All the world is strange, even me and you

This country seems like it’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  The markets are afraid of their own shadow.  Another Saturday Night Massacre could happen at any time.  We’re closer to war with Russia than at any time since then end of the cold war.  A Saturday Night Massacre could happen any day.  The President’s consigliere has been compromised, and his deepest secrets could be exposed.  To send him a signal that omerta, the rule of silence, should be honored, he pardons a felon.  Message sent, message received:  I’ve got your back.  A president under siege.  It’s not a pretty sight.

In the larger picture, this is all chaff.  Tweety’s just being the drama queen that he is.  Tweety seems to thrive in chaos, even to seek it out.  It makes him always at the center of the drama, the nation waiting curiously for the next tweet from the star of the show, Tweety Bird.

Look, lets resign ourselves, we’ve got over two more years of this left.  Would anyone want to extend it to six?  I don’t think so.  Trump is digging his own political grave, but he doesn’t care.  He’s not going to run again, and he’s got scores to settle, and he’s got two years left as President of the United States to settle them.  Heads will roll.  Lots of heads. Tweety likes firing people.  It’s kind of his thing.

 

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