The Southern White House (Shudder)
As Jorge recuperated at home at Casa Diablo, Phillipe was off to Palm Beach to celebrate Thanksgiving with the Trump family at McMansion-a-Lago (“Home of the Lepers,” in Spanish), The Donald’s hideous tribute to excess in the land of the very, very rich and very, very reprehensible. Put simply, it’s a great place to take your skin for a crawl.
(Phillipe offers this one scenario to illustrate the jaw-dropping, bizarre world of Palm Beach. Sitting next to P at dinner one evening at a fine local restaurant was a couple, each about 70 years of age. The gentleman was wearing the uniform of the day: a blue blazer with some sort of yacht club crest on the pocket. Both he and his partner were wearing traditional white pants, but instead of khakis, had opted for fashionable – provided you are under 25 — skinny corduroy jeans. Oh, and did we mention that the man had a Rod Stewart haircut? Hey, pal, unless you’re touring with the Stones, that combination of age and dated coif simply isn’t done. His date, meanwhile, shocked Phillipe’s delicate sensibilities when as she stood up to exit, revealed she was going braless under her sheer sweater, with, unless the laws of gravity have changed, breasts that could not possibly, yet did, stand straight out, a feat of engineering whose architect we would recommend to the Rhode Island DOT honchos in charge of repairing and rebuilding the state’s falling bridges. And whatever peroxide she had left in the bottle after turning her hair blonde, she had obviously shared with her rock star wannabe partner. P suspects they drove home in a yellow Lamborghini, as one does in Palm Beach.)
And speaking of driving, local residents and other area travelers were just delighted to have the dysfunctional Trump family arrive at Palm Beach International Airport at the height of Thanksgiving travel, security concerns shutting down areas of the airport and one of the major routes in Palm Beach so the unctuous tribe could be shuttled to their house-is-not-a-home. Off to a good start, Orange Boy.
The Worst and the Dimmest
The staffing of the new Trump administration continues in its full wonder and shamelessness. The parade by the disturbed and deranged into and out of Trump Towers for kowtowing, ass-kissing and begging must make the interview waiting room look like the Star Wars bar.
The appointment of the vile, muckraking slob Steve Bannon as a “strategic” director told you — and the racists who were begging for a sign from the The Donald — all you need to know. Bannon will doubtless be Trump’s version of Joseph “The Poison Dwarf” Goebbels, America’s very own minister of propaganda, albeit less hygienic and supple than Hitler’s right-hand man.
And look for media access to Trump and the White House to be at an absolute minimum in the days and years to come. Because as we all know, the media are just “liars” who make up “fake news,” and who are never “nice” to the ultrasensitive, whiny, insecure little boy who is now president. After Trump met with major media heads on November 21 — despite the fact they should have still been sitting in the timeout corner for their atrocious coverage of the entire presidential campaign — anonymous reports from attendees indicated Donnie knows nothing about the First Amendment or a free press, and, “He is the same kind of blustering, bluffing blowhard he was during the campaign.” But P&J prefer one attendee’s more simplistic account of Trump at of the media summit: “Fucking outrageous.” However, Trump’s spokeswoman, the hideous harridan Kelleyanne Conway, conveyed it best in Trumpworld language by saying the meeting was “very cordial, candid and honest,” which means it was none of the above.
Oops, back to the surreal supplicants for Cabinet posts, et al. Easily the most frightening of these, in many ways, is the skullhead Phantom of the Opera impersonator Rudy Giuliani, who is being considered for secretary of state. Rudy’s behavior on the campaign trail revealed a man who is seriously deranged, apparent to anyone who saw his out-of-control rants. But we suspect this passes for “normal” in Trumpville. Another SoS candidate is the quisling Mitt Romney. The Mormon Mannequin savaged The Donald during the GOP campaign, but there he was going on bended knee when summoned by the boss, displaying his physical handicap of having been born without a spine. Another genuflecting quisling was Rick Perry, the Texas moron (sorry for the redundancy) who couldn’t spell “cat” if you spotted him the “c” and the “a,” and who now wears fake glasses to look “smart.” (See: “Lipstick on a pig.”) He, too, ripped Trump during the primary, but went on bended knee to audition for a job.
New Jersey Governor Chris “Phat Phuc” Christie is also practically begging for a position, but despite burying his face in The Donald’s lap after bailing out during the GOP race, appears too hot to handle for a top post after the Bridgegate scandal obviously fingered him for being aware of his staff’s shutdown of the George Washington Bridge for reasons of political payback. Maybe he can get the job as the “taster” of all the food the president will eat, which would seem a job made in heaven for him. (“Order the McRibs, Donnie, they won’t be on the menu next month.”)
Phillipe and Jorge could go on and on about this shower of assholes who will be running our government for the next four years, but it’s enough we hid the razor blades at Casa Diablo the morning of November 9. As we have said here before, the expression “You break it, you own it” is in full effect, so enjoy our country in 2017, fellow Americans.
Separated at Birth?
P&J’s favorite lookalikes we can give thanks for are the new, distinguished Trump chief of staff Reince Priebus and Rico “Ratso” Rizzo, featured in the legendary film, Midnight Cowboy.
One is an oily, amoral, lying, gutter-crawling scam artist, while the other was portrayed by Dustin Hoffman.