Rest in Peace, Justice Ginsberg

Ruth Bader Ginsberg died Friday afternoon. May she rest in peace. 

Whether one agreed or disagreed with Justice Ginsberg's judicial philosophy and activism, one had to admire her physical and mental strength, strength of character, intellect and perseverance. She never wavered from her left-liberal philosophy. There was never any question when it came to social issues how she would rule. Indeed, the political fight for Democrats now that she is gone is how keep a Constitutionalist from "taking" this "Left-liberal" seat. 

Justice Ginsberg defeated cancer more than once before the most fierce of cancers (pancreatic cancer) finally defeated her. But at age 87, no one can say she did not fight a good fight against a most implacable enemy. 

The Justice is at rest now, but the country is not. In addition to riots, looting, peaceful protests and not-so-peaceful protests, the  Democrats' raw-boned, bare-knuckled fight for permanent political power continues apace. Having dealt with a complacent and compliant Republican Party for the past three decades, Democrats are not used to losing even when they lose elections. Witness the effective control Speaker Pelosi exerts over the nation when her party controls just one half of the legislative branch of government. Contrast that with how ineffective Speaker Ryan was  in passing (what they claim is) Republican agenda when his party controlled the House and the Senate with a Republican president in the White House.

Four years ago, in the eighth and final year of President Obama's presidency, Justice Antonin Scalia died unexpectedly, leaving a vacancy on the Supreme Court. The Democrats were adamant that President Obama, though he was term limited out of office and could not stand for reelection, should be allowed to replace Justice Scalia. For once, the Republicans refused to cave to Democrats' demands and Leader McConnell refused to hold a vote. Keep in mind, had the Republicans not had the elected majority, Senator McConnell would not have been the Leader of the Senate and thus would not have been able to refuse to hold the  vote. In that sense, the people had spoken. As they are speaking now, having elected both the president and the Republican Senate.

Four years later, the shoe is on the other foot, and even though, unlike President Obama, President Trump is up for reelection, the Democrats and their foot soldiers in the media now claim the president should not  be allowed to nominate a candidate in an election year. In short, heads they win, tails Republicans lose. And right on cue, the Democrat moles in the Republican party signal their willingness to comply.

Struggles for power are never pretty, and once the Supreme Court ceased adjudicating and began legislating from the bench, controlling the court became supreme (pun intended).  So why not turn to  one of the most reliable legislators on the Supreme Court, the late Justice Ginsberg, for one last ruling.

Rest in peace Justice Ginsberg; Rest in Peace.

Burning Down the Bank of America

The following is a poem by my friend, the late Joy Eaten Loth, the most talented writer I have ever read. Joy died in 2016. 

Joy's poem was written for a writing class we took together in 1974. Then the "student activists" used the pretext of the War in Vietnam to justify their violence, but other than the cost of the tennis shoes ($1 2.00 was relatively expensive then) and her husband's childhood in a Japanese prison camp and service in Korea, it is as relevant today as it was when she read it aloud in class that first time.  




"AND, WHERE IS YOUR BLUE-EYED BABY BOY NOW, DR. SPOCK?"
by 
Joy Eaton Loth

They were burning down the Bank of America the other day,

on the kitchen colour television,
While I spooned fortified cereal into the Future's mouth.
He sat high and handsome in his germ-free plastic chair,
(a whirr of artificial air above).

The scrupulously scurrulous students in their twelve dollar
     tennis shoes,
     self-torn shirts,
     Chloroxed jeans,
           ran ridiculously across the screen,
           reticulating riotousness,
           throwing words,
           and obscene gestures,
          (as clownishly copied as their clothes).

They were burning down the Bank of America

on every channel, all day long,
while the Future went from his neat nylon-webbed play pen,
to his non-toxic baby bed with soft synthetic bumper guards
(a whirl of bogus butterflies above).

The pampered polished baby in his three dollar
     Carter's best boyish
     nightgown and,
     protective plastic pants,
          raised a familiar finger to his mouth, 
                  soft murmurs,
                  shushed by symbiotic gestures
                  (as primal and unpretentious as a loin cloth)

They were burning down the Bank of America,

on the six o'clock news,
while the Future nuzzled against his Mother's breast,
nurtured by nature, at last, after the artificial day,
(a wisp of waning moon above).

Mother and son exchanging a mutual nourishment,
     touching,
     receiving,
     giving,
            responding to each other's need; until,
            with milk stained mouth,
            blue veins on eyelids,
            like the veins on breasts,
           (the Future fell fast and fearlessly asleep).

"They burned down the Bank of America today,"

the Future's Father said,
arriving tired from the office bearing the paper load of his work,
wearing his childhood in the Japanese prison camp on his forehead,
and, the manual labor which put him through college on his hands.

And I, whose depression deprived parents,
left their skimping on my skinniness,
wearing that for knowledge, as well as what I'd learned in school,
turned toward him frightened; surrounded by the splendours of our struggles.

I was careful not to speak of the wings he wore over Korea.

Sitting amid the comfort of all we'd bought and built,
(our time together shining in every corner of the house,
and in our eyes)
we spoke of youth;
      jeans worn thin,
     mended shirts,
     one pair of run-down shoes,
              running ravenously through school,
              devouring everything,
              regurgitating this,'
              retaining that,
             (more nourishing than the meals we missed).

The Bank of America with a few feeble flames flickering

was featured on the next morning's news.
The Future was seated on my lap at the breakfast table,
learning to pick up Cheerios for his new teeth to chomp,
(the voice of the eloquent and elated reporter above).

The glib and garrulous students in their expensive
     Mod tennis shoes,
     fresh-torn shirts,
     and permanently pressed jeans,
            were now ranting residuals
                     pouting "gimme, gimme",
                     flipping the finger
                     to themselves,
                     (caged within their clothes).

I watched them writhing for awhile,
and feeling faintly sad,
pitied their affluent poverty...
(a kind of inverse avarice?)
Their desires from birth delivered,
by a doting Mom or Dad,
packaged in plastic; gratis.
(Unpayable debts are bad).

Though they had grown their hair for years,
to cover their vacuity,
I could no longer bear to see their 
                                                     charred, 
                                                                   ruined, 
                                                                              reeling bodies,
                                                                                                     ANYMORE.

And so,
I turned them off.

                            The Future, I put on the floor
                             and though he found it strange.
                             not cushioned or soft,
                             (not safe, at all)
                             I piled a set of wooden blocks,
                             and, he began to creep,
                             to crawl.

                                                          II

                             Rome fell by such as these,
                             My blue-eyed baby boy,
                            Barbarians not taught to build,
                            Know only to destroy


                                                          III

They have rebuilt the Bank of  America,

Ten years have passed,
and not one charred brick remains,
Those who berserkly burned it are,
            off on a tangled trip somewhere.
                         or walking in every Friday with a deposit....

The war is over.
All have lost.

The wounded are horribly hidden away,
       in V.A. hospitals,
                  or scabbed, pestilent rooms in Haight Ashbury.

The Future is:
        mowing lawns, walking dogs, setting tables, making beds, 
        sweeping floors, emptying waste cans, studying violin,
        and doing homework.

He gets:
        50c a week allowance

He wants to be:
        a magician, a doctor, a famous musician, a circus performer,
        or maybe an engineer "like my Dad".

He feels:
        that he is overworked and under-paid.

I watch him fondly.
I try to share his dreams.

But, I often wish that I'd never seen the Bank of America burning,
      or read one word of Gibbon.



Further reading on the subject of the unrest fifty years ago when radical agitators burned down the Bank of America, set bombs, murdered police. 
https://time.com/4549409/the-weather-underground-bad-moon-rising/

https://chicago.suntimes.com/politics/2020/1/3/21033388/chesa-boudin-bernadine-dohrn-bill-ayers-san-francisco-sds-weather-underground-brinks-robbery

https://www.nytimes.com/2001/09/11/books/no-regrets-for-love-explosives-memoir-sorts-war-protester-talks-life-with.html

 

                  MEOWY CHRISTMAS 

                                                            and



                                 PUPPY NEW YEAR

Thanksgiving 2014 Redux

From November 21, 2014, Hope’s first Thanksgiving with us.


Giving Thanks
By Holiday Hope

Last night, I had a couple of bites of steak, leftovers from Papa’s plate. I would have liked to have had the whole steak, but even a couple of bites for dessert after a big dinner is a long way from starving in Mississippi.

Last November, I was seven months old, weighed 28 pounds and had mange. I was so ugly when my photograph was sent to the Southeast German Shepherd Rescue coordinator, she wondered why anyone would send her a picture of a possum. But she accepted me into rescue anyway.

Southeast German Shepherd Rescue named me Holiday Hope and hoped I’d make it through the holidays. I survived, got my shots and had my mange treated. Gradually I regained my strength, my hair grew back, and I was able to go outside. Not that I was all that interested in going outside. Once a dog has been a stray, the great outdoors isn’t all that inviting.

Some good people whose names I do not know volunteered to drive me on various legs of a journey that took me from Mississippi to North Carolina where my foster mom lived. In late January, 2014, I was adopted into my forever home, and I moved to Virginia.

This coming Thursday is the day humans reserve for giving thanks, but such a wonderful idea should not be reserved for only those who walk upright. Dogs can be thankful, too. I know I am. I’m thankful for the good people of Southeast German Shepherd Rescue who saved me. For Pat who took care of me when I was sick. For the relay drivers who drove me from Mississippi to North Carolina. For Jan who fostered me. For a warm house, a soft bed, for nutritious food, a daily walk, trips to the dog park with my friend, Shiloh. But most of all, I’m thankful for the love my two humans lavish on me. 

There’s a lot wrong in the world today, but as my story proves, there’s a lot that’s right.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone, and thanks to Growltiger for letting me tell my story.

A Large Serving of Crow for the USTA

Growltiger's human attendants watch a lot of professional tennis on television which can be hard on the cool cat's nerves when the ladies are playing. The men grunt when they hit the ball, but most of the women let out a shriek like they're being gutted on the Streets of London (reference). If two shriekers are playing, the decibel level is probably somewhere around the noise level of the Concorde breaking the sound barrier.

Madam X  doesn't watch ladies tennis, but Dr. X has a higher tolerance level for ear-splitting screams. That or he's harder of hearing.

Growltiger has watched a lot of tennis over the years, and she prefers to watch a strong, baseliner with a two handed backhand who plays a power game which is the game most of the shriekers play. So imagine the cool kitty's surprise when a player she'd never seen before came out onto the court, played the serve and volley game Growltiger doesn't like to watch and Growltiger found herself rooting for her as she defeated Number Four seed, Simona Halep. 

At first, Growltiger was skeptical.  Taylor Townsend doesn't look like the usual female tennis player. She is overweight, didn't have long, stringy hair braided in a pony tail or plopped atop her head like a cow pie (Halep) and most unusually, wasn't dressed in tennis clothes. Instead, she wore baggy, ill-fitting, dark shorts with no logo on them and a loud, lime green Nike top. (Probably an indication Townsend is not ranked high enough to warrant a clothing contract).  But not having a clothing contract isn't the half of it.

As USA Today put  it, few tennis players have suffered the ups and downs Ms. Townsend has (reference). Growltiger would put it another way. Few players have been rooked by the their own Tennis Associations as badly as Ms. Townsend. 

In 2012, Ms. Townsend was the Number One junior women's player in the world, the first American to achieve that ranking in three decades. She won the junior singles and doubles titles in Australia, and the doubles titles at  Wimbledon and the US Open. But USA Today (reference) reports the United States Tennis Association (USTA) had "concerns" that Townsend’s "fitness" was an issue. (Her fitness) "was not where it needed to be to compete at the highest levels going forward". So out of concern for her "fitness" player-development executives, headed by then-general manager, Patrick McEnroe, "withheld funding for her to travel to such competitions as the U.S. 18’s nationals and the US Open."  Let me reword that for you, dear kittens. The USTA considered Ms. Townsend too fat so they wouldn't pay for her to travel to tournaments. What with the cost of airline travel, food and housing, that was tantamount to abandoning the number one junior female tennis player in the world.   

Their concern, Mr. McEnroe claimed at the time, "was for her long-term health...and her long-term development as a player." Yeah. Right. And President Trump has just named Growltiger as commander of the new Space Force.  

Quoting US Today, "Townsend had to come up with her own funds to travel, but the money was much less of an issue than the stigma that came with the  (USTA) decision". Keep in mind, dear kittens, Ms. Townsend was a teenager when the USTA basically called her a fatso and refused to provide funding for her to compete. If that wouldn't wallop a teenager's confidence, nothing would.

According to the USA Today article, the USTA later reversed itself and reimbursed Ms. Townsend for the funds, but the damage had been done. Townsend won only four matches in 2015 and considered quitting tennis. 

During this week's U. S. Open, all the sports hype was directed at fifteen-year-old Coco Gauff while Ms. Townsend quietly struggled through what is known as the "qualifiers" which essentially means she had to play a tournament before she was allowed to enter the Open. No wild card offered to this once top ranked junior women's player in the world.  

Through it all, Ms. Townsend remained gracious in winning and in her eventual loss last night to 15th seeded Bianca Andreescu (Canada). One cannot help but wonder where Ms. Townsend might be had not the USTA decided she was too fat for prime time.  At any rate, with Ms. Townsend no longer in the tournament, the ladies game can go back to being the loud, resounding, ear-splitting bore it was before Ms. Townsend appeared on the scene.

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References:
London Knife Murders: https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/8104412/london-stabbings-2019-knife-crime-statistics/

Townsend's Ups and Downs: 
https://www.usatoday.com/story/sports/tennis/2019/09/02/2019-us-open-taylor-townsend-overcame-lot-haters-break-through/2192543001/

A Trip to the ER

Two weeks ago, Madam X was eating in a local restaurant when the fillet of flounder turned out not to be: Well. Filleted. 

Madam ended up with a fish bone stuck in her throat. 

The bone refused to be dislodged by a hush puppy, so Madam retreated to the ladies room to try to retrieve it with a finger. No luck. So with nothing else to do, Doctor X took Madam X to the Emergency Room.  

The following is a faithful account of Madam X's adventure as told to me, Growltiger, Madam X's faithful housecat -- and sometimes personal scribe.

A very nice woman at the desk by the Emergency Room door greeted Madam X.
ER Employee Encounter #1.  "What is the problem?" she asks pleasantly.  

Madam X: "I have a fish bone in my throat."

The woman at the desk instructs Madam X to check in with the nurse who was standing at the computer about five feet away who most assuredly could have heard Madam X. The nurse is pleasant and cordial. "What is the problem?" she asks. ER Employee encounter #2.   

Madam X explains she has a fish bone in her throat.

The nurse points Madam X to the admitting clerk sitting behind the same counter at which the nurse is standing.  ER Employee Enounter #3. 

Like the other two employees, the admitting clerk is pleasant, cordial and competent. The admission goes quickly, and Madam X is instructed to take a seat in the waiting area.  

A short time later, an EMT appears and calls Madam X's name. ER Employee Encounter #4.  

The EMT takes Madam X to the treatment area and hooks Madam X up to a monitor that records oxygen saturation in the blood, heart rate, respirations and blood pressure which is naturally slightly elevated since Madam X has a fish bone stuck in her throat. 

The EMT leaves, and a few minutes later, an RN with a pleasant, professional demeanor arrives.  This is the fifth ER employee Madam X has encountered.  "Is everything all right?" the RN asks.

"No," Madam X replies, "I have a fish bone stuck in my throat."

The RN takes a peek, doesn't see the fish bone and leaves. 

After a short, reasonable wait, the ER physician appears (ER employee encounter #6); a tall, striking woman who happens to know Dr. X. who is sitting patiently in a chair hoping he won't have to be sitting patiently most of the night while Madam X is in the OR or waiting to go to the OR to have the fish bone (by now labeled a foreign body) removed from her throat.

The ER physician takes a peek and says, "I see it!" 

Dr. X perks up knowing if the ER physican can extract the fish bone in the ER, there won't be a visit to the OR complicated by a full stomach from the madam having consumed most of a flounder fillet before finding out the flounder wasn't filleted.  

Having spotted the fish bone, now renamed a "foreign body", the ER physician  -- the most expensive employee in the Emergency Department -- disappears to collect the tools and instruments she needed to extract the bone. She returns with a headlamp, an alligator clamp and a tongue depressor. After assembling the instruments on the tray beside the bed, she asks Madam X to tilt back her head and open her mouth at which time she inserts the tongue depressor, depresses the tongue, grabs the alligator and deftly extracts a fish bone about an inch and a half long.

Operation Fish Bone having reached the best possible conclusion, Madam X is discharged...relieved and grateful for the excellent care she received and the quality and pleasantness of every employee she encountered in the state-of-the-art modern American Emergency Department.

Still the experience, happy outcome that it had, illustrates why health care costs have soared. Each ER employee (six in all) required a salary and benefits including social security, Medicare payment to the federal government, employee health insurance and retirement. 

Wouldn't it have been more cost efficient for the employee at the door to have been a triage nurse who either sent the patient straight back to the treatment area or to the admitting desk? And rather than have the EMT attach Madam X to the monitors, could that not have been done by a LPN who having ascertained the patient had a fish bone stuck in her throat then assembled the necessary instruments to extract same once the physician got there? Four employees rather than six? A savings of two salaries and benefits while at the same time saving the physician the time she spent having to gather her own instruments?

Growltiger is no hospital administrator, but perhaps that is the problem. Few administrators have ever worked the Emergency Room when a patient arrived with a fish bone in his/her throat. Administrators work in offices, not on wards, in Emergency or Operating Rooms. Their job is to administrate. And what do they administrate? Employees. Departments. Things, not people. Thus the more employees there are, the more the need for administrators to administrate. Come to think of it, isn't that the problem. Isn't administrative costs what drove up the cost of government, university education, primary, elementary and secondary education, too? And, increasingly, health care?  

Welcome to the United States of Administrators. 

     

                              

               Purry Meowy Christmas  

                       and a 

               Puppy New Year

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

                     Merry Christmas

                     Happy Hanukkah 

                               and 

         Many, Many Glorious Meows in 2017 

                              to all 

         Growltiger's friends and dear readers









                          

The Cloud Minders

On Tuesday, Americans – some citizens, some not; some alive, some not -- will for the first time in thirty-six years, go to the polls and not have to choose between Pete (a Democrat Globalist) or Repeat (a Republican Globalist). For the first time since 1980, the voters will have the opportunity to elect a president who is not part of the ruling elite, a president who promises to  put America and Americans first, a president who does not represent the cloud minders who live on Stratos (1).  

The election of 2016 was supposed to be a repeat of  Bush versus Clinton where, whomever won, America would have continued her steady march toward Globalism as verbalized by Bush pere’s “New World Order”, Bill Clinton’s signing of NAFTA, Bush fils's "nation building" and the temporarily stalled TPP backed by Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton (before she was against it). Why the leaders of our nation are intent upon eliminating the poverty of the citizens of other nations at the expense of the living standards of our own citizens is a subject for another discussion.

Tuesday’s election might have been even more interesting had the Democratic Party’s apparatus not managed to overcome their own voter rebellion. A Trump versus Sanders election might have convinced the ruling elite that the American people no longer are willing to accept the crony capitalism of the last three decades, that while those who backed Senator Sanders do not understand that Socialism doesn't work, they do understand that what we're doing doesn't work either.

In 1980, though it pleases the establishment Republicans to forget, the ruling elite were as opposed to Washington outsider, Ronald Reagan, as they are to Donald Trump today. And with the same response. In 1980, establishment Republican Illinois Senator, John Anderson, ran as an Independent (2). In 2016, it is Evan McMullin (3) who is carrying the standard of those who would rather see a Globalist Democrat in the White House than a Nationalist Republican.

In 1980, the shills and shrills warned the voters that Ronald Reagan was a racist, sexist, homophobic pig, a dangerous lunatic, who, if elected, would start a war with Russia. This year, the same shills and shrills claim Donald Trump is a racist, sexist, homophobic pig and dangerous lunatic who won't start a war with Russia.

Growltiger isn't quite sure when and how it happened, but Russia is now the bogeyman. To be fair, Mitt Romney signaled this pending shift in Russia's status in 2012 when he claimed Russia was our biggest threat. At the time President Obama made light of the comment, but now, four years later, the Democrats are singing the same song: The Russians are coming, the Russians are coming. Meanwhile, men and women loyal to Islamic Jihad bomb Bostonians at their Marathon, shoot up nightclubs in Paris, run over men, women and children on the Promenade in Nice, gun down revelers at a Christmas party in San Bernadino and open fire on gays in a nightclub in Orlando.  

For those who believe Fox News is not doing all it can to elect Hillary Clinton, the following link shows a behind-the-scenes glimpse of NeverTrumper, Brit Hume, who, unaware the camera is on him and his mic is hot, collapses in a fury when a guest goes off the rails by claiming a vote for Third Party, McMullin, is a waste of a vote.

"Wrap him up, wrap him" Hume fumes at his producer. Then, realizing the camera is recording the temper tantrum, Hume composes his face and tries to look as though he didn't just rip off the mask he wears to conceal the ugly face of a media establishmentarian working to maintain the status quo which has so enriched them and theirs.  https://theconservativetreehouse.com/2016/11/04/brit-hume-fumes-when-nc-vote-futility-for-evan-mcmullin-is-exposed-on-air/comment-page-3/#comment-3189789.

The point is not for Mr. McMullin to win--that is impossible--the point is to deny Donald Trump the win. Keep in mind, Mr. Hume works for Fox News and Fox News as well as the Wall Street Journal is owned by NewsCorp, one of the six corporations which control 91% of the information the American people receive via media. Then ask yourself whether what you know about Donald Trump is the truth or the result of desperate corporations and special interests frantically working to maintain the status quo.

Donald Trump's candidacy could not have happened had Mr. Trump not been independently wealthy and, therefore, able to self fund his campaign for the Republican nomination. Any other Republican who espoused Mr. Trump’s America first policies would have seen his funding cut off by those who prosper from Globalism and wish to see it continued. The same holds true for the general election. Mr. Trump has little, if any, backing from SuperPacs, Wall Street, major corporations, mainstream media (including Fox News) or  any other special interest. Ninety-nine percent (99.01% to be exact) of Mr. Trump’s contributions come from small donations averaging $50.46. That, dear readers, is American professional, middle and working classes digging into their relatively empty pockets for perhaps one last chance at electing a president who speaks to them and for them, a president who will put the interests of Main Street over those of Wall Street, the interests of the unemployed factory worker over the hedge fund operator, the interests of the overworked physician or nurse over the interests of the insurance executive heading up the corporation for which they work, the interests of the legal immigrant over the interests of an illegal immigrant who sneaked across the border or overstayed his/her visa, the interests of American citizens over the interests of the citizens of China or Mexico or Vietnam.

The Democrats, special interests, Wall Street, Hollywood, major corporations and the media, including Fox News, have all thrown everything--including the kitchen sink– at Donald Trump, and he is still standing. That is a victory unto itself.

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(1) The Cloud Minders is a Star Trek episode in which the starship Enterprise races against time to acquire plague-fighting minerals from a planet in the midst of a civil uprising against a grievous social class disparity where the elite live in a magnificent city built on a cloud (Stratos) and the rest of the inhabitants live in grinding poverty and violence on the planet surface.

(2) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_presidential_election,_1980

(3) https://www.evanmcmullin.com/

It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want to

When a spoiled brat throws himself down, holds his breath and starts wailing and kicking his feet, the only thing a mother can do is just "keep calm and carry on". Let the little darling turn blue and bang his head on the floor if he wants to. He won't really hurt himself. He simply wants his way. *

It's embarrassing when the tiny tyrant throws a temper tantrum in public, something the little monster well knows. Strangers stare, people tsk and fingers point. But the fact is, there really is nothing Mama can do. If she gives in, he'll only get worse, and eventually the little tyrant becomes a dictator. Nor can she cajole him into behaving. Whispering sweet nothings will only make him scream louder. He wants his way, and nothing short of getting it is going to suffice. It might be a candy bar he wants, or a new toy. He's going to scream until he gets it.

Mama can always haul the brat bodily out of the store, of course, but that generally causes even more disruption as she tries to navigate crowded aisles with a kicking, screaming, red-faced, bucking bronco in her arms. So the best thing to do is ignore the little beast and let him wail and kick. Eventually he'll stop.

Right now, the Republican political establishmentarians, used to voters doing what they're told, are throwing one humongous temper tantrum for all the world to see. Papa Bush and his darlings, Georgie Pie and Jebbie Pooh, are holding their breath and refusing to attend the Republican convention because we the people wouldn't give Jebbie Pooh the prize. (God only knows how they'd have behaved had President Putin or President Xi Jinping wounded Jebbie Pooh's tender feelings by denying him something he thought he rightfully deserved).

The Bushies aren't alone in their immature ridiculousness. Failed former Republican presidential candidate, Little Lord Fauntleromney is likewise pitching a fit. He's so mad at scary Donald that he's stomping his feet and spitting. Little Paulie Ryan is slightly better behaved. He just stuck out his bottom lip and refused to take a step. If Daddy Preibus wants him to move, Daddy Preibus is going to have to pick him up and carry him bodily out to the car. Their fellow preschoolers, Georgie Will, Billy Kristol and Charlie Krauthammer are all in a snit, too. They wanted Jebbie to get the prize, and if they can't get their way, they're going to go play with Hillary.

As Leslie Gore used to sing:
"It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to,
"Cry if I want to, cry if I want to,
"You would cry too, if it happened to you."

On a more serious note, the aberrant behavior of entrenched Republican politicians and their mouth pieces in the punditry class and the media toward Donald Trump and the voters who chose him is no laughing matter.

While Mr. Trump does indeed have rough edges which he will need to smooth out, Republican voters have clearly indicated they are opposed to what some see as an alliance between Democrats and Republicans which they call "the Establishment" or sometimes "the UniParty" which  puts the interests of the world first and America last.

In giving Mr. Trump such overwhelming support, Republican voters have fiercely rejected the Establishment's (UniParty's) Budget-Busting, Trade-Deficit, Crony Capitalistic, One-World, New World Order, Globalist, Open Borders, Amnesty to all and Perpetual War-Mongering represented by the Bushes, Mitt Romney and many Establishment politicians who represent the entrenched interests of Washington, DC and the rest of the world over the American people and the country which has given the world so much of its blood and treasure.

Nor should the Democrats celebrate the disarray in the Republican Party. The continuing popularity of Senator Bernie Sanders indicates Democrat primary voters are just as fed up with the status quo which has governed this country (some say into the ground) over the past three decades (with, in this writer's opinion, a brief interlude during the years Bill Clinton was president and Newt Gingrich the Speaker of the House).

Senator Sanders's supporters are too young to know Socialism doesn't work. They are not too young to know that the crony-capitalism of the past three decades doesn't either.

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