Pike Speak

                                                                                  January 25, 2020

Dear Senators,

I appreciate the many long hours you are putting in to deal with the Impeachment Hoax being forced on you by those who care more for their own selfish motives than for our glorious government.

To help make sure you do not suffer from the long hours, I am sending you a luxurious deluxe and very expensive Pillow that will help you get the best night’s sleep anybody has ever had!  These deluxe Pillows are limited quantity so some of you will receive the beautiful deluxe Pike Pillow and others will get the beautiful deluxe Park Pillow.  Each one is top of the line and the Best Pillow money can buy!

The reference to ‘heads on pikes’ was obviously a reference to the wonderful night’s sleep Senators who receive these beautiful Pillows will soon experience.  Any unpleasant reference to these extremely expensive Pillows is obviously a rude and nasty comment made by the rude and nasty Do Nothing Democrats.

As your President I thank you for your loyalty just as I know you will soon be thanking me for this beautiful expensive gift. 

Signed,

Donald J. Trump

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Is American Democracy Doomed?

“IS AMERICAN DEMOCRACY DOOMED?”, I asked several months ago. MUCH has happened since then and now, months after first posing that question, I find my answer all the more ominous. Please READ & SHARE.

WHAT IF...?

In the earliest days of Donald Trump’s occupation of the White House, Steve Bannon, Trump’s bloated, bloviating
“Fixer”, and the man some referred to as ‘the author of the Apocalypse’, spoke freely
about the plan to dismantle American Democracy.
The hiring of incompetents to head all Cabinet posts was merely Step One
of the Bannon agenda. (Step One: Check).
Steve Bannon’s Wet Dream envisioned destabilizing the very pillars of American
governance, then confiscating all he deemed worthy of owning and selling all
the rest (all buyers welcome, regardless
of political or national affiliation). Steve
Bannon may be gone from the West Wing, but his agenda lives on, and what we
have witnessed for these past two-plus years, is the systematic implementation
of his despicable plan.

Is it already too late to save America? There are so many questions we should all be asking. Questions including, but certainly not limited to:…

View original post 688 more words

A PRIZE FOR DONNIE

His HineAss, aka “Plumpty Trumpty”; “DonKey Bloaty”; & (p)Resident Dump (in the absence of Russian Hookers the “P” is silent), desperately craves a Nobel Prize….so…we have decided to give him one. (as we all know, he cannot spell, so, if no one mentions the spelling to him, he will be thrilled by this honor and will brag about it to anyone who will listen)

–Y.Not?! (aka Brooke Jones)

A VISIT FROM SANITY CLAUSE

Twas the night before Christmas and in the White House

Not a creature was stirring, except for the Louse.

He sat on his gold throne, device on his knees

Tweeting his latest insanities.

Then from somewhere outside there arose such a clatter,

he jumped from his duties and dropped his snack platter.

To the window he waddled and looked down to see

a red-suited figure, “Who could that be?

Then Junior crawled in whining “What’s all that noise?”

and Barron shrieked “Santa! He’s bringing my toys!”

Oh no, that’s not Santa! Are you dumb or just blind?

That’s Old Crooked Hillary and her saggy behind!”

From her sleigh in the driveway then Hillary spoke:

I’ve got the computers and pictures and notes,

And even the boxes of uncounted VOTES!

I saw you do all of the sick things you did

and I know where you’re hiding the secrets you hid.

With the blackmail items that for years you’ve stocked up

when it’s all sorted out, won’t be me who’s locked up!

Your time in the White House will soon be no more,

and I’ll laugh and applaud as you’re dragged out the door!

Then Eric unleashed such a sad, mournful sob:

If Dad’s not the Boss, who will give me a job?”

Shut up. Just shut up! This is not about you!

This is all about me, but I know what to do!

I’ve got friends, lots of friends, the best friends in fact!

They love me, they’re loyal, they won’t let me get sacked!

I have friends in high places, friends nobody knows,

friends with Yuge power and yuge debts they owe!

I’m too big to fail, too powerful to touch,

I’ll be President For Life, they promised that much!

Then the pants-suited figure stood tall, straight and proud

and from out on the driveway her laughter got loud.

“President for Life? Too big to fail?

With titles like that you’ll be well-liked in jail!

With your selfish, disgusting, deplorable deeds,

plus your cruelty, lies and insatiable greed

you’ve written your future in blood on the streets

and set it in stone with your 3 AM Tweets!

You’re a cancer, a rancid and festering sore,

a malignant, malicious, international whore!

The time has now come that the Piper be paid

Time now that the sum of your Evil be weighed.

I thank Flynn, Guilliani, Manaforte and Ted Cruz

and Cohen and all your Friends at Fox News”

Then, reins in her hands, she hopped back on her sleigh

and uttered the words she had long wished to say:

Great thanks to the people who dared ‘take a knee’,

and to Dreamers and Memers who refused not to see,

Plus the millions of people with Soul and with Heart

Who wept as you ripped our Nation apart!

Thanks to Mueller, Pelosi, Adam Schiff and Max Waters

and all of America’s rational voters,

the Nightmare is over — we’ve ousted the Scum

and the greedy sick Toadies who enabled the Bum!”

Then she said, with a wave and a glorious grin:

Merry Christmas to all — may the healing begin!”

Y.Not?! (aka Brooke Jones)

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To Summit Up…

It’s official — nauseating, despicable and illegal, but official — the leaders of Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan and the U.K. are now scheduled to each pay a fortune for the dubious honor of participating in the upcoming 2020 G7 Summit.

Okay, that’s not the nauseating, despicable, illegal official thing. The nauseating, despicable, illegal official thing is this: at the whim of Donald Trump, the 2020 G7 Summit will be held at the Donald Trump owned, allegedly bed-bug infested Doral Country Club, which means that every Dollar, Yen, Euro and Pound paid by the attendees will go directly, do not pass Go, into the porcine pockets of…Donald Trump.

Moving right along…

Fact #1) The U.S. Constitution specifically prohibits a sitting, standing (or lying!) president from accepting payments of any kind from any foreign entities,

Fact #2) Donald Trump believes himself to be above the U.S. Constitution and immune to its prohibitions.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch (so to speak)…

As the saner elected members of the U.S Congress wring their hands, clutch their pearls and bemoan this obvious travesty, what they are actually doing to prevent this heinous flaunting of our nation’s most sacrosanct commandments is…oh, that’s right…they are doing nothing to prevent it. Once again, Donald Trump does what Donald Trump wants to do — the law be damned!

But wait! There is one thing that can be done to prevent Donald Trump from yet again breaking the law while simultaneously padding his pockets. While the elected officials of the United States may be powerless to prevent yet another Trump Triumph, there are six elected officials whose power he is powerless to prevent! And so, to those six I pen this letter:

OPEN LETTER TO 6 of the G7 MEMBERS:
Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau; French President Emmanuel Macron; German Chancellor Angela Merkel; Italian President Sergio Mattarella; Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe, and British Prime Minister Boris Johnson:

It is Donald Trump’s stated intention to act in violation of the United States Constitution by personally profitting from the duties of his office. This letter refers specifically to the upcoming 2020 G7 Summit.

Donald Trump has just announced that he intends to host the G7 meeting on the premises of the Doral Country Club, the allegedly bed-bug infested resort that he personally owns. (He also announced that, during the Summit, he will allow no discussions of Climate-related issues, but edicate dictates that civilized epistles contain no more than one mind-boggling topic, so I will leave his Climate Commandment for another time).

As I was saying…should you choose to attend the Trump-hosted Summit, all fees you will pay to stay in his resort, including room fees, food and beverage, entertainment, bug repellant, et al, will go directly into his pocket. Such action is specifically prohibited by the very Constitution he has sworn to uphold.

In light of Donald Trump’s flagrant disregard for the laws of this land, and his intention to personally profit from your efforts to serve the peoples of your respective nations, I ask that, for calendar year 2020, you revoke the U.S.’s membership in your esteemed group, and conduct your 2020 Summit as the G6, at the location of your choosing.

By so doing, you will not only deny Donald Trump the opportunity to literally enrich himself at your expense, but you will show him that democratic nations of honor, world wide, abhor ruthless leaders who care more for personal profits than they do for the welfare of the people they are sworn to serve. (You would also then be able to discuss such issues as the imminent end of life on planet Earth and what can be done to prevent it. That would be apppreciated.)

On behalf of the People and the Constitution of the United States of America, I thank you.

Y.Not?!

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All The Noise That’s Fit To Print

Who is Donald John Trump?  He is the tantrum-throwing toddler in the cereal aisle of your local grocery store.  He is the sticky-fingered six-year-old who, caught with both hands in the cookie jar, glares at his brother and shrieks “HE did it!”  He is the Demon Child of Twilight Zone who, by merely pointing, sends innocent neighbors and dogs to their doom in the Corn Field, as impotent adults smile feebly and say “It’s good, what you done!”

Good morning, America – where are you?!  Yonder Corn Field is fast approaching Standing Room Only status.  Meanwhile the self-proclaimed Stable Genius, he of the “great and unmatched wisdom”,  passed Open Mouth, Insert Foot Station long ago, and has arrived, kicking and screaming, at Opens Mouth Only To Change Socks Junction.  Indeed, he who has yet to meet a silence he couldn’t shatter is but a whisper away from his Waterloo Depot.  It would take so very little to send him over the edge.  Just a nudge…a simple jolt…almost nothing really.  In fact, nothing is the very thing required.  Allow me to explain.

The roar of the crowd is his life’s blood.  Solitude, his personal Hell.  He is the anti-cockroach who runs from the darkness.  The Spotlight is his solace, his safe Haven.  It is also his addiction. And so, I suggest that We The People, generous to a fault as we can sometimes be, give to he who is animated by nothing more than our attention, a generous helping of absolutely…nothing.

Let us deprive him of that which he so desperately craves.  All it would take is a media paradigm shift.  No small matter, I confess – but one that could result in the salvation of civilization. (Forgive me the hyperbole, but these are perilous times, and what, after all, is hyperbole compared to the perils we humans now face?).

Let all newspapers, magazines and internet sites print his words, as they see fit, but withhold all images of him.   Let the Talking Heads of TV News recite his words, with full attribution, of course, but refrain from televising any photograph or video of him.  Let the TV, Radio and Internet airwaves be free of the sound of his voice.  No doubt, Fox and Sinclair Broadcasting will not jump on to this new Band(width) Wagon, but even they, powerful as they may be, will be no match for the media outlets of the world.

To all media, foreign and domestic – ABC; CBS; NBC; MSNBC; CNN; BBC; the Washington Post; Huffington Post; WSJ; the Times of London and New York; Time Magazine, even YouTube and Facebook – to all of you I say:  Let your printed pages present his lunacy; let your news readers, and reporters repeat his raving diatribes, but let him be deprived of the sound he so adores – the sniffling, snorting insanity of his own vainglorious voice.  Let us sentence him to live in a world that will not beam his bloated image back to him on TV or computer screens. 

The time has come for us to end his rabid assault on Humanity.  Let us help him to take that final frenzied step.  Let us assist him in his ultimate unraveling.  He is oh so very close.  With just our gift of abstinence, he is sure to come unglued, and from his frustrated, frothing mouth will come the very words that will be his undoing.  The Madman, at long last unhinged, will seal his own Fate.  With his unwitting, ne witless, assistance, no Impeachment Trial will be required, and not even Mitch McConnell and his lockstep Lemmings will have the power to prevent the unfurling of the 25th Amendment.  And all that is required is the formal introduction of nothing – the nothing that only a Media Moratorium can bring.

Let he who must be banished, be delivered to the abyss by the frenetic cacophony of his own full-blown craziness, unleashed, at last, by a world in which his image is not seen and his voice is not heard.  Let our national nightmare end, not with a gavel’s bang, but with the whining, wailing, whimpering of a deranged man-child whose time upon the world’s stage has finally, mercifully, come to an end. 

Y.Not?!

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Survival Of The Tweetist

The line of people who believe that the death of confirmed scumbag and alleged child molester Jeffrey Epstein was the result of murder and not suicide is long – probably even longer that this sentence…or not.  When asked, they say, with grim certainty, that Epstein knew too much of the wrong kind of information about too many of the wrong kind of people – heavily monied or heavily made individuals whose reputations meant far more to them than the life of Jeffrey Epstein.  To such thinking I say “point well taken”.  After all, a dead scumbag is a silent scumbag.

…which brings me to today’s topic:  Will Donald Trump live long enough to receive his so richly deserved legal comeuppance?  (and please don’t try to tell me that the thought hasn’t already occurred to you!)

Certainly, his present physical condition – all 300 plus pounds of it – coupled with his notorious diet of burgers, fries and pizza, along with his disdain for physical exercise (riding in golf carts and occasionally swinging little sticks doesn’t actually count as exercise) would tend to limit the longevity of any 73 year old.  Now, add to that a daily regimen of pharmaceutical enhancements of the Narcotic variety, as has long been speculated, and top it all off with the emotional frenzy caused by a personal and professional life that is unravelling at warp speed, under the watchful eye of…I dunno…say about six billion people, give or take a few million.

Under normal circumstances, what you would get from that is one very dead heart attack or stroke victim.  But, of course, we Americans haven’t seen normal circumstances since Mr. and Mrs. Normal Circumstances left the building in late 2016 — and they didn’t even have the decency to  leave a forwarding address!  But let us assume, if only for the sake of this here piece I’m penning – that Tweety Turd (as I’ve taken to calling him) does manage to remain alive…that the heart that his actions suggest he doesn’t actually possess continues to beat even as the evidence against him mounts and more and more Featured Players in his poorly directed drama take leave of their roles and seek early retirement in Papua, New Guinea.  Let’s just assume that for a moment, shall we?

Now…remember Jeffrey Epstein?  Consider, if you will, the names, the contacts in Tweety Turd’s Smart Phone.  The phone that contains the Who’s Who of What’s What of Planet Earth.  Jeffrey Epstein may not have been privy to Vladimir Putin’s peskiest peccadillos, but five will get you ten that Donny Trump is!  Then there are the Royal Families of Great Britain and Saudi Arabia, and the cold-blooded cousins of North Korea…and that’s just the top of what must be a very long batting order!

Just how good will the Secret Service have to be to protect Trump from some of the best-trained assassins on the planet?  If I’m wondering about this, it’s a safe bet that the three still-functioning brain cells in Tweety Turd’s head must be beside themselves. Of course that would mean that he’d suddenly have six functioning brain cells – that’s a one hundred percent increase in brain power – so perhaps it’s not all bad news for him.

–Y.Not?!

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