I must confess that during the GOP primaries, I was wary of Donald J. Trump. There were simply too many recent changes of party and heart to convince me he was actually a Republican, let alone a conservative. And although it usually pains me no end to admit it when I’m proven wrong, I am relishing it at the moment.
In a matter of mere days, he reverted to being Mr. Apprentice by firing Sally Yates, the acting attorney general, when she refused to enforce Trump’s perfectly constitutional ban on people traveling from seven centers of Islamic terrorism; he appointed the perfect replacement for the legendary Antonin Scalia, Neil Gorsuch; and he made a surprise visit to the return ceremony for Navy SEAL William Owens, who lost his life during a military mission in Yemen.
Those are three items you would never have found on Barack Obama’s daily calendar. But they are what we have already come to expect of President Trump, who’s been on the job less than two weeks.
In the meantime, the Democrats in Congress are behaving exactly the way you’d expect of a party that is totally beholden to the teachers’ unions, the Sierra Club, George Soros and Hollywood. After spending eight years calling Republicans obstructionists for opposing Obama’s trillion-dollar stimulus, the Iran deal and the Unaffordable Care Act, they aren’t even showing up for hearings on Trump’s Cabinet appointments.
Speaking of which, I’m wondering how Republican voters in Alaska and Maine will be reacting to their respective senators, Lisa Murkowski and Susan Collins, voting against Trump’s nominee for secretary of education, Betsy DeVos.
By doing so, the two ladies are openly declaring that they are so deep into the pockets of the teachers’ unions that their autopsies are likely to indicate that they succumbed to lint.
I would suggest to Joe Manchin, D-W.Va., that if he plans on being re-elected, he should switch parties before his next election. And he shouldn’t dither because he’ll want to make the change before the next natural disaster hits his state. At such times, when federal funds are essential, it always helps to be in the same party as the person in the Oval Office.
Only one reader, I’m happy to report, took umbrage with my recent contention that Trump is greater than Reagan. For one thing, although Reagan appointed the legendary Scalia to the Supreme Court, he also seated Sandra Day O’Connor, a true brain freeze by the Gipper, and Anthony Kennedy, who was better than George H.W. Bush’s David Souter, but that’s about the best you can say for him.
I believe, as I told my reader, that the mythology that surrounds Reagan has more to do with his beguiling personality and his well-scripted lines than his actual accomplishments. To be fair, Reagan had to wheel and deal with Tip O’Neill and the Democrats, and that’s never a fun enterprise. But I, for one, will never forgive Reagan, Mr. Trust-but-Verify, for signing the amnesty bill in 1986 that opened the floodgates to illegal aliens.
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There are those to be found in our crybaby nation who are still whining about Trump’s doing his level best to keep jihadists out of America, and promoting the notion of accepting Christians ahead of Muslims. But the fact is, the Muslims who are attempting to leave the Middle East are merely attempting to get out of a war zone. It’s a natural enough desire. But the Christians have been the ones dealing with a war zone during peaceful times. They, along with Israel’s Jews, have had to deal with Muslims looking to exterminate them on a daily basis – the same people, by the way, that Obama was so anxious to bring to America.
In “Animal Farm” George Orwell pointed out that not all animals are equal. I insist the same holds true when it comes to refugees.
Speaking of a crybaby nation, I heard a woman caller on a radio talk show this morning who reported that her 11-year-old daughter came home from school and mentioned that most of the male students in her class are what she referred to as girly-boys. She explained that they’re more concerned with their looks and their clothes than the actual girls are.
I knew that the media, female teachers and the creatures of NOW have been waging a campaign to feminize American males, but I wasn’t aware that it had already begun to affect sixth graders. Parents of America, run, don’t walk, to your sons’ room and check for signs of rouge, mascara and metro-sex clothing catalogs.
One of my readers wondered if there had been a sudden increase in the number of celebrity deaths taking place. I let her know that I didn’t think so. What I suspected was taking place, thanks to social media and the fact that there are people who are actually keeping second-to-second tabs on the Kardashians, was that the number of recognizable names are increasing exponentially.
It used to be that most of the names we could identify were involved at the highest level with entertainment, athletics, literature, politics or were known for singular achievements like Charles Lindbergh, Henry Ford, Jonas Salk, John D. Rockefeller, Roger Bannister, Edmund Hillary, John Dillinger, Thomas Edison and Albert Schweitzer. But today, you have people who have achieved nothing of note, except notoriety. But when they die, the media covers it 24/7, especially if they take their leave through drug overdoses.
I’m not going to suggest that every actor, actress, writer and director, in Hollywood is mentally challenged, but that’s only because I happen to personally know a handful who aren’t. But if I didn’t live and work in this town, I can certainly see how normal people living in what is often described as flyover country, might easily get the idea that these louts are not only overpaid, ignorant and arrogant, but far more egotistical than the person they hate even more than tax collectors and movie critics – namely, Donald J. Trump.
But even President Trump, on his worst day, wouldn’t think of scheduling three awards ceremonies – the Golden Globes, the Screen Actors Guild Awards and the Oscars – to fall within a seven-week time frame. With all the non-stop back-patting, you would think local chiropractors would be up to their necks in sprains, strains and pulled tendons.
Fortunately, the Hollywood elite can afford to run off to Cabo, Cancun or Bermuda, to recuperate, while working on their tans and cursing Trump, Republicans and, of course, income inequality.
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