Puppet Man - Trump Makes America Hate Again

“Baby, baby you know it's true

I'm a puppet just for you

I'll do anything you say

I won't have it any other way

Take my heart and take my soul

Giving you complete control

If you wanna see me do my thing

Pull my string” – Howard Greenfield

Donald Trump – the very stuff of Grand Guignol, an evil puppet master manipulating the minds of those who can’t think for themselves. He harnesses the hate of the portion of our population who wax nostalgically for the good old days when women were barefoot and pregnant and African Americans, in chains. He’s exposed a shamefully sizeable contingent of bigots who are Americans only by accident of birth and are not, in any way, beholden to our beliefs or values.

On this vast, diverse, soon to be flooded, big blue marble that we ride in orbit around the sun, where often it seems difficult to find two human beings who will willingly agree on the day of the week or what hue the sky may be, most of the earthbound multitude can come to consensus on this pair of facts – what the world needs now is love sweet love, and what the world definitely doesn’t need now is any additional verbiage wasted on the vile, viperous vulgarity that is Donald Trump. And yet, here we are addressing this appallingly, overly-addressed and tedious topic once more. But this, dissertation of the disgusting, is less a questioning of a thoroughly worthless, pointless, vainglorious, revolting, and cowardly half man, half can of industrial strength Aqua Net, and more of an expression of bewilderment on the curious and irrational notion that any individual, not dropped on his or her noggin 675 or so times, could inexplicably perceive some value or virtue in a person where clearly none has ever existed.

Trump supporters gathered outside of a recent rally

Here's the sad truth we have to face as Americans, Trump is not the problem. He has not at all hidden what a repulsive, racist, hate-filled person he is; rather he celebrates his egotistic vulgarity. Unfortunately and bizarrely, millions of others do as well, millions that he insults and disparages daily, hence our serious dilemma, an America that happily embraces the Stockholm Syndrome. When an openly vile person ridicules the disabled, denigrates POWs, veterans, immigrants and minorities, un-Constitutionally wishes to ban a religion from a nation founded on freedom of religion, says of women, “You have to treat ‘em like s**t,” runs a policy free campaign built solely on schoolyard name calling, invented facts, and lies; and millions of Americans still support him, he is not the problem, they are. Hopefully, Trump will go away soon enough, but the ugly loathing, discrimination and profound ignorance displayed by his supporters will remain, and now that this perilous Pandora’s Box has been breached, now that the extreme Right Wing (the GOP) has deemed it not only acceptable, but preferable and patriotic to provoke violence and hatred toward anyone different than oneself; with ignorance and lies seen as virtues, and knowledge and truth, vices, these bottom-feeders will just champion the next mini-Pol Pot who follows in the Donald's slimy tracks.

 “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves”…” – William Shakespeare

Sadly, this unseemly Trumpeting love-fest is not just exhibited among the uneducated, unaware and unwashed Fox-followers and Palin-partisans. This has been a presidential campaign completely promoted, nurtured, aided and abetted by a media anxious to ensure that every breath he takes, every move he makes, every bond he breaks, every step he takes, we’ll be watching him. MSNBC, the supposedly liberal-leaner, has consistently been among the most shameful of an embarrassing lot of equal-time ignorers.  Whether its Fawning Joe caught on a hot mic agreeing to Trump’s gutless request to only field softball questions, or Chris “Two Face” Matthews, nightly introducing Trump clips using language of condemnation and denunciation, and then returning on camera, red-faced and giggling like a smitten school girl who just witnessed a Justin Bieber nipple slip. Donald has made Matthews’ pants fit just a wee bit snugger since his presidential aspirations were first announced, and in appreciation of the pleasure, Chris has provided more free airtime for this Neanderthal than UHF channels gave to the Catholic Archdiocese on early Sunday morns.

"God bless you. You make me feel brand new.

“I’ve only myself to blame!

What good would it do

To blame someone who

Depended on you, to be fair” – Redd Evans

America is a great country, but even great things have flaws. Trump and his loyal lemmings represent everything that is wrong with our nation - the greed, the ignorance, the narcissism, the bigotry, the anger, the divisiveness, the intolerance – those negative qualities that we must and can overcome as we progress, to fulfill our founders’ dream of a more perfect union. This man, who says he wants to make America great again, is anathema to everything that makes America great.

Civilization following a Trump presidency

But, we’ve only ourselves to blame. We, the people, we, the astonishingly stupid people, created this monster, and like the good townsfolk gathered outside the walls of Victor Frankenstein’s castle, it’s time to gather our torches, our pitchforks, and our hanging chads and we, the people, must now destroy this obscenity before it’s too late.

Our sworn duty

To close on a much more pleasant note or two, presenting a double-header of timeless tunes from a pair of classy and classic artists – Nat King Cole brings us “I’ve Only Myself to Blame,” followed by the 5^th Dimension with “Puppet Man.”

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

Every Time We Say Goodbye, I Wonder Why a Little

When a Man Loves a Feline 2









"Is that any way for a man to carry on

Do you think he wants his little loved one gone?
I love you, more than you'll ever know
More than you'll ever know." - Al Kooper

The Sad and Inevitable Conclusion of a Remarkable Relationship

A vacation should be a fun, relaxing and even joyous occasion, a breather from the stress and tedium of the 5 o’clock world.  The return from this sabbatical, although usually a little disappointing, and a tad of a letdown, is not, generally, a heartbreaking event.  This, however, was a poorly-timed retreat, one, in retrospect, best not taken - a  guilt-filled cruise to the Caribbean, a situation without early exit if one required or desired it. Moreover, homecoming was delayed three days by the most recent of our now regularly scheduled, post-climate change, snow storms of the century.  As the journey I was so desperate to continue remained impeded, and while in the care of a loving, dedicated and concerned sitter, my aged cat’s aging process and his many maladies finally proved too much for his increasingly fragile system. 

When finally repatriated, and at an immediate emergency vet visit, the somnambulant Spanky experienced an unexpected rally, a sudden and short burst of energy and life in my arms, reaching his head up to mine for some intense head rubbing and voluble and blissful purring. After a few minutes, that strength once again waned, and but a few more minutes after that, he was gone.  Very regretfully, I missed his final days and my responsibility to comfort him through his most difficult time. But, he waited for me, without benefit of either weather reports or flight tracking software, Spanky waited for me, and in his last real moments of life, clearly communicated his love and a sincere goodbye.

“Louie, I Think this is the Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship"

And in Spanky’s wake, days of fitful slumber, days of expectations of an almost two decade presence happily trotting in from the next room, days of a deep apathy and a deeper aching.  In July of 1996, at the Humane Society of New York, a 3 month old kitten, almost dangerously underfoot, trailed my every step and demanded my urgent and unremitting attention - and that was how Spanky, then known as Mr. French, selected me.  In January 2016, some 72 lonely hours after losing Spanky, a return to that same wonderful rescue shelter brought a new furry life to my attention and my acquaintance. Going by the handle, Rhianna, she now answers to the name, Darla, in keeping with the successful Little Rascals tradition of her beloved forebearer. And her perilous mission, should she decide to accept it, is to restore my sanity, as tenuous as it may be

This adoption and eager embracement of a new needy waif, is not, in any way, a replacement of Spanky, that would be an impossibility of which even Perry Como could not have fathomed; but rather, a living tribute to the memory and eternal impact of a specific and singular bond. The saving of another worthy life, from a cage in a shelter, honors a cat so special that, once having had his company, it became almost unthinkable and unfeasible to not enjoy the fulfilling friendship of a fellow feline.

Every Time We Say Goodbye, I Wonder Why a Little

We were a duo advancing in age together, keeping each other company (who else would have us), sometimes cantankerous, sometimes cross, with the occasional ornery argument and a mutual comprehension and easy interspecies interaction and understanding that at times, still amazes. The older and frailer he became, the more our connection coalesced. No matter what others may theorize about the true nature of relationships between people and their pets, their likely limitations and the anthropomorphization applied by the yearning human imagination, I know Spanky loved me, of that I have no doubt.  I can also state that, with some concrete certainty, he was fully aware of my unwavering, abiding affection for him.

To Spanky. To Darla.

I’ve got a cat on me

Where a cat ought to be.

Sprawled out flat on my lap,

For his ninth daily nap.

When he wakes he will mew

For a can of cat stew.

Til he finishes, then

He’ll be sleeping again.

That’s a feline existence,

Free of any resistance.

With no struggle or strife

How I envy that life.

When I pass to the grave

If my soul can be saved,

Please, oh Heavenly chorus

Make me a Tom or a Morris.

                             

First, from the premiere album of, possibly, the most under-rated and under-appreciated band of the classic rock era, Blood Sweat and Tears and “I Love You More than You’ll Ever Know,” followed by a bonus track, a live Ella Fitzgerald performance of “Every Time We Say Goodbye.”

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

I Happen to Like New York – Dissing Cruz’s Dis

by nycityman

“I happen to like New York, I happen to love this town

I like the city air, I like to drink of it

The more I see New York, the more I think of it

I like the sight and the sound and even the stink of it

I happen to like New York” – Cole Porter

The Headline

 “Cruz slams Trump for holding ‘New York values’”

It’s not my usual practice to credit postings as written by nycityman, after all, this is but the hermetic undertaking of a solitary soul, and one who certainly holds neither illusions nor delusions that any other being (human or otherwise) would ever desire to pilfer credit or blame for these overly-written expressions of progressive dogma. But, in this instance, and in consideration of the subject about to commence,  that nom de blog has relevance and significance.

Apologies for the delinquency of this dissertation on a rapidly aging issue, but while it was still current, and perhaps more pertinent, your humble author was sailing the seven seas on a surprisingly disappointing Celebrity Constellation cruise, although one not nearly as disgustingly disappointing as the caustic Cruz about to be discussed. Never the less, the ire experienced about such an inappropriate affront on my fine city and its even finer population shall not easily be dissuaded.

The Quote

“I think he may shift in his new rallies to playing ‘New York, New York’ because Donald comes from New York and he embodies New York values” – Rafael Edward “Ted” (as in the substantially more well-liked marijuana inhaling, talking stuffed bear) Cruz

Silver Spoon. Brass Balls. Tinhorn.

Oh my dear, Rafael, with some hesitance to communicate so crudely, I must impart a major F.U. in your specifically odious direction for such an unworthy, untrue and uncalled for insult. New York is the most diverse, tolerant, accepting and open-minded city in the country, if not in the entirety of this big blue marble we all call home.  Donald J. Trump, this additional object of your wrath, is the exact opposite - a resident, perhaps, of  some unseemly, Bizarro World version of our beloved Gotham – he, a hate-filled, bigoted, Dr. Moreau-like, half-man, half-hog (“are we not men?” in this case, sadly not) who not only rejects “New York values” but by all evidence, embraces no values whatsoever. The Donald may have hatched here, but he's no New Yorker. He's a Trumpian - a worthless, soulless cypher whose every selfish thought and egomaniacal deed serves solely for the benefit and the concern of Donald Trump; with particular satisfaction enjoyed when the opportunity arises to hurt and demean others while in the process of pursuing gain for self. We, New Yorkers, those who unfortunately know him best, loathe him, and angrily bristle at the concept that he, in any manner, represents the greatest city in the world or its citizenry.

The Canuck

Regarding Cruz’s implications, when railing somewhat vaguely against the multi-cultural metropolitans who reside in the heralded Big Apple, many have already suggested that this Cuban/Canadian (Desi Arnaz joins the Mounties?) but by no means Presidential eligible, non-natural born, relatively recent American citizen’s real desire was to denigrate and call out by name, Liberal New York Jews (Bernie Sanders?) While clearly suggesting validity to this theory by merely mentioning it, we here at “… and several butcher’s aprons” shall let the exact interpretation, intention and inference of the remark remain known only within the vile, Hellish confines of Cruz’s dangerously demented cerebellum.  

 But, still, it’s curiouser and curiouser what Rafael finds so scary and objectionable in our New York lifestyle and sensibility, is it our peaceful and harmonious diversity? This is a man who spans three different nationalities and is therefore a living, breathing, yet, not so shining, example of diversity himself. Is it the way in which members of every imaginable ethnicity, national origin, religion and sexual orientation stand pacifically shoulder to shoulder (and bolder to bolder) in our crowded subways, streets, workplaces, parks, playgrounds, stadiums, arenas, taverns and every other public and private venue one can conjure? Is the benevolent brotherhood shared among strangers and the vast variety of human kind who co-exist here repellant to a man so filled with intolerance, ill-will and unfocused animosity?  Is our prolific potpourri of thought and opinion too threatening for a tiny mind and warped consciousness to encounter? Fear not, frightened little one, for although there may be eight million opinions and viewpoints in the Naked City,  when push comes to shove and trouble presents itself, we have, time and time again, come together as a united front in succor, support, understanding and aide; as we did on September 11^th and the trying period that followed, and to a lesser extent, just a year or so later, when the massive blackout struck, and again, complete strangers, yet neighbors, always neighbors, in our hearts and in our realities, gathered in mutual need and empathy.  There in lies the truth behind it all, New Yorkers are an empathetic people, and empathy is an essential emotion clearly lacking from the makeup of both Donald and Rafael.

“A bad day in New York City is still better than a good day anywhere else.”

 “Once you have lived in New York and made it your home, no place else is good enough.” – John Steinbeck

Cruzin’ for a Bruisin’

When America was under attack it was New York and New Yorkers who took the hit for the nation. We suffered, we mourned, we became one - a family, and then we rose again, stronger and more united than ever before.  And, New York remains the prime target from not only Rafael, but also thousands of other repulsive, violent and mentally disturbed extremists from every corner of this corner-less globe.

So, in less than rational reaction, may I present this iteration of New York sensibility – like the brave and adventurous conestoga riders of America’s yesteryears, travel across the great 48, Ted, journey to our five fabulous boroughs, and dare share your preposterous postulations, your repellant rancor, say it right to my face, and discover another part of New York values. But, of course, as any regular reader can attest, nycityman is a man of non-violence, peace and understanding (kumbaya, my Lord, kumbaya) and would attempt to discourage such thinking with intelligence and logic; and only once upon failing with that, might find the consideration of a Joe Pepitone signature Louisville Slugger upside the head a reasonable alternative of persuasion.

 

“I happen to like New York, I happen to love this burg

And when I have to give the world my last farewell

And the undertaker comes to ring my funeral bell

I don't wanna go to heaven, don't wanna go to hell

I happen to like New York”

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

In the Air, There’s a Feeling...

Christmas in the City 2

“I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year” - Charles Dickens

Buon Anno, Feliz Ano Nuevo, Gluchliches Neues Jahr, Bonne Annee and Happy New Year to all,  as we observe that most arbitrary of events, New Year’s Eve - celebrating and commemorating the irrelevant and insignificant turning of a calendar page, one of 365 - bringing with it the imagined promise of a new year, neglected then discarded resolutions, and the culmination of the two-decade long, Clinton coronation.

For those still hiding and fearful in the safety survival shelters constructed for the sure arrival of apocalypse and unmitigated disaster at the recent turn of the century – all's clear. You’ve missed much – Netflix, the rise of the Kardashians, the fall of Bill Cosby, the first African-American President, and in racist reaction, the ascendance of a bigoted, ignorant, fascist as Republican Presidential front runner – given further consideration, perhaps it’s best to linger even longer within those protective walls. Enjoy your Spam and powdered milk and like a groundhog with agoraphobia, never emerge again.

As for yours truly, the party-pooping, clearly miserable sot that I am, my yearning for the yule endures unabated for, once again, the oft-elusive Christmas spirit continues unfelt and unrealized, but hopeful exultation of Christmas 2015 remains. Yes, even at this turn of a new year, I stay anxiously awaiting the arrival of the essence of Edmund Gwenn (or Sebastian Cabot or Richard Attenborough, should you prefer one of the unnecessary remakes) and the heralded, holiday sentiment of Herald Square. It may be a too late and ultimately lost cause, but still I persevere, enjoying the choral sounds of the Mormons in their Tabernacle, the youthful pop/rock of Darlene Love and Ronnie Spector, and the tuneful dreams of Bing’s White Christmas in an era when climate change has rendered my city, New York, a tropical winter getaway.

With this seasonal struggle in mind, I leave you with a rewrite of a Christmas classic, from Mame, Jerry Herman’s “We Need a Little Christmas.” No need to alert Mr. Herman, he seems like such a nice man, why break his heart, especially around the holidays?

I Need a Lot of Christmas

Malls decked out jolly

Though, every other store is shutting down again.

Work’s melancholy,

The Christmas party’s cancelled, faces frown again, now.

So, I need a lot of Christmas

It hasn’t come real near me,

Perhaps a mug of gluwein,

Can anyone here, hear me?

Cause, I need a lot of Christmas

Apparently it fears me.

No drummer boy’s been drumming,

If I’m lucky coal is coming.

I’ve spruced up the spruce tree,

Hung my cat’s stocking on the mantle ledge again.

He felled that spruce tree,

Now both our nerves are set right on the edge again now.

So, I need some kind assistance,

My spirit’s been persistent

It’s Scrooge-like in resistance

At least I’ve been consistent.

And, has anyone a tissue?
The angel on my shoulder,
Has a bladder issue, now.

Thanks for the Dunkin gift card

The book by Sarah Palin,

In wrapping I used last year

    Just what were you inhalin’? 

At least we’ve got the New Year

Here to disappoint us

We need a lot of Christmas now.

And now, enjoy Johnny Mathis’ proper performance of the yuletide standard.

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

And Above All the Bustle, You’ll Hear…

Christmas in the City

“… the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts” – Charles Dickens

Festive friends, partying pals, and caroling compadres, it’s time again for the traditional “… and several butcher’s aprons” yearly Christmas spectacular, a yuletide institution for well over 365 and a quarter days (props to you, Leap Year babies.)  And, much like the arrival of my Christmas cards, Bristol Palin, or Hillary at a debate after a bathroom break, this posting is late.  Johnny Grant, Santa, Andy, Bing and Perry have all packed it in for the season, while nycityman is still just searching for last year’s leftover wrapping paper.

As of late, being a critical chronicler of our culture and of our times, this blog may have been a little heavy on the negativity and gloom and doom. Of course, when one’s television becomes a 24/7 Donald Trump propaganda reality show, with hate-filled political gatherings reminiscent of the 1934 Nuremberg Rally, it is easy to be alarmed, angry and apprehensive; and also easy to argue that those are indeed the proper and rational reactions of any decent creature who has mastered the skill of walking upright and the manipulation of opposable thumbs.  But, even those post-Nuremberg warring factions would take a brief breather on December 25^th for a little reminder of the humanity and brotherhood that hopefully exists somewhere within all of us.  And, who would I be to behave less civilized than an active member of the Third Reich? So, for the present, let’s push all political peevishness and partisanship aside and bask in the glow of gluwein, tannenbaums, holly and ivy, and reruns of scantily clad Mitzi Gaynor Christmas specials (for clarification, that would be Mitzi scantily clad, not the specials themselves.)

Mitzi! 

Readers, to whom I am indescribably grateful, (even my over-used and abused thesaurus tool was of no assistance), as my Christmas present,  I spare you the usual verbosity and instead share a soupcon of seasonal snapshots - a few, an invitation to join me in celebration of the beloved and quaint little Christmas village I call home, New York City; and others, playfully presenting a slightly dark view of holiday symbols.  I also share my thanks and my sincere wishes for a healthy and harmonious holiday and, in return, happily accept any form of seasonal greeting you might wish to impart - be it Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah,  Cordial Kwaanza or even the cursed, devilishly non-committal  and generic, Happy Holidays. I may be stupid, but I’m not that stupid.

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

Undone – a Poem of Political Savagery

“Narcisissma, Narcisissma has no pride or delusions,
Delusions, delusions make me turn my face
But Narcisissma let's me find my place.” – Don McLean

The Republican race to occupy the oval office has descended into sheer racist and xenophobia fueled madness and insanity; the ringmaster of this cynical circus, this dangerous and purposely treacherous recklessness and irrationality, is, of course, that egotistical creator of his own mythology and legend, a man who never saw a selfie he didn’t like,  resident of the gaudiest, tackiest and biggest bordello on the celebrated isle of Manhattan, Donald J. Trump.

As this serial draft-dodger, maven of Chapter 11, minimally successful businessman  finds further fame in winning the minds and hearts of the mindless and heartless - the ignorant, illiterate and intolerant who now dominate the base of the GOP - with his patented brand of self-serving, narcissistic, hate and lie-based ideology, we find our nation (almost half of it, anyway) willingly succumbing to the lure of fascism as a simplistic cure-all for the complex problems that they can neither identify nor understand.  But, in lieu of education, intellectual curiosity or genuine knowledge of history or facts (after all, reading is hard!) these anti-American, unpatriotic and illiberal lemmings  embrace the falsehoods, act upon their animosity (while not truly grasping why) and revile those of different backgrounds, beliefs and skin tones, exactly as they are directed to.

In a field that has counted among its members Pat Buchanan, George Wallace and KKK Grand Wizard, David Duke, Donald Trump is (hmm, now how can I express this with some subtlety and nuance?) the scummiest, worst piece of human garbage and waste of life that has ever pursued the coveted title of Commander in Chief. But, while Trump is definitively the most nauseating and repulsive candidate among the 744 on the GOP side of the ledger, we suffer from the fact that he so leads in the polling, and is so admired and envied by the rest, that many have hopped on the Trump hayride of hate with hopes of riding his coattails to a vile and vitriolic victory. 

And so, to the comb-over king and his fawning, covetous wannabes and minions, some verse in your dubious dishonor.

Undone

The guilty hide behind sick jokes

That place the blame on purer folks

And clear their consciences from yokes

Of duty.

The gilded man, false locks askew

In the looking glass crows, "I love you"

Lacking self-awareness and virtue

Or beauty

His cobwebbed Bible shares a sign

In passages just underlined

Of further trouble for those maligned

And hurting

The middle swallowed by the fringe

A once great land becomes unhinged

The Betsy Ross flies battle-singed

Alerting

So, this race is lost before its run

No matter who’s the winning one

The savagery has just begun

As we genuflect before the gun

In a civilization come undone.

“Narcisissma, Narcisissma loves to thrill and delight me,
Delight me, delight me and I'll never quit
'Cause Narcisissma knows just where I fit.”

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

The Meaning of “American” – Don’t Let the Republicans Ruin the Dream

What is America to Me?

"Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" – Emma Lazarus

When we turn away refugees escaping persecution, we cease being the United States of America. When we institute a religious test for those who are allowed into our country, we cease being the United States of America. When those in power, or seeking such, suggest warrantless searches, identification badges and unlawful surveillance of U.S. citizens who follow a specific faith - procedures and practices much more characteristic of the Third Reich than our “shining city upon a hill,” we cease being the United States of America. When we follow Republican ideology of fear and loathing toward those of different backgrounds and different beliefs, we surrender our freedoms, our values and our traditions, and we cease being the United States of America.

I'm not giving in an inch to fear
'Cause I've promised myself this year
I feel like I owe it to someone - David Crosby

I will not let my life, my actions and my principles be determined, or in any way altered or influenced, by the intolerance, purposeful  ignorance and flourishing hatred that spews continuously and contemptuously from the voices and malicious minds of the GOP, the Conservative base and the Tea Party, breeding ground of domestic terrorism.  I will not live in fear.

I am an American, a proud American, the grandchild of immigrants – those very immigrants who populated, built and enriched America, and the very immigrants whom the Right would now seek to prohibit from alighting upon our once beckoning, welcoming and teeming shores.  I am a patriotic American, a compassionate, tolerant, humane, empathic American, a Constitutional American; therefore, by very definition, never a Republican; the newly malevolent, self-serving political party, with an ideology awash in ill-intentions, that has devolved into, and heartily embraced, the cliché of “the enemy within.” 

These are the innocent children who strike dread in Republican souls across our 50 states

For our health as a nation and a people, for a strong and meaningful and purposeful existence, and perhaps even for our very survival and future, can we hold in our hearts more the sentiments of Emma Lazarus rather than the vile views, odious opinions and dangerous demagoguery of the Trumps, Fiorinas or Cruz’s; those who care not for the well-being of this great land or its residents, and who have proven more than willing to damage and destroy in search of personal gain and glory? 

Can we try not to fear and hate these innocent and endangered Syrian children seeking desperate refuge from violence and terrorism, so vindictively vilified by the Right Wing, for whatever reasons small-minded people do so, and instead, display some compassion, some humanity, some basic decency and dare I say, for those who believe so but act otherwise, some Christian charity?

That’s what an American is. That’s how an American behaves. That’s what America means. And sadly, somewhere along the way, the Republican establishment has ceased believing in the United States of America.

More of the evil ISIS terrorists with whom Obama plans to plague our country

“The house I live in

A plot of earth, the street

The grocer and the butcher

Or the people that I meet,

The children in the playground

The faces that I see,

All races and religions

That’s America to me.” – Abel Meeropol  

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