Saturday, September 17, 2016

Saturday Song Selection – Linda Ronstadt: When I Grow too Old to Dream

In an age of acute anger, acrimony, antagonism, severe struggle and strife - when a stranger than fiction, cartoon villain’s possible ascendancy to the presidency threatens not only the future of the United States, but the very existence of the entire planet - can the gentle, the tender and the pacific permeate the madness and insanity and rise above it all to succor and “soothe a savage breast?”

A Savage Breast

On a recent sleepless, late evening when pondering what next to pen, my head spun in slumber-less perplexion over the vast varieties of viable new negative Donald Trump essays. Just that very morn, a radio interview had been uncovered from the afternoon of September 11th 2001, in which Trump happily bragged and preened about owning the tallest tower in lower Manhattan as a result of the terrorist’s destruction of the World Trade center, earlier that day. Such is the sickness and maliciousness in the mind of this Mephistopheles that as thousands perished, he found cause for celebration and self-serving swagger.

Donald Trump is a man of profound evil and severe mental infirmity who proudly and publicly proves it on a daily basis – every sentence spoken a revelation of revulsion, every word an expression of ignominy, every syllable a poisonous perversion - but it doesn’t matter. Hour by hour, his actions and statements are an open exhibition of bigotry, hatred and a deceased mind, and his poll numbers do nothing but improve.

Music Hath Charms   

Against this background of biliousness and repetitive repugnance, can anything calm a fevered, furious and frustrated soul – a songbird from salad days, perhaps? As the wee small hours grew even, well, "wee-er," as I tossed and turned between the 650 thread count percales, aggravated, agitated and anxious, worried about rousing for the work day, now not all that many more clock ticks away - suddenly into my embittered brain, shockingly out of the blue, sans external source of music or melody, sent from a non-existent Nirvana to sooth and mollify, came vivid memories of Linda Ronstadt crooning “When I Grow too Old to Dream." Upon this unexpected arrival of a beautiful woman, with a beautiful voice and a beautiful interpretation, Trump momentarily disappeared somewhere into a recess of the cerebrum or cerebellum. I sought out the song on the Spotify apped Samsung by my side, which, once heard. fostered a temporary tranquility, a peaceful retirement, and for this night at least, a suspension of any further windmill tilting.

When I Grow too Old to Dream

Composed by Sigmund Romberg and Oscar Hammerstein II for the 1935 film, "The Night Is Young"  (a favorite of “… and several butcher’s aprons” devotees across the globe) this stalwart of the Great American Songbook has a rich recording history, having been sung by, among many others, Nelson Eddy, Nat King Cole, Della Reese, Dinah Shore, Doris Day, Dennis Day, Dakota Staton, The Everly Brothers, Julie London, Louis Armstrong, Cliff Richard, Jimmy Dean, Dame Kiri Te Kanawa, and the legend that is, Slim Whitman.

Linda Ronstadt forever put her indelible and unforgettable stamp on this classic when she recorded it for her 1978 album, “Living in the U.S.A.” For those who prefer felt and plastic to flesh and bones, shortly after its release, Ms. Ronstadt also performed the song on an episode of “The Muppet Show.”

Lovely Linda has made a pair of previous appearances on the Saturday Song Selection feature, having been a favorite of nycityman, lo these many decades since she pa rum pum pum pummed a “Different Drum” and loved us for a “Long Long Time.” If so inclined, please follow these links for more on the Rock and Roll Hall of Famer.


“So, kiss me my sweet
And so let us part
And when I grow too old to dream
That kiss will live in my heart
And when I grow too old to dream
That kiss will live in my heart”

Any comments, questions, criticisms, candid confessions, cash contributions? Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com.

Sunday, September 11, 2016

September 11th – A 15 Year Remembrance

Saluting a Regular Jo

“O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife.
Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!”

“I was born in Staten Island,” is not a phrase frequently professed by yours truly, nycityman.  It struck me fairly early on that New York’s most bucolic borough was meant to be but a temporary way station as, like Tony Manero before me, I yearned for the glitz, glamour and citification of Manhattan (the four floor walk up, bathtub in the kitchen and plague of roaches and mice were just unanticipated character-adding bonuses), after all, “how ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm, after they've seen Paree'?”  And by Paree, I suppose, I mean Greenwich Village, after four valuable and enjoyable years matriculating at New York University.

But, all of the above being said, when it comes to the horrific events of September 11, 2001, anyone ever associated with New York’s “forgotten borough” can both, point with great pride at the courage and bravery displayed by the significant number of first responders who hailed from Staten Island, as well as mourn for the large loss of life resulting from their selfless sacrifices.

Now, we are a country full of rage, animosity and division. Such was not always the case. There was a time - a mere decade and a half ago, before a sexist, misogynist, hate-filled white supremacist fabricated his ignorant ways to the Republican Presidential nomination, filling his followers with unfounded fears and prejudices, and turning American citizen against American citizen - when we were once united and loyal. Once we were caring and concerned. And once we were humane and compassionate.  In light of the current ugly political atmosphere and in commemoration of those we lost and those who gave so much of themselves on that terrible day, and the days, weeks and months that followed, I proudly share the tale of a hero who has not forgotten what empathy, kindness and consideration is, nor abandoned the ideals and responsibilities of being an American. This is the story of fellow Staten Islander, Firefighter Jo Jo Esposito.

 Jo Jo Esposito
 "In the tradition of the fire department, we take care of our own”- Jo Jo Esposito

Jo Jo Esposito has served his country, city and community, going on 32 years, as a valiant and committed member of New York’s Bravest, the Fire Department of New York, Rescue 5, in Staten Island. As was the case with so many from the metropolitan area, particularly those of his chosen, gallant profession, September 11th was a day of dire devastation and severe sorrow, when 11 of the firefighters from his unit, including his own brother and cousin, perished in the line of their very dangerous duties.

Left in the wake of this tragedy were 26 fatherless children. Perhaps, one man can do just so much to attempt to counter such grievous, heartbreaking and painful circumstances, and many would never even try, but Jo Jo felt the need and obligation to act, and from that disastrous day, and for the 15 years that have followed, he has shouldered the burden of duty, and love, and served as surrogate father to the offspring of his fallen comrades.

Katelyn Mascali’s father died that day, and for her Jo Jo has been a Godsend, "I'm sure I speak for all of the children of Rescue 5 that we really do get a little piece of our fathers when we’re with him. I know I can feel my dad whenever I'm with him, and it’s an amazing thing."

Madeline Bergin, a widow of those attacks, similarly expressed her appreciation, "It just really, really struck me at that point because he was going through the same loss that we were going through, and his major concern was about us and our families.”

He doesn’t seek recognition, fame or praise, but only wishes to fulfill his calling and responsibility as a firefighter, a friend and an American. And for all of the children and wives who have dealt so long with so much loss, he has been a shoulder to cry on, a father figure to turn to, and a companion to rely on, in times of need and when just facing the everyday burdens of life. At every holiday, graduation, birthday and wedding, Jo Jo has been there for his family from Rescue 5.

On this somber anniversary, it’s good to remember the everyday people, the ordinary citizens, who have stepped up and done the extraordinary. We close with a few more words of gratitude from those whom Jo Jo has touched with his love and generosity of spirit –

"When you think of a father, you think of someone that’s always there for you, you think of a hero, you think of someone that’s always in your corner" - Massimo DiDonna

"That’s how I want to be as a person or an adult in this world, that whenever a friend or family member calls, I'm the first person there, and that’s what Jo Jo has taught me” - Shannon Bergin

“O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!”

He was a singular genius, the likes of which we will never see again. Performing the finest interpretation of America the Beautiful, live, just weeks after the 9-11 attacks, the legend, Ray Charles.

Any comments, questions, criticisms, candid confessions, cash contributions? Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com.

Monday, September 5, 2016

Will’s Last Testament

“Take me to the river
And wash me down.
Won't you cleanse my soul
Put my feet on the ground?" – Al Green

For Sharon

Point one - before proceeding any further, Will is not, in actuality, this stalwart blogger’s moniker. They call me nycityman.
Point two – no matter how exhaustive an investigation and exploration by government agency or outside organization, no individual named Will can be found upon these premises. I fancied the title, and so, ingrained in my brain it remained.  On occasion, that occurs.

Note: As an attempt at maintaining some sense of propriety, and with recognition to the sensitive nature of the subject matter, relevant aspects have been illustrated with images from the Operation board game.

That’s Life

At some stage in your lengthy, healthy, satisfying and gratifying existence, creeping in as stealthily and silently as Sandburg’s fog “on little cat feet,” and as gradually and as unwanted and unwelcome as mildew on your shower stall grout (the strangest combination of references ever put to paper) that sad season of life arrives when you realize that it is no longer your parent’s friend’s wakes and funerals at which you suffer, but rather those of your own beloved and acquainted ones. The clock and calendar never stall or reverse, and time bows to no man.

Recently, a dear friend of mine left us, and in wake of such a loss, one tends to ponder his own lack of immortality, and the plans made, or not made, for that rapidly advancing day when the internet will have one fewer verbose and opinionated blogger to ignore.  Surviving to an age where the notion of passing is no passing fancy, I have made some of my wishes known verbally, but there has been no session with paper spooled in the old Olivetti, and so any or all of my post-life desires would indisputably be disregarded by Judge Mathis or Judge Mablean or by whichever important and impressive jurist might deliberate my after-death details.

There are indeed preparations to be planned and plans to be prepared – there are internet histories to be expunged, incriminating papers, records and photographs to be incinerated, chorines and pipers to be hired, trampolines to be rented, songs to be written, riches to be rewarded, previously unknown heirs to be located, and contracts to be negotiated allowing Ken Burns the legal rights to produce the 38 part PBS biographical documentary series, “Nycityman – a Life of Little Consequence.”

The idea of sharing these thoughts, considering the topic’s innate ghoulishness, and solemn finality, begs a light touch and an approach, I believe, stressing the inherent darker humor. And as the majority of the hours Sharon and I enjoyed together, almost always with our friend Alex – we dubbed ourselves the Mod Squad, one white, one black, one blonde – was spent irreverently and comically, with the exception of frequent griping about our mutual place of employ, it is most fitting and appropriate, and would meet with her approval, if what follows has a waggish bent to it.

I Only Have Eyes For You

We temporarily pause the programming in progress for a brief organ interlude. In the unlikely event that doctors should excavate anything salvageable from a body that is less a temple, more a Sabrett’s hot dog cart, if any organs remain that still possess some utility, despite the probable lingering aroma of Brooklyn Lager and Sauvignon Blanc – like a 5 year old girl in a Chinese Apple iPhone factory, those vital lifesavers must be put to work! Keep nycityman alive, ticking away in the hearts and eyes and kidneys of other more animated folks – a modern, “Modern Prometheus.”

I’ve Seen Fire, I’ve Seen Rain

If I might be so bold, if I may beg a favor, if it’s not asking too, too much - I would truly appreciate it if whomever is tasked with the next unpleasant step makes it their urgent business to be concretely sure, beyond any possible questioning, that my last shoe has been shined,  my concluding karaoke tune caterwauled and my tale terminated,  before commencing with cremation - keeping in mind that I am both a late and heavy sleeper, and on certain evenings will take a Tylenol PM before slumber. Please seek out the certainty of a second opinion and don’t assume satisfaction in the high-percentage assertation of Dr. Chip, the neighborhood Walgreen’s pharmacist. Thank you.

Take Me to the River

“England swing like a pendulum do,” and never more so than when you’ve just flown slightly under 3500 miles, carefully cradling a container filled with the ashy remains of one awfully demanding former friend, fulfilling the extremely inconvenient request of having London’s River Thames as his final resting place – forever afloat among the Malteser wrappers and New Castle bottles, because for some particularly dense Yanks, sporting Jermyn Street finery, crooning the Kinks, and memorizing Monty Python equates to British citizenry and a rewarding of the O.B.E.

Should the expectations expressed fall fallow and unfulfilled, the being once known as nycityman, at said juncture, much like Python’s famed Norwegian Blue, dead, deceased, sans life, null and void of consciousness, no more, ceased to be, expired and gone to meet his maker, a stiff, bereft of life, pushing up the daisies, off the twig, kicked the bucket, shuffled off the mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible, an ex-person, will be thoroughly and completely unaware of such ungranted wishes, but it never hurts to ask.

And in conclusion, the only clergyman who might possibly have the slightest chance of getting me to step foot in a house of worship again – the great, the soulful, the coolest cleric to ever clip on a collar, that most righteous reverend,  Al Green and “Take Me to the River.”

Any comments, questions, criticisms, candid confessions, cash contributions?  Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com.

Sunday, August 14, 2016

Presidential Envy – Sizing Up Trump’s Place in History

 “When I was a little bitty boy,
My Grandmother bought me a cute little toy,
Silver bells hanging on a string,
She told me it was my Ding-a-ling”- 
Chuck Berry

Today we return to the glorious yesteryears of this current Presidential campaign, to a time thousands of Trump gaffes ago - before assassination recommendations, Gold Star Family prize fights or treasonous alliances with Putin and the Russian mob;  to a much simpler, sillier era, when we naively believed that bragging about the girth and length of his (how shall I tactfully state this) John Thomas, in front of an audience of millions in the midst of a GOP candidate’s debate, would be sufficient evidence that Trump was unqualified emotionally, psychologically and developmentally for his name to even be set in newspaper type alongside the phrase “Commander in Chief.” Little could we innocents conceive, perceive or imagine the nonstop barrage of insanity that was yet to come.

Far be it for this pinko, Liberal blog page to suddenly join the ranks of apologists for Donald J., the worst, most unfit, mentally unstable and sexually criminal candidate for office in any district, county, city, state, country or nation-state since the dawn of mankind;  including dog catcher, urine cake replacer or ancient Roman vomitorium rinser (although, honestly, I doubt those last two are genuinely elected positions) but when your crack staff of researchers, interns, barristers, baristas, mixologists and masseuses burn the midnight oil (or body oil, in the case of the masseuses) and turn up relevant, inexpungable evidence, counter or not to pre-established political leanings and opinions, the truth, as unpleasant and ugly as it may be, must be reported.  So, while any rational being would be wise in assuming that Trump’s self-reverential allusion to, and glorification of, his genitalia would be unheard of and unique in American presidential lore, (here comes the exaggerated and obvious comic setup) the aforementioned investigation has proven that such is not the case. Yes, many previous occupants of the Oval Office have mentioned their manhood, (should I begin shameful apologies yet) and as a respected and responsible reporter of Americana, I would be remiss in not presenting these historical facts (and when I say "facts" I have my fingers crossed behind my back.)


“Look at these hands. Are these small hands? If they’re small, something else must be small. I guarantee you there’s no problem, I guarantee you.” – Donald Trump: Unbelievably, an actual United States Presidential Nominee 
(Blog author editorial commentary, “Eeeewwww!”)

We shall commence this extremely enlightening and educational entry with a handful of genuine, unedited quotes containing, now obvious, organ-esque references that history has somehow forever been misinterpreting. Thankfully, Trump’s improper presidential posture now shines a dimmed scarlet light on some more risqué readings.

“Speak softly and carry a big stick.” – Teddy "Barry White" Roosevelt (come on, how did we miss that one?)

“We do things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.” – John F. Kennedy (mea culpa to all of the many generations of Kennedys, Smiths and Shrivers)

 “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.” – Thomas Jefferson (always the wishful thinker)

“There are some people, you know, they think the way to be a big man is to shout and stomp and raise hell-and then nothing ever really happens. I'm not like that I never shoot blanks.” -  Richard M. Nixon (proudly potent!)

“Be sure you put your feet in the right place, then stand firm.” - Abraham Lincoln (from the pre-presidential, little-known publication, “Abe and Mary’s Steps to a Satisfying Sex Life.”)

As this is, and shall always remain, a blog free of gutter language, to be enjoyed and shared by all family members, the section to follow will have certain words edited out and replaced with a blank space to be filled only by your vivid imaginations.

“And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your ____ can do for you, ask what you can do for your ____” – John F. Kennedy

“Ich bin ein Bratwurst.” – John F. Kennedy (re: prior mea culpa – ditto)

“My concern today is not with the length of a person's _____but with his conduct.” - Richard M. Nixon

“I am not a ____.” – Richard M. Nixon

“When you reach the end of your _____, tie a knot in it and hang on.” - Franklin D. Roosevelt

“Four score and seven inches ago…” – Abraham Lincoln (rightfully rejected Gettysburg Address first draft)

“And in the end it’s not the ____ in your life that count, but the life in your _____.” – Abraham Lincoln

“Read my ____. No new taxes.” – George H.W. Bush

“_____ are stubborn things.” – John Adams

“I think when you spread the _____around it's good for everybody.” - Barack Obama

“I found this _____, doubled, wrapped in a big bow waiting for me as I stepped into the Oval Office.” - Barack Obama

And finally, although not presidential but equally memorable in nature –

“That’s one small _____ for man, one giant _____ for mankind.” – Neil Armstrong (the bona fide, original statement as he was lightheaded from space travel - later modified by NASA for posterity)

Please remember, what you just patiently suffered through was more than just an attempt at childish, sophomoric, dumb, easy, cheap laughs, but rather intelligent and sophisticated satire, artfully and cleverly hidden in the form of puerile and immature, junior high school penis jokes to purposely demonstrate just how ludicrous, embarrassing and shameful Trump’s comportment has been. Now, please repeat that idea enough times until such repetition tricks you into exhausted belief.

We conclude, and continue with the classy, cultured, and oh so erudite tenor and tone of today’s blog, with the last hit and worst song ever recorded by the legendary Chuck Berry, “My Ding-a-Ling.”

Any comments, questions, criticisms, candid confessions, cash contributions?  Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com.

Friday, August 5, 2016

Trump’s Heart of Darkness – the Right’s Favorite Sexual Predator

“Don't need reason
Don't need rhyme
Ain't nothin' that I'd rather do.
Goin' down
Party time
My friends are gonna be there too
I'm on the highway to Hell.” – AC/DC

“Yeah, she’s (Ivanka) really something, and what a beauty, that one. If I weren’t happily married and, ya know, her father . . . ” – Donald Trump

Well, it’s time to share the distressing and doleful, real-life drama of a deeply disturbed sociopath, whose hateful words and deeds, and criminal sexual deviance toward his own daughter and an underage girl, have won the hearts and minds of Christian Conservatives and Evangelicals throughout our land. In the multiple-millennia old tome from which they gather guidance, written not by any god, but by uneducated, highly-superstitious men for political and societal gain in a period prior to scientific discovery, domination of women, even to the point of violence, as well as incest, are not only deemed acceptable behaviors, but considered common practice.  And Donald J. Trump, as sick a homosapien as one is likely to discover, apparently fulfills the long-awaited needs of too many of these faithful Bible thumpers.

“[Ivanka posing for Playboy] would be really disappointing — not really… she does have a very nice figure. I’ve said if Ivanka weren’t my daughter, perhaps I’d be dating her.” – Donald Trump

If some readers find this dissertation to be derogatory, disrespectful or insulting in tone or content, I can but say that their active participation in support of this despicable and depraved degenerate in the destruction of the greatest republic the world has ever known is far, far more than insulting, offensive and repulsive. And willful ignorance is no justification for their treacherous and malicious actions and conduct.

The 24 hour news channels, always desperate for fresh fodder, have steadfastly refused to report this story and instead continue to promote and support Trump’s candidacy, complicit and culpable in its longevity and success - a bargain with Beelzebub to barter integrity, honesty and legitimacy in exchange for licentious ratings and heightened notoriety.

The rapist company he keeps
Although, just one of millions of unimportant blogs, I truly hope that somehow, someday, someway, this makes it in front of Trump’s beady little evil eyes, and joins the ever-expanding ranks of the thousands of lawsuits he’s involved in, with the sincere hopes that doing so will puncture the protective, loving embrace of the mass media and help spread the story of this previously hidden horror.

Let this ally of Abaddon summon his cache of million dollar lawyers from the pits of Perdition, while I defend decency with some cheap, shady, ambulance-chasing firm from daytime, local TV commercials - sing along with me “Cellino and Barnes injury attorney’s 1-800-888-8888” (this has not been a paid endorsement) and let truth and justice emerge victorious.

“Don’t you think my daughter’s (Ivanka, then 16) hot? She’s hot, right?" - Donald Trump

The Lawsuit and Accusations the Fawning Media Refuses to Report
“Jane Doe,” a thirteen year old, attended parties at the home of, now convicted and incarcerated, sex-offender and close Trump friend, Donald Epstein, with the promise of possible modeling jobs. In 1994, Doe alleges four separate incidents of forcible rape by Trump, the fourth being particularly vicious and violent, described by her as a “savage sexual attack.”  The GOP standard bearer strapped her to a bed, struck her repeatedly in the face, and assured her that should she consider divulging his dark deeds, she and her family would be “physically harmed if not killed.” From a filed court document – “Defendant Trump stated that I shouldn’t ever say anything if I didn’t want to disappear like Maria, a 12-year-old female that was forced to be involved in the third incident with Defendant Trump and that I had not seen since that third incident, and that he was capable of having my whole family killed.”

Unusual in such cases, is a second document from a witness, at the time an employee of Epstein, who corroborates Trump’s ferocious and brutal onslaught -  I am coming forward to swear to the truthfulness of the physical and sexual abuse that I personally witnessed of minor females at the hands of Mr. Trump and Mr. Epstein . . . I swear to these facts under the penalty for perjury even though I fully understand that the life of myself and my family is now in grave danger.”

When Trump is finally freed from his Earthly shackles and heads toward the fiery and flaming domain for which he is destined (and as an Atheist, I don’t even believe in Hell, but for him, I’ll make an exception) his one true legacy will be firmly established - he will be leaving behind a far better world simply because of his absence from it. This is a man who has literally raped and pillaged (not a combo you see much of anymore) and has been rewarded, rather than reviled, for it. Justice must be served.

"And I'm going' down
All the way
I'm on the highway to Hell"

Any comments, questions, criticisms, candid confessions, cash contributions?  Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com.

Friday, July 29, 2016

Conventional Wisdom – Snidely “Donald J.” Whiplash Hates America

“Heroes and villains
Just see what you’ve done.”

Both the Republican and the Democratic Conventions are now in our rear view mirrors, and the contrast could not have possibly been more distinct.  The DNC was a celebration of America. The RNC was its wake.

Compare the conventions, and it’s as if we witnessed electoral events of two completely contradictory countries with very little, if any, similarities – two opposing realities, two perceptions of politics, of good and evil, of values, of life and living. The GOP of 2016 has much more in common with the Confederate States of America, than it does the republic envisioned and designed by our founders; with a leader owing more to Jefferson Davis than Thomas Jefferson.

Trump Presidential role model, Jefferson Davis
The Democrats hosted a proud, patriotic, flag-waving, optimistic proclamation of the greatness of our country, our people and our ideals, with an exciting vision of a positive and diversified population unified in its love of liberty, equality, freedom and country. The Republicans presented an Aryan hate rally, denigrating our great nation, belittling its people and painting a hopeless, bleak portrait of the world and our place in it – all led by a weak, thin-skinned, vengeful, uninformed, hate-filed, bigoted, authoritarian madman and wannabe totalitarian strongman, proffering himself as the sole solution to the many fictional dilemmas of a non-existent dystopian society. Trump shared his singular view of America, that being, if you’re non-white, non-Christian, non-native born, you are the cause of all of Mother Earth’s problems and you are not, and will never be, a “true American.”

Meet Don J. Trump. His Boy Eric. Daughter Ivanka. Melania his wife.

Here’s a unique interpretation of this Fuhrer of Fifth Avenue - many generations of Saturday Morning cartoon viewing Americans are familiar with a classic, animated evil-doer by the name of Snidely Whiplash; may I suggest the unlikely scenario that the Donald is the flesh and blood, living embodiment of this cell-drawn demon, albeit, one who’s actuality accedes greater peril, with far worse intent; while still being one-dimensionally cartoonish and sincerely simpleminded, with a focus solely on inflicting severe damage on others, all in the cause of self-aggrandizement, self-promotion and self-gain.

Yes, Trump is the fiendish, mustache-twirling, dastardly devil who, upon having his loathsome lustful advances spurned, lashes the young, lovely damsel in distress to the train tracks. He’s the heartless landlord who gleefully evicts the poor widowed senior from her home for a single late rent payment. He’s the cruel, orphanage director who feeds his minor charges nothing but cold, lumpy gruel 3 times a day.  And I wonder, why do Republicans not grasp this obvious and odious disposition? Is my worldview too sadly dominated by repeated childhood viewings of the Little Rascals and Dudley Do-Right?

Or perhaps, just perhaps, the Trumpeters do sense this deeply embedded background and foundation of pure, vile evil in their candidate, and rather than reject it, choose to embrace it, and so share equal responsibility in the end of days that a Trump Presidency portents and promises.

I'm afraid that the millions of us trying so desperately hard to fight against Trump’s ascendance to power are actually helping him instead. The sorrowful truth is that all of the things that reasonable people find so repulsive in him - his misogyny, racism, ignorance, narcissism, lack of any knowledge about our country, our history or our government, his dozens of extramarital affairs, his sexual assaults, his non-stop onslaught of lies, his draft dodging, his disparagement of veterans, POW's and the disabled, his pure hatred for those not Caucasian, his text book sociopathic traits, are the very things his supporters worship about him. They love to assert that he speaks for them, so, the more we point out what an inhumane, worthless parasite he is, the more we may actually be helping his malicious cause.

Republicans believe that everyone in the world is out to get us and so we better get them first. We (real, thoughtful, genuine, flesh and blood humans, that is) believe that the best is possible only when we are united and come together in cooperation and harmony toward a common goal.

By the final, fetid, fascistic words of Trump's oration of hate, fear and division, one felt covered in a foul filth that a million showers could never expunge; yet, thankfully, the optimism, the American spirit and the truths spoken by the participants at the DNC thoroughly cleansed us, as only love, tolerance, unity and acceptance can.

The GOP makes heroes out of villains and villains out of victims.

“Stand or fall I know there
Shall be peace in the valley
And it's all an affair
Of my life with the heroes and villains.”

Any comments, questions, criticisms, candid confessions, cash contributions?  Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com.

Saturday, July 23, 2016

A Grudging Acceptance – Trump Channels Goebbels

“Great Trump Speech, America First… couldn't have said it better!” – David Duke, former KKK Grand Wizard

“… laziness is a trait in blacks. It really is; I believe that. It’s not anything they can control.”- Donald Trump, White America’s current Grand Wizard

“I've heard this sort of speech a lot in the last 15 years and trust me, it doesn't sound any better in Russian.” – Gary Kasparov, Russian Chess Grandmaster and Political Activist

Fascism comes to America in Chinese polyester and piss-poor hair plugs.

“America’s long national nightmare” has begun. The Republican National Convention has concluded, and we patriotic Americans suffered through a sad and shocking spectacle of Aryan power and desires, delivered from and to an overwrought, angry assemblage of enraged, screaming, alabaster-hued, pasty, monochromatic faces, unlike anything witnessed since the years of the Nuremberg Rallies. The GOP (aka KKK) formally nominated our first openly bigoted and openly totalitarian presidential candidate, and he regaled in the unbridled adoration and unquestioning devotion of his obedient sheep. 

Trump’s acceptance speech was full of the kind of perverse and perilous prevarication expected by someone who kept copies of Adolph Hitler’s speeches in his nightstand (should you doubt the veracity of this blog - http://www.businessinsider.com/donald-trumps-ex-wife-once-said-he-kept-a-book-of-hitlers-speeches-by-his-bed-2015-8) and was full of hatred, racism, division, lies, anti-Americanism, xenophobia, authoritarianism, and more than anything else, irredeemable and acute self-worship.


“I Am Your Voice… I Alone Can Fix it.” – Donald Trump, Lord and Savior

This historic oration (historic, of course, as in terms of events like the Ice Age and the asteroid that slew the dinosaurs, not historic as in the American Revolution or the first moon walk) was a dangerous and offensive exercise in narcissistic deception and fabrication, firmly built on a foundation of proven and time-tested, wrathful Fascist rhetoric.

Trump pushed all the traditional Fascist buttons and articulated (if one can “articulate” purely monosyllabically) its ignorant and igneous ideology – the militarism, the fear-mongering, the provocation of unfounded fury, the dystopian doom and gloom, the demonization of the other -  foreigners, immigrants, Muslims, non-whites, non-Christians - the intense isolationism, the extreme nationalism and the artificial appeal to the everyday working man, those whom Trump and his monyed compadres regularly bilk to build their fortunes.

He vociferously, vituperously and vengefully presented a series of flagrantly false facts and figures, painting a grey, grim and gruesome portrait of a completely non-existent America, overrun with “others” of darker skin-tones, divergent faiths and destructively disloyal allegiances, who are raping, pillaging and murdering their way through Mayberrys and Pleasantvilles from the mountains to the prairies, to the oceans white with foam and plastic six-pack rings, infiltrating and annihilating our culture, forcing onto us their deviant views and values and, of most importance, pilfering all of our best jobs.

As is the conventional Fascist custom, Trump maliciously and mercilessly scapegoated those who, in reality, have the least among us, and placed blame squarely on their overburdened and stooped shoulders for any trials and tribulations "real" Americans may currently be enduring. And in response to all these harrowing and frequently fictional woes of the white privileged, he proffered not a plan, not a position, not a platform, but a person – a single dictatorial figure to whom we must surrender our will and blindly place our unwavering trust – heil Trump! “I alone can fix it.”

"If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it.” - Joseph Goebbels, Third Reich, Minister of Propaganda

“And here, at our convention, there will be no lies. We will honor the American people with the truth, and nothing else.” – Chancellor Trump

"Fact-checking Trumps's garbage truck of lies: His speech... riddled with fiction and conspiracies." - Salon

Sadly, and inexplicably, tens of millions of our fellow Americans march willingly, and even gleefully, to Donald Trump’s totalitarian drum beat.  We’ve heard this song before.

“Oh Fatherland, Fatherland,
Show us the sign
Your children have waited to see
The morning will come
When the world is mine
Tomorrow belongs
Tomorrow belongs
Tomorrow belongs
To me!” – Fred Ebb

Any comments, questions, criticisms, candid confessions, cash contributions?  Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com.