To Be or Not To Be, That Is The Testimony of James Comey   In a normal week, month, year, heck, an entire presidency, The President of the United States and his son skimming money from a charity for kids with cancer would have dominated the news and front pages for days or even weeks.  Let me repeat, basically the president and one of his American Psycho sons took money meant for sick kids in the hospital and stuck it in their pockets.   “Little Jimmy needs life saving medicine? Well, Big Donny needs a gold toilet to sit on. Tough to be him.”   It truly is Snidely Whiplash territory. Even The Joker and Lex Luthor would claim  that skimming would truly be too dastardly for even them. The only way Trumps could possibly have gone lower is if they sponsored “Drown A Cute Puppy Day”.     There is no feel good story about gouging a charity for kids with cancer. No “remember that hilarious time we lined our pockets with money meant for little Billy’s chemotherapy. Good times!” Yet, our president and his son, Eric, did this and Americans just shrugged their shoulders, if they heard about it at all.   When Bill Clinton was president, about once a month someone in the White House would do something stupid, usually involving a lack of candidness about some scandal that was not a scandal, or the president playing “Whoops, I forgot my pants!”   Roughly every other week George W. Bush’s Pennsylvania Ave. crew tripped over their own stupidity, mainly due to the president’s passing acquaintance with the English language, or Dick Cheney somehow loosing himself from his Silence of the Lamb restraints.   Obama, who had a “no stupidity” policy, would find himself in hot water about once a year. His three biggest scandals had nothing to do with the White House at all. Remember when the far right threw fits about the president saluting his marine guard with a coffee cup in his hand or the outrageous conduct of his wife for suggesting children be served healthy food. Didn’t she realize every American has the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of being a fat bottom? How dare she urge us to be healthy! Oh, who knew those were the halcyon days of American intelligence?   When it comes to Donald Trump, and I wish I was joking about this, I get up in the morning, turn on the television, sigh, and wonder what our egocentric mound of orange jelly did today. I am starting to worry that I might be developing an obsessive- compulsive disorder because I find myself sitting in my chair muttering to myself, “Please don’t let him tweet. Please don’t let him tweet… Crap, he tweeted.” I have met crackheads more coherent and responsible on Twitter.    (I know that Donald does not drink and supposedly does not do drugs, but I wonder whatever he is on when he makes his Jekyll/Hyde transformation into the Mad Tweeter. I wonder, because whatever it is, it must make the 1960s look like a Cub Scout jamboree. Even Deadheads would probably be repeating, “The colors; the colors.”)   In a normal week for a normal president, taking a few bills off of the cancer kids’ pile, is news America needs to know. This is the United States of Trump. That kind of news to know is not going to crack the top ten. There is news that Attorney General Foghorn Leghorn Sessions offered his resignation.  There was also the revelation that the twenty-two Senators behind getting Trump to leave the Paris Climate Accord received $10,694,284 in contributions from the coal and oil industries. For those of you who believed that Donald was sent to Washington to clean up the swamp, that is the swamp belching back. If that was not enough, our President mischaracterizes the words of and attacks the Mayor of London after a terrorist attack. It is understandable that Trump’s tiny little fingers taking a few cancer kids’ Benjamins might not make the headlines.   But all of that stuff got buried in the wake of former FBI Director and Dudley Do- Right cosplayer James Comey’s testimony before the Senate. America has not been that fascinated by a too tall white guy locked in combat on television since Hulk Hogan battled Andre the Giant. It is the beginning of Watergate II: Watergate, For Those That Think Agent Orange Is Trump’s Secret Service Code Name.   In this corner, at 6’8”, 185 pounds, in a suit that matches the White House drapes, a man who is so wholesome that the Pope thinks he is a buzz kill at a party, former FBI Director, James Comey.    In the other corner, at 6’2”, 236 pounds, err, 250 pou…, hum, 275 pounds, 280..., okay, the man is stress eating, forgive him, you would be stress eating too, if you heard what noises come out of Steve Bannon’s office next door when they parade the virgins in around lunch time, the man who put the lips in the upcoming apocalypse, Donald J. Trump.   While I would love to say that Comey’s testimony was a wrestling cage match involving tables, ladders and steel chairs, in reality it was more a monologue from the first act of Hamlet, with the Senators taking up the role of Horatio. The crime has occurred before the audience has ever taken their seats. James Comey is the prince who has a vision of himself that might or might not correspond to reality. He is neither naïve nor jaded. His testimony is an opining on democracy. Donald Trump is the usurper king, offstage, who might be temperamentally unsuited for his throne.  His henchmen and toadies are just the ill winds the king has unearthed in his pursuit of the dark arts to power. They are merely the fates that have set the whole play into motion.   We Americans are more suited for cage matches than for dramatic English tragedies that take time to play out.  We prefer the steel chair and back body drop to long monologues and deep concentration. Trump was born out of a pro wrestling mentality, a simple and all too easy morality play, with promises of good and evil, with everything occurring quickly in the center of the ring. He does not ask for deep attention, nor deep insight.   The problem is our news media now covers everything like a wrestling match. Trump won/Trump lost/Trump tweets out a jab/Comey hits back with a two second verbal steel chair.  Thoughts of more than a few characters are too difficult to pay attention to. Where is my witty meme? How can I spin a half-truth into a simplistic victory? The match is over. No need to pay attention to the threads that weave their way through tomorrow’s headlines. Time to move on to the next story we can drive into the ground for tomorrow.   The curtain is coming down on this Hamlet, but we are still in the first act of this play. James Comey is merely being replaced by another actor in the repertory. There is still so much to go. Trump still has his weaknesses, hubris, and intellectual laziness that will continue to lead to his downfall.  He, like us, cannot escape his demons or fates. He has trouble with the truth and has repeatedly lied needlessly.   If there is a tape of their conversation (as Trump claims), Comey believes it will show that our president is a liar. If there isn’t one, it proves it. Will Michael Flynn or will another one of his underlings hiding in the shadows roll on him? Will all the flaws that ultimately cripple him be merely be a manifest reflection of himself?  He cannot help himself. This is a man that felt the need to make money off of children with cancer. It simply is who he is. It is like Nixon meets Shakespeare, except the king is being played by orange-haired jester. There are still so many acts in this saga to go. How it will end? I do not know.   All I know is “Please don’t let Trump respond to Comey’s testimony. Please don’t let him tweet. Please don’t let him tweet… dang it, he tweeted.” “Alas, poor Democracy, I knew thee well, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.”
To Be or Not To Be, That Is The Testimony of James Comey   In a normal week, month, year, heck, an entire presidency, The President of the United States and his son skimming money from a charity for kids with cancer would have dominated the news and front pages for days or even weeks.  Let me repeat, basically the president and one of his American Psycho sons took money meant for sick kids in the hospital and stuck it in their pockets.   “Little Jimmy needs life saving medicine? Well, Big Donny needs a gold toilet to sit on. Tough to be him.”   It truly is Snidely Whiplash territory. Even The Joker and Lex Luthor would claim  that skimming would truly be too dastardly for even them. The only way Trumps could possibly have gone lower is if they sponsored “Drown A Cute Puppy Day”.     There is no feel good story about gouging a charity for kids with cancer. No “remember that hilarious time we lined our pockets with money meant for little Billy’s chemotherapy. Good times!” Yet, our president and his son, Eric, did this and Americans just shrugged their shoulders, if they heard about it at all.   When Bill Clinton was president, about once a month someone in the White House would do something stupid, usually involving a lack of candidness about some scandal that was not a scandal, or the president playing “Whoops, I forgot my pants!”   Roughly every other week George W. Bush’s Pennsylvania Ave. crew tripped over their own stupidity, mainly due to the president’s passing acquaintance with the English language, or Dick Cheney somehow loosing himself from his Silence of the Lamb restraints.   Obama, who had a “no stupidity” policy, would find himself in hot water about once a year. His three biggest scandals had nothing to do with the White House at all. Remember when the far right threw fits about the president saluting his marine guard with a coffee cup in his hand or the outrageous conduct of his wife for suggesting children be served healthy food. Didn’t she realize every American has the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of being a fat bottom? How dare she urge us to be healthy! Oh, who knew those were the halcyon days of American intelligence?   When it comes to Donald Trump, and I wish I was joking about this, I get up in the morning, turn on the television, sigh, and wonder what our egocentric mound of orange jelly did today. I am starting to worry that I might be developing an obsessive- compulsive disorder because I find myself sitting in my chair muttering to myself, “Please don’t let him tweet. Please don’t let him tweet… Crap, he tweeted.” I have met crackheads more coherent and responsible on Twitter.    (I know that Donald does not drink and supposedly does not do drugs, but I wonder whatever he is on when he makes his Jekyll/Hyde transformation into the Mad Tweeter. I wonder, because whatever it is, it must make the 1960s look like a Cub Scout jamboree. Even Deadheads would probably be repeating, “The colors; the colors.”)   In a normal week for a normal president, taking a few bills off of the cancer kids’ pile, is news America needs to know. This is the United States of Trump. That kind of news to know is not going to crack the top ten. There is news that Attorney General Foghorn Leghorn Sessions offered his resignation.  There was also the revelation that the twenty-two Senators behind getting Trump to leave the Paris Climate Accord received $10,694,284 in contributions from the coal and oil industries. For those of you who believed that Donald was sent to Washington to clean up the swamp, that is the swamp belching back. If that was not enough, our President mischaracterizes the words of and attacks the Mayor of London after a terrorist attack. It is understandable that Trump’s tiny little fingers taking a few cancer kids’ Benjamins might not make the headlines.   But all of that stuff got buried in the wake of former FBI Director and Dudley Do- Right cosplayer James Comey’s testimony before the Senate. America has not been that fascinated by a too tall white guy locked in combat on television since Hulk Hogan battled Andre the Giant. It is the beginning of Watergate II: Watergate, For Those That Think Agent Orange Is Trump’s Secret Service Code Name.   In this corner, at 6’8”, 185 pounds, in a suit that matches the White House drapes, a man who is so wholesome that the Pope thinks he is a buzz kill at a party, former FBI Director, James Comey.    In the other corner, at 6’2”, 236 pounds, err, 250 pou…, hum, 275 pounds, 280..., okay, the man is stress eating, forgive him, you would be stress eating too, if you heard what noises come out of Steve Bannon’s office next door when they parade the virgins in around lunch time, the man who put the lips in the upcoming apocalypse, Donald J. Trump.   While I would love to say that Comey’s testimony was a wrestling cage match involving tables, ladders and steel chairs, in reality it was more a monologue from the first act of Hamlet, with the Senators taking up the role of Horatio. The crime has occurred before the audience has ever taken their seats. James Comey is the prince who has a vision of himself that might or might not correspond to reality. He is neither naïve nor jaded. His testimony is an opining on democracy. Donald Trump is the usurper king, offstage, who might be temperamentally unsuited for his throne.  His henchmen and toadies are just the ill winds the king has unearthed in his pursuit of the dark arts to power. They are merely the fates that have set the whole play into motion.   We Americans are more suited for cage matches than for dramatic English tragedies that take time to play out.  We prefer the steel chair and back body drop to long monologues and deep concentration. Trump was born out of a pro wrestling mentality, a simple and all too easy morality play, with promises of good and evil, with everything occurring quickly in the center of the ring. He does not ask for deep attention, nor deep insight.   The problem is our news media now covers everything like a wrestling match. Trump won/Trump lost/Trump tweets out a jab/Comey hits back with a two second verbal steel chair.  Thoughts of more than a few characters are too difficult to pay attention to. Where is my witty meme? How can I spin a half-truth into a simplistic victory? The match is over. No need to pay attention to the threads that weave their way through tomorrow’s headlines. Time to move on to the next story we can drive into the ground for tomorrow.   The curtain is coming down on this Hamlet, but we are still in the first act of this play. James Comey is merely being replaced by another actor in the repertory. There is still so much to go. Trump still has his weaknesses, hubris, and intellectual laziness that will continue to lead to his downfall.  He, like us, cannot escape his demons or fates. He has trouble with the truth and has repeatedly lied needlessly.   If there is a tape of their conversation (as Trump claims), Comey believes it will show that our president is a liar. If there isn’t one, it proves it. Will Michael Flynn or will another one of his underlings hiding in the shadows roll on him? Will all the flaws that ultimately cripple him be merely be a manifest reflection of himself?  He cannot help himself. This is a man that felt the need to make money off of children with cancer. It simply is who he is. It is like Nixon meets Shakespeare, except the king is being played by orange-haired jester. There are still so many acts in this saga to go. How it will end? I do not know.   All I know is “Please don’t let Trump respond to Comey’s testimony. Please don’t let him tweet. Please don’t let him tweet… dang it, he tweeted.” “Alas, poor Democracy, I knew thee well, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.”