because it seems so self-serving. He could've said the same about Bin Laden. The truth is there actually are people who know that Awlaki killed and orchestrated the killing of innocent Americans. And since Paul sits on the House Foreign Affairs Committee, he knows it.

The part about how sad he thinks it is if Americans blindly and casually accept a practice of the president assassinating people he thinks are bad guys is pure manipulation. I don't think Americans blindly or casually accept the killing of anyone.

But Awlaki wasn't just anyone. He was and has been an immediate threat to the country for years. These weren't the first missiles we fired at him.

Ron Paul is a brilliant man. He knows Obama takes the fight against terrorism extremely seriously (just look at the scorecard). If by "bad guys" he means international terrorists intent and dedicated to destroying American interests and killing as many innocent Americans as possible anywhere in the world, then I have some bad news for Congressman Paul.

I have no problem accepting that. According to the polls, neither do most Americans.

There also seems to be a lot of outcry about the fact Awlaki was American-born, and we shouldn't be assassinating American citizens. Truthfully, I haven't noticed a sudden rash of American citizen assassinations being ordered by Obama. One of his good qualities is that he's pretty selective about who to pull the trigger on.

As far as I can tell, so far it's been pirates and terrorists.

But, you know, every job comes with occupational hazards no matter where you're from. When you list international terrorist at the top of your resume, the risk of Predator missiles just comes with the territory.

Especially if the territory is Yemen or Pakistan.

So, I'm glad we got Awlaki. I'm disappointed in Ron Paul, although I still believe much of what he says is dead on.

By the way, while I do think there are easier ways to get it, it's worth noting that Obama received support from both sides of the aisle on this decision.

Ron Paul is certainly entitled to his opinions. But the idea of the presidency is to represent the majority of Americans.

And on this particular action, I don't think Ron Paul does.