The Embarrassment Quotient
In a laughable incident of the pot calling the kettle black — that tops even the flatulent pathological liar and bride importer Donald Trump disparaging the utterly unctuous and downright creepy Ted Cruz — we saw House Speaker Nick Mattiello rear up on his hind legs to say he was “embarrassed” for The Urinal and “embarrassed for our citizens” after the Lords of Fountain Street dared to criticize the general assembly’s heinous legislative grants process.
You’re embarrassed for the ProJo and for our citizens, Nick? Puh-leeze. The fact that you are in the position of being perhaps the most powerful politician in the state should have Vo Dislunders hiding their heads under blankets and denouncing any connection at all to this blabbering fool, dismayed that a disingenuous backroom fixer of your ilk could possibly represent the state in any capacity.
Mattiello is generally regarded as somewhat clever in his politicking, but not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer — in the way that one might compare a butter knife with a Bowie knife. He is fortunately smart enough to have two of the shrewdest political operatives in the state (take a bow, Messrs. Berman and Skenyon) watching his back, but both must have been on a bathroom break when Speaker Nicky went off publicly on The Other Paper.
While Phillipe and Jorge believe the BlowJo lost most of its standing as the conscience of Little Rhody years ago, the editorial that had Mattiello’s knickers in a twist was directed at the whole program of legislative grants, which through the years has provided the speaker with a whip hand over his flock. Want to get that grant for your local Little League team so you can use it in your next campaign ads, representative? Well, simply vote which way I tell you when some dubious bill providing backhanders to my own campaign donors comes due. And if you vote against my hand-picked bills, then you can expect not only bupkis for your constituents’ local service agencies, but get used to the fact that any bill you may sponsor in the future will be DOA two seconds after it hits a committee desk, being “held for further consideration,” which is the political equivalent of general assembly purgatory.
The fact that Mattiello received a standing ovation after calling out the BlowJo in a full session of the house shows how hideously deep-rooted this silence of the self-serving lambs is in our state government. Shut up and do what you are told and we’ll get you re-elected is fully embraced by the bulk of the general assembly. That’s the true embarrassment for the residents of The Biggest Little.
Here’s a word to the wise for Thick Nick. It isn’t The Urinal for which you should be embarrassed. It’s the thuggish, petty, heavy-handed, backroom browbeating of general assembly members to make them do it your devious way that is an embarrassment. This goes double for the fact that each session, someone from Halitosis Hall ends up doing a perp walk off to court or prison for simply doing what comes naturally on Smith Hill. And the compliance by the members who allow a cheap hack to rise to the powerful office of speaker is so unworthy of the “citizens” who they ostensibly represent that the folks you declare you are looking out for feel like they just soiled their Dockers in public.
Don’t Take the Bait
Phillipe and Jorge know why Bernie Sanders (who we fully support) is staying in the Democratic race … or at least we believe we do.
The Bern has no chance of winning the already fully rigged Democratic primary at the convention, when Hillary’s bought-and-paid-for smug superdelegates will applaud her like trained seals and roll over like old lap dogs to give her the number of votes she needs.
But by staying in the race, Sen. Sanders is looking to secure some real serious commitments for the Democratic platform at the convention that echo his campaign themes, like income and wage inequality. And we don’t mean giving him a choice prime time speaking slot that the imperious Clinton will be loftily dispersing like cheap, glitzy coins and beads at the Mardi Gras parade.
Hillary would be wise to be well aware of this, as we have heard from many Sanders’ supporters that she does not have Bernie’s votes in her pocket, however loathsome the juvenile imbecile Trump is as a real opponent. Put up or shut up, Hill, or you may find ‘utes, in particular, staying home on Election Day, much to your, and the nation’s, detriment.
That is why it is s good thing Bernie was not given the opportunity to take the bait and rise to The Donald’s short-lived offer to debate him. Before Trump realized he would be torn apart — or at least find a way to bury himself by going head-to-head with Sen. Sanders — his plan was simply another way of the walking and talking Cheeto getting the Democrats to sink to his vile, gutter-crawling level. Fight for your right to demand concessions from Hillary, Bernie, if the offer raises its ugly head again, but don’t fracture your party for a cheap TV-driven dog-and-pony show. Instead, use the leverage your courageous run has earned you, with the bonus of knowing that as a united front, the Dems have the opportunity to blow the GOP apart for years to come, as Republicans will be forced to unite to back a person who is a walking garbage dump fire who most reasonable and mildly intelligent Americans recognize as the living embodiment of the darkest side of this country’s soul. We’re better than that.
An Apple a Day?
Some excitement of sorts at Casa Diablo along the medical front, with deepest thanks to many for their supportive responses.
Due to perhaps a Mr. Man attitude or just being dumb as a toaster, Phillipe failed to recognize that he had suffered a heart attack some weeks ago until he visited his local doctor and set off the (belated) warning bells on an electrocardiogram. This of course hadn’t prevented him from playing golf a half dozen times in the interim, or going about his sordid everyday business.
Next thing he knew, P was en route to the emergency room at Newport Hospital, the first step on a trail that ran to Rhode Island Hospital and then on to the Tufts Medical Center in Boston, where he underwent triple bypass open heart surgery on May 13. He is now possessor of a cunnin’ little foot-long Ziploc scar that runs down the middle of his chest, and a hopefully fully repaired ticker.
Phillipe is very appreciative of the kindness shown by many folks who learned of this series of events. Other than the fact that his supremely talented cardiologist, a Dr. Frankie Kafka, has informed him that the slight side effect of P. discovering he metamorphosed into a cockroach upon awakening from his seven-and-a-half hour surgery, should shortly rectify itself, all is well and good as Jorge delicately tends to him in his crisply pressed Candy Striper outfit.
Dates to Remember