Troll Time!

A comment from a reader, MelH, arrived on my phone yesterday as I left the cemetery in Peekskill.  Mel was apparently upset about what he felt was my unfair depiction of loyal Trumper Corey Lewandowski’s pugnacious appearance before the House the other day:

Wow, you need to get control of your blood pressure or your widow will be the one spending your next welfare check. Stay tuned, the TRUTH is coming out in an outstanding Perp Walk I hope you enjoy.

I thought of replying “You’re as witty as your president, Mel.  Thanks for stopping by, my brother, sorry I got you so upset.  Now — back under your bridge with ya.” or something equally innocuous, then thought better of it.   What would the point be of calling a troll a troll?

The only reason I don’t get a lot of these wickedly funny troll type comments is because few readers actually encounter these words of mine, opinionated words that speak for themselves.   A marketing failure, no doubt, that I don’t attract more readers like MelH.   On the other hand, if thousands read these posts daily I’d likely get dozens of puckish trolls chiming in regularly, so maybe I’ll just be grateful and take my internet obscurity for the blessing it also is.

We are free — human, “person” and bot alike — to express our opinions here in the USA  a privilege we must not take for granted.  Some, of course, are more free to express themselves than the rest of us (since money is speech), but we still have a right to express our thoughts, ideas, feelings and theories.  What Vonnegut said about knees applies to our government-protected freedom of speech and expression as well: take good care of them, you’ll miss them when they’re gone!

It appears the premise of my post bothered Mel.  Perhaps he felt it was unfair of me to suggest that Lewandowski appeared with a phalanx of lawyers provided by the “White House”.   Low blow, a handful of lawyers cannot “flank” anybody (and what’s with all these so-called “quotation marks”?).   I suppose it was also a sign that I was blowing a gasket to mention that at least one of these lawyers angrily interrupted the chairman of the committee with desperate, baseless legal objections.   

I can only imagine what Mel would have written if I’d highlighted (or even mentioned) Lewandowski’s money shot of the day.  Confronted with the clip of himself lying on national television (claiming no knowledge of what he’d already told Mueller about in detail under oath) he said he had no obligation not to lie unless he raised his right hand to God and swore not to — in which case he always told the truth.  “I have no obligation to be honest with the media,” said Corey who then instantly did the classic Trump double down/distraction/reframe: the liberal media lies ALL THE TIME, so what’s the big deal if he does too (hypocrite libtard cucks)?!

We could go through my assertions about the session one by one, and Corey’s answers, as thoughtful people used to do in assessing which way to go when forming opinions.   Or, we can see what’s behind door number two (and aptly named it is, give a sniff), shall we?   A thrilling world beyond reason, the superior, exciting world of pure emotion!   

Mel apparently saw, even if he only read the first few sentences,  that I went on and on about what Lewandowski said and how he behaved, how the respective parties on the committee went about their business, or maybe he just read “Lawyered Up” and he was off and running.  Shoot, maybe it was my remark about Trump’s extra-legal insistence on “absolute immunity” in all matters, the novel presumption of an all-encompassing presidential privilege amounting to a binding, pre-emptive, non-written Non-disclosure agreement that legally silences everybody he’s ever talked to about anything.    I can see how that assertion of mine might rankle somebody who devoutly loves the forthright, transparent Mr. Trump and the great job he’s doing.

My “wife” and I are suddenly on welfare (how could we not be?!  you don’t have to be smart to get this masterfully coded n-word, LOL!).   I am about to have a fatal heart attack, you know, because that’s what happens when you exert yourself to write a lot of words.   You see how this works?   

Welcome to America 2019, bitches, just in time for 2020!

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