Day: October 22, 2024

The Trump Dream

It was a wild night of dreams. The final remembered one was one of those types of dreams where it was like a movie. I was watching and removed, but also knew myself as a character.

In this case, I as Donald J. Trump. Yes, that guy.

Except, I was a little person.

I was Donald J. Trump as a little person, mango hue and all, wearing a poorly fitting blue suit with a long red tie.

To open, there had been murders. The police were questioning me (Donald Trump) and others about the murder. I was the murderer, but I was fooling the detectives. I thought I was getting away with it. So, I turned my back to the investigative scene and smirked with pleasure because I was going free. But I still eavesdropped on what was being said behind me about possible new evidence.

I, Donald J. Trump, murderer, had overlooked some potentially incriminating evidence. But knowing where it was I quickly stole away.

Moving casually but fast, I hustled along the small town’s winding roads until I reached a broad pond with a rocky shore. Three elderly men were in a small rowboat just off shore. They were drinking whiskey from bottles. Further out on an outcrop of rocks was a clear plastic toilet bag. Inside it were some small plastic bottles. I knew my DNA was on that bag. It would link me to one of the murders.

Noises were coming up from behind. A black female detective was striding forward. I called out to the three men in the boat in my Trump voice, “Excuse me, fellows, can you do me a favor? Can you reach over to that rock, get that bag, and toss it back to me?”

Number one, I was wearing white gloves, and pointed at the bag as I spoke. Two, the men were a little inebriated. My request needed to be repeated clarified. Understanding and agreement came. They rowed over and got the toilet bag.

But the detective had come up by now. A look of pure evil overtaking my expression, I called to the men, “Just drop that in the water, okay?”

The detective called out, “That’s evidence in a murder case. Please be careful and bring it to me.”

One of the men was holding the bag aloft. He looked from me (Trump) to the detective and back to me. Then he let go of the bag.

Plop it went into the water. The men chuckled.

Smirking, I said, “Thank you, fellows,” and walked away on my short legs.

I’d gotten away with it.

Dream end.

2

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: Pepperyfresh

An endless duvet of clouds challenges the sky. Flat and almost featureless, the clouds vary in tones of blue, white, and gray. Sunshine is out there because it’s daytime but the heat and light are undercover. A cold layer has settled across Ashlandia’s soul and the trees’ colors are fading as they shed leaves. 48 F now, we’ll clock out at 58 F today.

Received my molasses mail for my planned surgery yesterday. Gotta call it molasses mail because snail mail conjures too much speed for how slow local mail is in this age. Been waiting and waiting for that piece from my surgeon’s office, wondering where it was.

My surgeon’s office is about twenty miles up the Interstate from Ashland, in our region’s largest city, Medford. Recent local posts claim that mail between Medford and Ashland now requires seventeen days. That’s because Louis DeJoy reorganized things to make the USPS more like a business. So our mail takes days of traveling, handling, and waiting. It’s picked up in Medford, goes north up I-5, gets processed, and comes back down south via I-5 to travel the final twenty miles. I can’t testify that seventeen days is accurate, but that package did take over ten days.

Hell, twenty miles, they could have walked it over in less time. This is the GOP idea of ‘progress’.

Meantime, not having that letter caused confusion. It informed me that they would be reaching out to me to make a pre-op appointment, and what would happen during it. The document set up milestones and provided instructions. Meanwhile, the electronic side of the system hummed along. I received email notification of the pre-op last week, along with the post-op appointments. I guessed the gist of all of that but it sure would have been nice to have the explanatory documents beforehand. Guess the med system needs to change its methodology now that Louis DeJoy broke the postal system. It’s another reason to give thanks to D.J. Trump, who appointed jackass DeJoy.

Makes you shudder to think of how badly Trump would break the government with Project 2025 as his instruction manual.

With the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame happenings taking place, The Neurons revisited music by the various inductees. Dionne Warwick, Mary J. Blige, Kool & The Gang, A Tribe Called Quest, and the Dave Mathews Band. Cher, Ozzy Osborne, Foreigner, and Peter Frampton. Awesome music and a wide range of superb tunes were put out by these performers.

I ended up with A Tribe Called Quest playing “I Left My Wallet in El Segundo” in the morning mental music stream (Trademark famous). It was a confluence of factors guiding the choice. My wife and I went to leave the house, and I said, “Oh, wait, I left my wallet in the office.” As I’d just been reading and remembering songs, Der Neurons instantly pounced with “I Left My Wallet in El Segundo”. The song has a steady, hip moving beat and humorous lyrics about a road trip that goes askew. Who hasn’t had something like that happen? Well, I imagine there are a number of people who haven’t had one askew, but came close enough to identify.

Here we go, time to rock and roll. Coffee and I are bopping along ago, and my pulse has acquired some strength to it. Be strong, stay positive, test negative, and vote blue. Here’s the music. Cheers

2

Tuesday’s Political Thoughts

Donald Trump is cancelling things. Some reports claim it’s exhaustion.

I’m not surprised. Of course he’s feeling exhausted. He pretended to work at McDonald’s for fifteen minutes.

Snark aside — and yes, that was snark — as this article points out, he’s been canceling many interviews and appearances. Seems like he lacks energy. Not a good sign to me for someone who wants to occupy the Oval Office and its high demands.

What’s really fucking hilarious is that this poseur — that’d be Trump — has his campaign put out a statement about Kamala Harris lying about her McDonald’s employment in her youth. Isn’t it laughable how someone stages a stunt like this and lies about it, and then claims the other person is lying about? Seems like clear projection, doesn’t it?

The simple truth that Trump and his campaign are trying to hide is that he’s too old and in poor physical condition. Certainly looks too old and in poor shape, AI creations showing him as a buff individual aside. His reported diet is not one of a healthy individual. Certainly the person in that AI creation that shows Trump as a Steeler player would not be too exhausted to keep campaigning.

What is that word that Trump likes to call others? Oh, yes: LOSER. Yes, that’s it. Trump is a fake and a loser. As we close on election day and the pressure increases, he shows more and more cracks. His mask keps slipping, and he’s falling apart in the national arena.

Put a younger person in office. One not tainted by felony convictions as Trump is. One who has the energy for the job. Vote blue. Elect Kamala Harris as President of the United States.

2

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