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Disgrace the Nation

In the spirit of Hurricane Henri and the fall of Kabul, in this column we will blow hard and piss all over everything, and move ahead with no idea what we’re doing and without any attempts at apology.

The very visual coverage of the horrific botched withdrawal of American troops and civilians − along with our courageous native allies − from the international graveyard that is Afghanistan (hands up, Great Britain and Russia) has been numbing to anyone following this debacle. Thanks to gutless politicking and clueless and misguided decision-making, as P&J go to press we are just trying to digest the ISIS-directed deadly suicide bombings in Kabul and await more of the same.

(And when it comes to humanitarian aid, P&J have taken to heart the comment from a now-forgotten source that instead of politicizing humanitarian aid, we should try humanizing politics. Got that, President Biden and everyone in Congress?)

Your superior correspondents refer back to the CBS dramedy series, “The United States of Al,” which subtly and presciently took on the plight of America’s in-country allies, who now face torture and death for assisting our country in one of our most embarrassing and humiliating forays into foreign nation-building. We would also like to thank the good folks at the Pentagon, who kept up their grand tradition of lying to the public and the pols as to how many brave U.S. military lives were lost in a rigged game, and how we were always inches away from success.

In “The United States of Al,” the storyline is focused on an interpreter (Al) who worked as a civilian with a US Marine’s unit in Afghanistan, but then came to the States to live in a comrade-in-arms’ house. Some of the nuanced jokes made by Al would, for example, discuss how long it took him to get papers to come to the US in recognition of his long, frontline support of our troops, putting his ass on the line alongside our Marines. We are hearing about those now-unfunny circumstances in abundance these days, and trust us, nobody’s laughing.

While this “disgrace the nation” right in our cringing faces continues, apologies seem like very weak tea to P&J, and especially to those Afghan families’ faces who we have seen on video wide-eyed and crying in fear of their possible fates, while all they see is our backs. Shame on us as a whole.

Pornography Section

Call it “weather porn” or “fear porn,” but the arrival of Hurricane (cum Tropical Storm) Henri on August 22 gave Little Rhody’s TV stations the chance to fan both their feathers and the fire among the citizenry.

Local weather forecasters never seem happier than when they are addressing potential natural disasters. As of the Friday prior to Henri’s Sunday grand entrance, grinning meteorologists were sending the tacit message that everyone should be doing the bread-and-milk samba ASAP, and don’t forget to get gas and more toilet paper.

This unspoken appeal to our worse instincts in advance of an unpredictable weather crisis is a dog whistle ramping up of fear of the worst, hiding under the guise of “be prepared.” Well, if you are typical New Englanders — especially residents of the Ocean State — and don’t know what to do without being guided by some talking hairdo on TV, it’s time to head to Omaha.

And as often happens, Henri managed to miss most of Rhode Island. Jamestown perhaps took the worst hit, with total power outage for all residents and six big-time sailboats snapping their moorings and washing up on the shore looking like an oversized surfers’ beach party. Residents also emptied all the gas from the town’s only gas station and all the cash in the in-town ATMs. Yet another Comet Kohoutek scenario overblown by the media to the nth degree. 

In the future, hopefully someone at TV stations will decide to take the route besides that of a shock-and-horror, “Oh my god, it’s pornography, it will destroy us all!” response to nasty weather events, which will be getting more intense as climate change sinks its talons into our lives, and come on with more of a reasoned, “Hey, this could possibly be a pisser of a storm, but you’ve got it covered, right?”

And from P&J’s experience, if you want reliable info, just find someone who has the good sense to track the weather on their cellphone and make reasonable and informed decisions, instead of running around like well-dressed, made-up Chicken Littles, squawking about a possible apocalypse.




Are You Not Entertained?: The river wasn’t the only thing on fire when Who He and Elorza squared off

Oooh, you bitch!

The British would call it, with a dismissive sneer and a smile, “handbags at 10 paces.”

That about sums up the much-inflated confrontation between Providence Mayor Jorge Elorza and Governor Dan “Who He?” McKee at a recent press conference for the illustrious WaterFire. A lot of heated blather, especially from the diminutive Elorza, who we would say acted like his hair was on fire, save for the fact he has little to burn up top. To Phillipe and Jorge, the best part of the videotaped spat was the intervention of one of McKee’s bodyguards, who looked amazingly like Steven Schirripa, best known for his role in “The Sopranos” as Uncle Junior’s caretaker, Bobby “Bacala.” Now if “Who He?” could find a way to get Paulie Walnuts on his security team, he’d have our votes forever.

The cause of the dispute was the Providence teachers union contract, although some viewed it as a pre-planned PR stunt to show the diminuto Jorge as a tough guy who was standing up for his community. Maybe, maybe not. Just as likely was that Hizzoner wanted to kick off what will undoubtedly be a primary race for the Democratic candidacy for governor in 2022 in which Elorza and McKee will face off. (And P. and J. hope both will get their butts kicked by current Secretary of State Nellie Gorbea, who has already announced her official candidacy for that slot.)

So calm down, boys, although a shrieking, arms-flapping, wincing and backpedaling slapfest among politicians just can’t be beat for entertainment value.

Jackie, Jackie

Phillipe and Jorge are longtime fans of Borscht Belt comedians. (For you youngsters, imagine a landlocked cruise ship full of Jewish passengers planted in the Catskills.) So we were saddened to learn of the recent passing of Borscht Belt legend (and former rabbi) Jackie Mason. Mason’s self-deprecating humor and stylized Yiddish accent were a big hit in the Catskills before he went on to New York City where he had a chequered, but always humorous, career in stage and TV.

One of his most hilarious bits was about his inferiority complex. A great example was the shtick that went, “I was so self-conscious that when I went to a football game and the players went into a huddle, I thought they were talking about me.”

Rhode Block

Many Vo Dislunders P. and J. have spoken with in the past few years have said they no longer travel to Block Island in the summer because it is simply overrun by tourists. And with locals’ well-known disdain for outsiders, this isn’t a huge surprise.

But you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet.

As this column goes to press, the town council of New Shoreham, which is the official name of The Block, will decide whether to make indoor mask-wearing at public establishments mandatory. As we have all seen since masks became the world’s most controversial accessory, this is a ticking time bomb for Block Island. Enforcing such a law on opinionated tourists from afar is a guarantee of multiple confrontations between merchants and the great unwashed, many of whom can’t pronounce, never mind spell, the word “couth.” (And as far as enunciation, just imagine Joe Pesci’s version of “youths” in “My Cousin Vinny,” which comes out “’utes.” “Hey, get some coot, wouldjuz?”)

The alternative that New Shoreham’s town fathers and mothers are considering is that wearing of masks becomes a “request.” Good luck with that, in a state where the most common polite request made of others is “Go fuck yourself.”




Light Up the Night: How do we sleep when our bridge is burning?

Relax and Enjoy It

With COVID restrictions slowly but surely being eased back to a bearable level, and The Donald off Twitter and Facebook and just beginning what appears to be a marathon perp walk through the legal system, blood pressures are noticeably down nationwide. (Forget Trump’s nonexistent and bogus taxes, wouldn’t you like to see a running account of his monthly legal bills starting now?) So it is back to what Phillipe and Jorge value most highly: absurdity and stupidity. So hop on board and here we go.

And Your Mother, Too

With Nibbles Woodaway, a.k.a. the Big Blue Bug, needing repair, coming to La Prov’s rescue in the civic expression category was the unforgettable visual triumph of the Crook Point Bridge on fire. No, we don’t have Burning Man, but we did have a Burning Bridge.

Most people who have ever traveled the span of the Washington Bridge on the I-Way (Route 195), or strolled, rowed, kayaked or canoed anywhere near the Seekonk River between the Capital City and East Providence are familiar with the old (113 years) and abandoned Crook Point railway bridge, which has been pointing almost straight up in the air for years. P&J always thought it was our version of giving the finger to any visitors or tourists who observed it, in the grand Providence tradition of, “Whatta you, an asshole?”

But seeing the bridge aflame in the night, as it was on June 29, gave a dignity to the “Eff you!” defiance of the structure, certainly a postcard/poster-worthy image in the same league as the Mad Peck’s famous “Providence” artwork of years gone by, drawing the eye and heart of anyone who saw or will see it, despite its “Whatta you lookin’ at?” spirit. So we are sure that someone from our artist-rich community will see fit to turn it into the icon it should become for years to come.

While no one should cheer massive destruction, perhaps this was our little tribute to the end of the pandemic lockdown, and renewing the local culture’s sense of pride in always burning bright with attitude and a nasty little gleam in our eye.

Too Clever By Half

As inveterate TV watchers, Phillipe and Jorge naturally have to absorb one-third of our viewing time from ads, dominated by not just Big Pharma products and idiotic car dealers, but the ghastly spots run by ambulance-chasing law firms and insurance giants.

So it was with glee, and admittedly a bit of schadenfreude, that we noticed that one insurance company, The General, is now airing ads that are running away as fast as they can from their previous campaign that featured a simpleminded cartoon ”General,“ obviously based upon the outdated mind’s eye view of legendary WWII General George S. Patton (as played by George C. Scott in the eponymous movie). These spots nearly beg for forgiveness for trying to sell their rather serious product to the public with a clueless and juvenile approach, begging potential customers to ignore the stupidity of their previous pieces, and saying that they are actually a serious enterprise.

P&J can only imagine how the ad agency that came up with the original, insipid campaign must feel (knowing they will probably never be hired again in the insurance industry), and realize that they fell victim to focus groups who gave The General’s empty suits the word that their ads did not instill confidence in their potential clients, but rather, as they say, sucked, and were at best off-putting and silly. Not what you’re looking for to protect your assets.

So your superior correspondents wonder how long the annoying “Ba-Bam!” ad campaign of the legal firm Sparks Law will survive locally, since P&J’s reaction to these come-ons to supposedly find you a savvy pro who will squeeze money out of scheming insurance companies is a hearty “Jesus Christ, please stop it, our skin is crawling!” Time will tell, but our thinking is that anyone who thinks slapstick and shouting will play well in court or backroom negotiations, but would rather have a sober attorney rather than a Worldwide Wrestling manqué working on their behalf, may be heading for a fall.

Take a LEFT at Croatia, Idiot

This summer, the biggest event in Europe has been soccer’s 2021 Euros championship tourney. With it came an amusing story worth repeating.

Now, P&J are regretful that we gleaned very little about Europe’s history, nevermind its geography, during our stints in high school. We mean even before rampant civil wars, secessions and the creation of all the “-stans,” god forbid we could find any country past the British Isles and France on a map.

But one would expect more from those who live and were educated in Europe. Well, don’t.

With France being the favorite to win entering the tournament, six diehard French fans made arrangements to follow the team to one of its big matches against Hungary in Budapest. Now these were workers at an IT company, and one doesn’t normally connect blatant stupidity with IT. But instead of booking their flight to Budapest, they instead went to Bucharest, the capital of Romania, 500 miles south of where the game was to be played. Budapest, Bucharest, who can tell? All those Eastern European countries look alike. To compound the error, the clever IT boys thought they could follow a large contingent of other fans out of the airport, thinking they were Hungarians on their way to the stadium. Wrong again (and see “look alike” above). Actually they were Ukrainian tourists on a holiday trip to Bucharest.

All turned out well, however, as France had to play their next game in … wait for it … Bucharest. Still, time to get dusty Mr. Atlas down from the bookshelf before making your travel plans, no?




Go, Nellie!: Little Rhody’s secretary of state has eyes on our highest office

The late and legendary sports broadcaster Keith Jackson, known for his work on college football games, had a signature call of “Whoa, Nellie!”  Phillipe and Jorge are going to co-opt Mr. Jackson by saying, “Go, Nellie!”

The Nellie in question is Little Rhody’s Secretary of State Nellie Gorbea, who stole a march on potential opponents by declaring her candidacy for governor in 2022, facing what may be a full field of candidates in the Democratic primary. She used a textbook PR trick of announcing it late on a dull Sunday, guaranteeing her the lead story on TV, radio, in print and on social media Monday morning when the citizenry awoke from their weekend frivolity. (The counterpoint to this is essentially killing a story by announcing it late on a Friday; see: President Ford pardons Richard Nixon.) The only thing you have to worry about is what once happened to P. long ago when he was the flak for a major Sunday event that got immediate coverage, but was knocked off the top of the front page Monday morning when a mobster was found dismembered in a dumpster in Johnston later on the Sabbath. “If it bleeds, it leads,” as the old media saying goes.

P&J don’t even have to know exactly who else will be running because Secretary Gorbea already has our endorsement. She is smart, incredibly energetic and on the correct side (to our minds) on all the issues, but also has shown to be tough as nails when the occasion demands.

Her likely opponents will be new Governor Dan “Who He?” McKee, who would obviously like to set that in stone for two more terms. He seems capable enough, but he is pushing 70, and eight more years makes him a bit unlikely to be the most exciting man in showbiz as a septuagenarian. Ms. Gorbea still has the youth and spark most people like to see in office; witness, despite her faults, the popularity of Gina Raimondo’s spunky “Knock it off” during the COVID pandemic.

The most likely challengers to Gorbea and Who He are State Treasurer Seth Magaziner and Providence Mayor Jorge Elorza. Neither have any medals on their chests for past performance, but what puts P&J off is that we’ll bet dollars to donuts both have their eyes on a bigger prize (read: U.S. Congress) and are hoping to use this as a stepping stone. While Nellie may also aspire to a bigger job down the road, we would still trust her to serve Vo Dilunders first, and herself second.

In this scenario, Magaziner and Elorza obviously hope that the comparatively youthful (by D.C. standards) Senators Jack Reed and Sheldon Whitehouse get hit by a bus. (Though if they would deign to run for Congress, while Representative David Cicilline is still a fireball and essentially unbeatable, Jim Langevin’s U.S. rep seat seems ripe for the picking. Sorry, Jim, but showing them the chrome only goes so far.)

So, “Go, Nellie,” and we are sure Keith Jackson will back us up.

Mmm, Foxy

Phillipe and Jorge are dancing excitedly in our bejeweled stiletto pumps awaiting more news on one of the miscreant cretins arrested for crimes during the January 6 Washington debacle who may actually plead what his attorney has called “Foxitis.” It’s the modern equivalent of “The Devil made me do it,” although much funnier, but an apt analogy for the explosive diarrhea that blasts out of Fox News on a daily basis.

Anthony Antonio is facing five federal charges, but has yet to enter a plea. The lawyer dubbed it “Foxitis,” saying that Antonio’s steady diet of Fox misinformation about Donald Trump’s Big Lie about the election being stolen led him into joining in the hideous storming of the Capitol by these witless scum, killing and harming many guards and security in the process, and putting Congressmen and women in very real harm’s way.

It should be required viewing on all channels when Antonio has his day in court, when this knucklehead and his shameless attorney offer up the Foxitis defense, especially on Fox News, which is now being blamed for providing the poison pill. We suggest many of the other hundreds of arrested perpetrators glom onto the idea, and turn Fox News into a freak show. Whoops, too late.

Take a bow, Twinkie defense.




Moderna Love: If only we could vaccinate against stupidity

A Bunch of Pricks

There is a saying that you can never underestimate the stupidity of the American people.

Nowhere has this been more apparent than in the refusal of many US citizens to get vaccinated against COVID-19.

Call Phillipe and Jorge wild and crazy guys for deciding that getting inoculated against a virus that can kill you is a good idea. After all, who should be alarmed that we have lost more than half a million good souls to this pandemic scourge?

To put it as politely as possible (at least for P&J), people who are refusing to get vaccinated are morons. They are endangering not just themselves, but people with whom they come in contact, especially if they are asymptomatic and believe all is flowers and sunshine.

The excuses these clowns use are almost laughable: This is ploy by Big Pharma to make lotsabucks, they are being used as guinea pigs/lab rats, they are too healthy to succumb, it’s a government plot to get chips inserted into their bodies that can track them forever, medical advisors have money invested in the companies selling the vaccines.

But the most absurd of these hare-brained arguments is that people are defending their freedom of liberty/independence, choose one, (those idiots can’t tell from lightning from a lightning bug, apologies, Mr. Twain) on their personal grounds. Good, be the next Typhoid Mary. Remember that little annoyance called polio? No, most of you don’t because it never crossed your path, thanks to massive anti-polio vaccinations on young children in the 1950s. P. remembers going to third grade with a wonderful guy named Ross who was already on crutches and a walker because he didn’t get his polio shots in time. His affliction was avoidable, not due to parental neglect, but because they didn’t show up to give him his pricks in the arm when needed.

So go get your freedom, however insanely you project that to be, but now you are just not putting the gun to your head, but to the many others who are trying to dodge COVID like someone running across Broadway in New York City at rush hour, hoping not to get splattered onto the curb by a taxi.

So grow up. And think. And get vaccinated, you self-absorbed and delusional a-holes. You are a threat to us all.

The Sound of Silence

“I heard the news today, oh boy…”

There is a measurable amount of less stress and more relaxation for anyone who cares now that the most incompetent and deranged president the public chose to elect in its entire history has had his fire hose of hatred banned from Twitter, his political lifeline.

While not grabbing women’s private parts and cheating on all three of his wives, he must be squirming like an eel at Mar A Lago, no more so than when the apartment and office of his alcoholic “personal attorney,” he of the dripping hair dye, Rudy Giuliani, were hit with an FBI bust-in search and seizure.

The lack of grifter Trump’s triumphant and usually untrue bloviating pronouncements (When do we get the check from Mexico to pay for that wall, big guy?), turned the daily news cycle into a non-stop assault on our sense and intelligence. (Provided you had an IQ higher than 50). 

So now the media can take cheap shots at President Biden, when a year ago all they could do with The Donald was bend over and grab their ankles. Aiding and abetting, we believe they would call it in court.

Blame the media as much as the Orange Menace. They have been complicit in his popularity among the deranged.

Witless White Boys

Phillipe & Jorge missed WWII by a few years, yet we still remember what the Third Reich did; therefore, the idea that some morons pasted posters all over Warren and Bristol featuring pictures of the mustachioed menace, Adolph Hitler, is beyond repugnant. We’ve always considered Bristol to be the home of the finest Independence Day parade in the USA, not the home of a nest of Nazi sympathizers.  




A Hairy Situation: Don’t fix yourself up for us, gov

Tales of Monsieur Pompadour

A tip of the beret and sombrero to Governor Dan (Who He?) McKee for following the Biden-Harris playbook and selecting the highly respected Providence City Council President Sabina Matos to be his interim lieutenant governor.

She’s an inspired choice who we know will be quite competent cutting ribbons and pretending to sneeze into her handkerchief to stifle a laugh when Who He? puts his foot in it at some point, which is inevitable. We look forward to seeing how long she can grit her teeth when push comes to shove, no more so than when Who He? launches his official campaign to run for governor in 2002.

The Brillo Effect – Since P&J have always valued style over substance, we feel obligated to comment on our new governor’s coif. While not falling into the category of a Brillo pad, Mr. McKee’s pompadour most resembles that of the bouncy and shiny aluminum industrial strength scrubbers used to scour giant pots. Phillipe was on the business end of one of these to earn enough money to put himself (if not keep himself) in college in an infirmary’s basement kitchen. Admittedly tough to emulate, we hope the gov keeps it intact, if only to provide P&J with column fodder should no members of the General Assembly step up with a scandal to keep us otherwise occupied. (Despite how unlikely it is that no one on Smith Hill will hideously and hilariously soil the sheets in that time.)

Go for it Danny, and blow-dry that baby into a look no one can ignore.

Disremembering Dismemberment

In case you were looking for new President Joe Biden (as portrayed by Jim Carrey) to crack the international whip as our new fearless (strike that) leader, he has failed his first step of being a stand-up guy when others are groveling.

P&J refer to his handling of our hoary-handed (but perfectly manicured) sons of the desert in Saudi Arabia in regard to the quite unsubtle murder and dismemberment of journalist Jamal Khashoggi.

It’s bad enough that we have had to endure the fact that the majority of the 9/11 terrorists were Saudis. Or that their system of madrassas schools are designed to give every graduate an explosives vest, a dance card with 70 virgins on it and a diploma with “Allahu Akbar – Die Infidels” inscribed on it. Or that this all is designed to further hatred of the west.

So despite the fact US intel has confirmed Saudi Crown Prince (Isn’t that a cop car? – Editor; No, you idiot that’s a Crown Victoria – P&J) Mohammed bin Salman ordered this gruesome crime, no sanctions have been imposed on him or his ennobled and enabled royalty or his be-robed thugs. We suspect that if someone offed Maureen Dowd or Tucker Carlson (oh please, take a run at that deranged a-hole, MBS), we would be having a lying-in-state funeral and promises to slap the Crown Prince even harder on the wrist, or at least until he sent his Nubian boy toys home a week early, carrying a few cases of Pappy Van Winkle’s bourbon.

Despite P&J being fans of Joe Biden, he has to show a lot more grit than this, nevermind the, “Well, the Saudis give us a nice little air base over there and send us oil when they deign to), and I didn’t want to ruffle any burnooses.”

Murder is murder, Joey, whomever commits it. Grow a pair, or hand that sort of thing off to Kamala, who already has a couple of brass ones.




Hard Hitting Headlines: Perhaps Ms. Gaga should resurrect the meat suit

Big News

If the pandemic hasn’t worn you down and depressed you entirely by now — and what did happen to winter? — perhaps looking at what news is attracting attention will be further numbing.

As Phillipe and Jorge went to press on February 26, the top news story was Mr. Potatohead succumbing to political correctness of the lamest kind. Coming in a close second was Lady Gaga’s two prized French bulldogs being kidnapped and her dogwalker shot by the thieves. Now those are vitally important tales that should alarm the nation.

Little Rhody’s prize of the toy industry, Hasbro, announced they will brand the legendary Mr. and Mrs. Potatohead simply “Potatohead” on their packaging, a tip of the plastic hat to those easily gender-offended. We’re sure the kids of America will be proud they aren’t insulting anyone.

It’s a shame to play around with icons, especially our icons. Hasbro did a famous PR trick years ago when they placed a number of giant Mr. and Mrs. Potatoheads at sites around the state. It caught a great deal of attention from the media and public, and we didn’t hear any calls for gender-neutral statues. But that was then, and it’s our “woke” now that we guess forced Hasbro’s hand. Pretty sad, but it did get the company another media blitz.

Meanwhile, Gaga hit the headlines in La-La Land, despite being in Rome filming a movie when her dogs and their handler were attacked. The situation was as bizarre as some of Lady Gaga’s outfits, and fortunately, the dogs’ longtime walker survived the assault. You or I could have our car stolen and get shot in the process, and it would merely warrant a one-inch mention on page 13 of the newspaper. But the rich are different from you and me, so we are supposed to weep for Gaga, never mind the dogwalker and her pets. That’s the curse celebrities inflict upon us. You can bet the California Highway Patrol is on full alert.

But let’s all be happy they didn’t shoot Mr. or Mrs. Potatohead. Now that would be a tragedy.

Legal Briefs

It was enlightening to see Donald Trump’s initial legal team bail out on him just prior to his impeachment trial. The Donald’s camp said it was because they had conflicting strategies for fighting the case, and hey, would the Orange Menace ever lie to the public?

Instead, informed sources said that our cheapskate former President was balking at paying his legal counsels what they wanted. Trump was renowned during his developer days for stiffing his contractors, so his scumbag antics came as no surprise. But it appears he discovered it is harder to cheat a white shoe law firm than it was the average working man. With the Donald facing a shower of lawsuits for his past illegal tricks, it will be very interesting to see what he comes up with to plead his innocence.

Paging My Cousin Vinny.




Who Was That Masked Man?: The looey guv steps out of the shadows

P&J reckon that eight put of 10 Vo Dilunders could’t tell you the name of our looey guv, while nine out of 10 couldn’t ID him in a police lineup. Not that being mayor of Cumberland for 12 years is small change for Daniel “Who He” McKee; most non-native residents could find it on a map of the state.

This is due in part to Governor Gigi putting Who He in the shadows for most of her terms; he shouldn’t be expecting a Christmas card from DC anytime soon. But to his credit, he comes across as experienced and intelligent, and we wish him best of luck when he moves into the governor’s office. But may we suggest he wears a “My Name Is” sticker for the first couple of months?




Capitol Punishment: Fear and loathing in DC

“I’m 18 With a Bullet…

…Got my finger on the trigger and I’m gonna pull it.”

Those old song lyrics came immediately to mind after the chaos in Washington when rioters stormed the US Capitol last week. No, they weren’t protesters any more than looters are protesters. This was rioting.

And not only did Capitol Police fail to quell the violence and ransacking, but the DC cops did a vanishing act, despite the fact that a murder was involved. A murder committed by one of Donald Trump’s “sweet” renegades.

If the Orange Menace hasn’t embarrassed his country enough, he actually found a way to further disgrace himself with his dog whistle tactics that directed his moronic followers to attack Congress on the day members were to vote on approving the states’ election results.

The one thing it did prove conclusively is that this narcissistic pathological liar is totally unfit for office, to the point where his remaining in the Presidency until January 20 presents a danger to the country. (P&J went to press prior to seeing what would take place in Congress toward removing him and taking away his access to the nuclear codes on January 11.) And in a move designed to show that The Donald indeed has no shame, he announced he would give the inauguration ceremonies a miss, a childish stunt that should surprise no one. But it did give Joe Biden the chance to get off a good one-liner about how he and Trump shared the same view for a change.

As sick as P&J felt the day after the 2016 election, this overall travesty may have topped it because it was tangible, rather than simply a dread about the way Trump would infect the Oval Office. He sure didn’t fail to live up to those fears. Where he goes next is uncertain — unless he wants to dodge spit outside the Trump Tower in New York or adhere to his previously signed agreement not to reside in his Mar-a-Lago resort in Palm Beach more than 21 days a year. It will be interesting to see where he ends up. Current odds favor prison, or a nice country home outside Moscow secured by his good buddy Vlad Putin.

Movin’ on Up

Speaking of capitals, some relatively good news here in La Prov pretty much put in the shadow of the DC events. That would be our governor, Gina “Knock it Off” Raimondo, being tapped by Biden to be his new Secretary of Commerce. Certainly given her admirable handling of the COVID-19 pandemic she is more than qualified for the job, and it is a nice little present to honor the good work she did here in Little Rhody.

The only caveat P&J would give is for Raimondo to not get too ambitious, as she did here with both the UHIP computer premature roll-out, or the computer problems continuing at the DMV. You’re movin’ on up the ladder, little lady, so don’t get carried away.

P.S. – Betcha more than half of Vo Dilunders couldn’t pick out new governor Daniel McKee in a police line-up.

Passages

P&J mourn the recent passings of two of Vo Dilun’s finest in their fields, Ken Lyon, the veteran musician and godfather to the local blues and rock community in the Biggest Little, and longtime ace reporter for WJAR – Channel 10, Bill Rappleye, who had most recently been working at RI-PBS. Bill was a Casa Diablo regular and a good friend of the Cool Cool World.




Golden Couple Tarnished: Jared and Ivanka expected to receive a less-than-warm welcome

Sins of the Father

It appears that the 2020 presidential election has come to a relieving public posturing end — except for Donald Trump’s diseased mind — as even supporters of the barking mad Donald (save for the eternally inebriated Rudy “Nosferatu” Giuliani and his greedy lawyer cohorts) are finally tired of arguing that the reptile has a chance of winning in the courts, and it is time to press a pillow down on the fat blowhard’s face as he sleeps.

P&J cannot get enough of Walking Eagle’s self-inflicted spin in the wind as he frantically dances on air, but we took special joy in Gina Bellafante’s delightful “Big City” column in the New York Times of November 22.

While we may be tired of flogging the dead horse that is Trump the Magnificent, Bellafante focuses on his famous child and marital in-law, and really couldn’t do all of that pond scum justice in her limited space.

Citing a CNN headline, “Big City” begins: “Jared and Ivanka are poised to return to a Manhattan social scene that no longer welcomes them.” Ah, good riddance to bad rubbish.

For those of our readers who have recently been released from prison and are trying to catch up, Ivanka is The Donald’s daughter by some marriage, known for turning out tasteless crap “fashion” clothing made in Chinese sweatshops, and worn by no one not in an institution (although they could make handy hospital scrubs for many).

Her hubby, the unspeakable Jared, is, like his father-in-law, the son of a wealthy, crooked Big Apple developer who was also born on third base and thought he hit a triple. Such is his kowtowing to his own Daddy (who has actually done jail time for his lack of ethics) that evidently, when he said that if Jared married a shiksa, he would forfeit his ill-gotten inheritance, Jared forced Ivanka to convert to Judaism, which must make Jews worldwide quite proud.

That they were “advisors” to The Donald while he has been in office (quite a scam, eh?) has had the Founding Fathers spinning in their graves. Meanwhile, Ivanka was her father’s prop master, while Jared was charged with bringing peace to the Middle East and procuring PPE for frontliners when the COVID-19 pandemic hit. How’d those work out, big guy?

To cut to the chase, the members of New York’s cultural high society that Bellafante interviewed suggested rather bluntly that Jared and Ivanka would be welcomed nowhere, from fashion events to art galleries to the opera to coop boards of luxury apartments, being walking kisses of death within that sphere to even those who did concealed business with them.

The Kushner/Trumps needn’t go apartment hunting, since they will doubtless hole up in Trump Tower in midtown. But if this becomes an extended stay, look for the Trump home base to become an urban version of “Grey Gardens.”

Being ostracized couldn’t happen to a better couple. And Daddy will no doubt beat feet to his Mar-a-Lago retreat in Palm Beach, home of greed merchants and exotic Eurotrash. So Phillipe and Jorge can only offer this sage and caring advice to any and all members of the Trump tribe: the elephants’ graveyard is two blocks down on the left, in the alley right after the Dunkin’ Donuts.

Kudos and Congrats

…to all those Vo Dilunduhs helping to feed others. Especially to Dana Heng and the other folks behind the “Refri PVD” community refrigerator project, a refrigerator located on 705 Westminster Street, outside of the New Urban Arts building and to Tameka Eastman-Coburn and others involved in another grassroots food pantry at 335 Wickenden Street at the Small Format cafe and art gallery on the East Side of the capital city. 

Many thanks to Jenna Pelletier of The ProJo whose article on food insecurity provided us with many of these details. 

Passages

Retired Vo Dilun jury commissioner, Henry G. Vivier, Jr., who served in that position for many years, passed away on November 22. Jorge remembers meeting Henry when he was on jury duty in the 1990s and instantly liking him. So long to Henry, a fine public servant.

Another fine public servant, David Dinkins, the first (and, so far, only) African-American mayor of New York City, passed away on Monday, November 23. Dinkins served as mayor from 1990 to 1993 but prior to that had received a Congressional gold medal for his service in the US Marine Corps, and he was also a cum laude graduate of Howard University.

And on the international stage, vaya con Dios to Argentine soccer legend Diego Maradona, who died at age 60. Known in his post-playing years for some questionable behavior and unquestionable addiction to cocaine, Maradona was nonetheless rightfully deemed one of the greatest players in the sport’s history. Although in typical overreaction upon his demise he was quickly dubbed the GOAT (Greatest Of All Time), he is undoubtedly in the discussion for that title along with Alfredo DiStefano, Pele, Johan Cruyff and possibly two current players: Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo. (Note: Phillipe is a former high-level player of “the beautiful game,” and covered it as a reporter for decades, so his assessment carries a bit of weight.) The “Hand of God” will now move on.