Something's Gotta Give: Saturday Political Soap Box 268

The old black and white filibuster - she ain't what she used to be.

It's certainly not how it's portrayed by Jimmy Stewart in the great 1939 classic Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.

Nobody stands in the well of the Senate and talks without interruption for hours until finally...

 

...an avalanche of telegrams floods the chamber, finally convincing fellow Senators to do the right thing, finally bend to the will of the people, and of course, the people always want something that grows democracy, increases equality, and brings social justice.

Well, not much of that is true.  I don't know if it ever was.

People have the idea that how the Senate manages itself is constitutionally set.  

Not really.  The rules of governing itself, how it passes legislation, and what hoops it has to go through are constantly changing.

There was a time when dramatically holding the floor was necessary.  However, some of the more dramatic filibusters of a Mr. Smith nature were not to extend social justice but to deny it, as in defense of segregation.

Over time, holding the floor was dropped in favor of allowing a cloture vote (to end debate) that required 60% support.  And it wasn't so much that debate continued - most often, the other side would say, "Well, hell.  We ain't got 60 votes to close this thing, so I guess we'll just give up."

At first, few votes were "filibustered" in this manner.  But with the advent of the Obama Presidency, Republicans, under the leadership of Mitch McConnell, filibustered virtually EVERY SINGLE BILL facilitating the blocking of anything Obama wanted.  Even things the Republicans previously supported, they would block because they didn't want to give Obama a win.  McConnell's self-declared major goal was not to help the American people but to make sure that Obama was a one-tern President.

Traditionally, only a handful of judicial nominations were blocked. That changed with McConnell.  Chortling all the way, McConnell blocked dozens and dozens of nominations, leaving tons of vacancies. 

Eventually, Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid had had enough and removed the filibuster for judicial appointments, except for the Supreme Court.  

The filibuster for the Supreme Court was eliminated once Mitch McConnell had a Republican President (really an authoritarian fascist, but that's a story for another post) and a Republican Senate.

The point is, this is just a Senate rule of procedure.  It's not Holy Writ.

There was a time where such creatures existed as Liberal Republicans and Conservative Democrats.  Those days are gone, for the most part.  Most Senates will be split no more than about 54-46, maximum.  Senators who switch sides will be few and far between (I'm looking at you, Joe Manchin).

So, if the Senate filibuster rules stay the same, nothing will ever get done, including in moments of crisis.

Yes, it's true that once a year, they can use the budget reconciliation process to pass certain qualified legislation without a filibuster, but that legislation passes before the eye of a Senate parliamentarian, who gives ADVICE as to what may or may not be included.  I'll repeat that.  It's ADVICE that can be overruled by, in our case now, by the Senate head, Vice President Kamala Harris.

Even if COVID relief passes, that still leaves out in the cold immigration reform, climate legislation, an infrastructure bill, and voting reform,  And if the Senate Parliamentarian is to be believed, any change in the minimum wage.

Something's gotta give.  It's not a matter of preserving the Senate as a deliberative body.  It's a matter of having a functional government.

Don't worry about preserving minority party power.  Many of the Congressional districts are gerrymandered to favor Republicans, as are most state legislatures.  Minority power is preserved in the Senate by such weirdness as Wyoming having the same number of Senators as California,  And don't get me started on the Electoral College.

It's just a Senate procedural rule.  It can be changed.

Maybe we just need to go back to the mythological time of Mr. Smith. If you want to stop legislation, HODOR (hold the door/floor)!  

Democrats want to govern.  Republicans want to pass tax cuts to their buddies through budget reconciliation*,  pass judicial nominees without a filibuster, get the executive to strip regulations that help protect people, and pontificate endlessly about culture war issues. More often than not, passing legislation is not high on their priority list. 

But the first time they're back in power, and they really, really want something?  Do you thank they're going to hesitate?  Hell, no.

Something's gotta give.

*in 2001, when the Senate Parliamentarian ruled some parts of their tax bill ineligible for budget reconciliation, they did the most Republican thing - they fired the Parliamentarian.

History of the Trap Vol. 2; Chapter Three - A Week at the Farm Part 2

 

2

 

“Come with me.”

I tried to shake myself awake.  Who was talking to me? “What?  Who is this? I’m trying to get some sleep.”

“Sorry, buddy.  I know you’re tired.”

I squinted, and Robert Bond came into focus.  Artie’s lifelong friend and neighbor, who had left the main campus to work on the Farm, was sitting on the edge of my bed.  Taller than Artie and me, short-cropped brown hair, grinning like the Cheshire cat, Robert continued, “Come with me to the Farm. You need to get away from this hen house.  We got room for you to heal and relax, regain your strength and your soul.”

The Farm.  How important of a discovery had that been?  Two lost souls, Krissa Sellenraad and Danny Truman,  looking for raspberries (and probably a place to snocker) stumbled past what we thought was the Trap barrier and came across an entire farm, fully stocked with animals, a silo of grain, a big red barn, and a large farmhouse.

Several months ago, Robert had decided to leave our group and join the crew at the Farm.  After the tunnel collapse and as Ginny and Artie moved closer, I suspect that Robert felt displaced.

It had been a wise decision.  We did not see Robert often, but he seemed to be in a better mood, more confident, and happy when we did. He came to the school once a week to make deliveries, and I can’t lie to you.  I didn’t catch him every time he came, but he was very happy to see me when I did.

Artie made an occasional trip out to the Farm to see Robert.  I’m ashamed to say that I was not as good a friend and had not once been out to the Farm.  All I knew about it was what other people told me.

I had lost one of my best The Sands of Loren actors to the Farm, David Deneau.  He had played a central character, a police detective in love with the female lead, Dr. Brenda Marr (portrayed by the super-talented Franny Cranfield).  He’d had one or two guest appearances since, but he was now a real leader at the Farm. And according to Artie, Robert had become David’s closest assistant.

“I’m getting stronger, Robert.  I think maybe I can get out of here in a day or two.”

“Look, the break I’m talking about is mental as well as physical.  I think it would do you good to set aside all this Granite nonsense for a little while, get your head on straight. The fresh air and slower pace will do you a world of good.  Trust me!”

Well.  My Dad, who grew up taking care of a large family farm in Southern Michigan, had tried to entice me into a better appreciation of farm life.  He had a small field of crops he cultivated on some farmland that Mr. Bruchow, our biology teacher, had.  I did not take to it, to put it mildly.

Nevertheless, I knew what Robert was offering was different. Nothing on Earth would turn me into a maven of agriculture.

Robert continued to plead his case.  “You’ll still see your father.  He and Mr. Bruchow come out quite often. Their advice has been invaluable in helping us be a success.”

“I don’t know, Robert.  You’re very kind, but…” I was running out of excuses.

“And we do have medical staff out there. I mean, accidents do happen on farms.  We wouldn’t want to be unprepared.  Do you know Annie Popper?  Cheerleader, and starred in some musicals before the Trap?  She’s our lead nurse out there.”

I knew Annie.  It would have been great to have her in The Sands of Loren.  She often got the romantic lead, whereas Franny got the funnier, more memorable roles. 

“Well…let me think about it.”

“Don’t think! Go!  I’m sure Artie will come out some, and Ginny too!”

“Ginny too?”

Morgan was approaching my cot, her face twisted in a bitter scowl.

“You know what, Robert?  You talked me into it.”

 

The next day, I was at the Farm.

My Fifties TV

 

Recently, on my fabulous Facebook Group, Polls R Us, I started a series of polls to select the group's favorite TV comedy of all time (not a part of yet?  check with me to get your invite!).

I surprised the lot of 'em when I made the first round about favorite TV comedies from the 1940s. Boy, talk about before your time!  Those in the group who may have been around in the 40s most likely didn't have a television.

The next round focused on the 1950s.  Even though the number of those who watched these shows when first aired is still small, a larger group was familiar with them thanks to stations like TBS and their afternoon reruns of classic sitcoms.

I was born in 1955, but many of the nominated shows I did not see until later reruns. For me, that included shows like I Love Lucy, Leave It to Beaver, and Father Knows Best.

We did have a television when I was little, and we lived in Charlotte, Michigan.  We pulled in one channel that I think combined NBC and CBS programming.

This is what I remember watching before we moved to Bridgeport in 1961 (where we went from one channel to a whopping THREE channels!): 

Captain Kangaroo - even though we lived right next door to the school, I was last to arrive because my Mother had such hard pulling me away from this delightful children's programming.  I thought Mr. Green Jeans might be related to my father since my mother kept calling my father "Gene."

The Adventures of Superman -  they put this on late Sunday afternoon.  And to this day, Superman is still my favorite superhero.

Lassie - oh, Timmy.  Oh, Lassie.  We did not have a dog until I was 8, so Lassie was the world to me.

Walt Disney - not yet the Wonderful World of Color, and if it was, we wouldn't know it until about 1968 when we got our first color TV.  Like a mini-movie every week.

We were sent to bed, but sometimes we sneak behind the corner of the room and catch glimpses of The Ed Sullivan Show.

I remember hearing the shrill opening notes to Perry Mason and trembling in fear.

That's my best memories of fifties television watched in the fifties.

Crap.  My eleventy minutes is long since up.

Stay tuned!

T. M. Strait

Welcome to my Eleventy Minute Window

 

Once again, I will try to write within the eleventy-minute window that I have tried to pry open in the morning.  Hopefully, this time will expand later.  If nothing else, it gets me back into the habit of writing each day.

Today, I'll try to answer some questions I found on Twitter.

What is a movie you dislike that everyone else loves?

That's easy. The Notebook.  The ending that everybody loved and thought was so romantic, the couple dying within seconds of each other, made me quite angry - I saw no charm or romance in it.  I also felt no chemistry between the young leads nor any interest in their situation.  

What story have you chosen not to tell?

How can I tell you if I've chosen not to tell it?

Do you have a favorite tree?

Even though we had to chop ours down because it was sick and threatening our house, I do like Oak trees.

Do you eat leftovers from previous dinners?

Yes!  We cook three dinners per week.  We have three new dinners each week, leftovers three times, and takeout one time per week. 

Do you support the minimum wage increase?

Oh, Yaz!  I think it would be a major boost to the economy, and areas that have increased minimum wage prosper more once they do.  I could say more but...eleventy minutes!

Which are now up.

Stay safe!

T. M. Strait

Return of the Monday Musings

This is only my seventh blog entry of the month. 

It is a-fixin' to be my lowest production month in many a'year.

It's a struggle to reshape my schedule to restore a consistent time that I can write.

I can't guarantee every morning, but I think I've created a pocket of about 11 minutes where I can write.

There is a writing exercise where you just try to churn out as many words as possible in a set period of time.

Yeah, although I admit I've been more quantity than quality, that's not really something I'm good at.  I type too slow, and my mind processes are fragmented at best, especially in the early morning.

I have some ideas churning, but I have to muse on them more.

There's always stuff I want to say about COVID.  We may be finally turning a corner, but we're not out of the maze yet.  Conditions have improved, but now is no time to take our foot off the pedal.  Aww, who am I kidding?  People in my area have barely had their foot on the pedal to begin with. This has been a genuinely scary place to live.

I've had my first shot (Moderna) but won't get my second shot until March 15th. Alison has not had the first shot.  She works at a school system, so hopefully, it won't be much longer.

-------------------------

There's always stuff I want to say about politics.  I would rather begin concentrating on the issues, particularly health care, climate change, and economic equity concerns.  Unfortunately, Trump still looms over us all, and if not him directly, certainly his tragic and villainous efforts to divide us all.

----------------------

I'm churning an idea in my head about film directors (movie and TV) and why so many of them turn out to be such rotten human beings.  Is there something innate about the job that brings out the worst in people, or does the job just attract the worst people?  

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My strongest current effort on FaceBook is the group Polls R Us.  Some polls are political, but most are just for fun.  Right now, I've started a series of polls designed to select the greatest TV comedy of all time.  If you're not a part of it and would like to be, let me know, and I'll send you an invite.

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I would like to write more, but I've already smashed through my self-allotted time.

Stay tuned!

T. M. Strait

History of the Trap Vol. 2 - Chapter Three: A Week at the Farm Part 1

 

Chapter Three

A Week at the Farm

 

1

 

It took me two weeks to recover. To recover physically, that is. The damage to my mental well-being, the terrible inflictions to my soul, would take much longer.

The first week was at the high school’s makeshift hospital, carved out of about half of the library.  I lay in a cot, barely moving, bandaged in more places than I could count, the pain barely contained by aspirin.  Advanced pain medications that had been in the school nurse’s office had been quickly used up in the first month of the Trap, and although some medical supplies were found in the meandering basement, none of it was more potent than aspirin. In more severe injuries, morphine would be a substantial comfort, but alas, there was none to be found.

The most embarrassing part was having to use a bedpan the first few days. The most embarrassing part of the most embarrassing part was having to get help from a nurse. And the most infuriating part of that was the first nurse to try to help was Morgan LaDona Tigh.

At first, she was not in focus.  But I squinted hard, deblurred her, and immediately put up a fuss.  Well, as much fuss as I could.  “Get away!” I shouted.  Except it didn’t come out as a shout.  All my will could only manage a hoarse whisper.

“Don’t be such a child,” Morgan admonished.  “I’m a nurse.  This is my job.”

I shook my head and tried to pull away. That didn’t work out so well.  My body was just not listening to my brain.  I managed to use my elbows to push myself up an inch, at most.

“Trust me, you really want me to do this. You think this is humiliating?  Wait and see what happens if you wet the bed.”

I didn’t see anger in her face, like she wanted to hurt me further. I didn’t see guilt in her face, like she felt bad for being the spark that led to my pummeling. I saw cold professionalism that indeed said, I will do what it takes to care of you because that is what I do.

I didn’t care.  I didn’t want Morgan near me.

Unfortunately, that first day, I could not fight her off.

 

The next day, my voice was a little stronger.  “Keep away from me, you murderous witch.”

Instead of getting angry, she grimaced and shrugged her shoulders.  “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but yours will never heal without me.”

This time I was able to lift my arm enough to attempt to hold her away from me.  It was progress, but it was still too feeble to stop her.

 

The next day, I thought I could get out of bed and run from her.  I came close, but she was able to push me back. 

“I need to change out your bandages.  Hold still.”

I told her no, in language I won’t repeat here.

She laughed.  “You’re full of it if you think you can outswear me.  You’re a freaking do-gooder amateur when it comes to slinging the crap.” That is a less colorful version of what she actually said.

“Let me take care of him, Morgan.” 

It was Ginny Estill.  What was she doing here?

“He’s my patient,” insisted Morgan.

“He’s my friend,” Ginny said.  “I think he’ll be more cooperative for me.”

Morgan got right up to Ginny’s face.  As Ginny was slightly taller, she looked up a bit, but that didn’t stop Morgan from full-intimidation mode.  “Let me tell you, part-time newbie. I am the student nurse in charge, and I determine which nurses handle individual patients. This man is mine.  You can’t have him.”

Ginny put her hand on Morgan’s elbow.  “Look, I understand.  I don’t want to go to war over whose patient is whose.  But look at this.  You don’t want a battle between you and a patient, either. Don’t you think there’s been enough of that?  Don’t you think it would be best if we didn’t turn the hospital into a war zone too?”

Morgan paused.  She appeared to wage an internal debate.  Finally, she said, “Fine. You take care of that piece of…”

Ginny interrupted.  “Be happy to, Morgan.  I promise if I need you, I will let you know.”

 

Ginny took good care of me.  I tried to keep my old feelings for her under control.  She was still with Artie.

She had decided to spend a few days a week helping at the hospital.  She still helped Artie and his crew with the cleanup details, but she wanted a change of pace.  Did she want to spend less time with Artie? That didn’t seem to be the motive, as best I could tell. I think she had come to fill in for somebody else and found that she liked it.

In fact, on the fourth day, Artie came by to visit, and as they talked to me, Artie and Ginny had their arms around their waists. It was enough to make Morgan come over and tell Ginny she needed to focus on her other duties.  She didn’t need to linger and canoodle when there were other patients to help.

It was still embarrassing to have Ginny help me. It was hard to have someone you once had such a crush on seeing you so vulnerable.  Still, it was easier getting her help than Morgan’s.

Yes, I no longer had an all-consuming infatuation for Ginny.  But I still cherished her and her friendship.  I loved her then, and I will love her forever. That is one thing the Trap never changed.

 

 

 

The Blog That Was

 

There's no denying it.

My blog is fading away.

My first entry was in May of 2009.  So I'm just a little more than two months shy of 12 years.

It's not been a themed blog.  It's eclectic, with blog stories all over the map.  It allows me to write on whatever strikes my fancy at the moment.

I don't make money off of it.  I've been banned from advertising since late 2012, banned for a judgment error in encouraging people to look at my ads to help share the money with a charity.  It was a stupid decision, but the ban is for eternity, and there is no forgiveness or second chances.  No Trump pardon for me.

That is discouraging because, as I am currently in tax season again, I am reminded that I want to make enough money to fully retire from my accounting career.

Well, that and my other writings (four self-published books!) have been a bust.  Those who looked at me skeptically when I told them I want to make money writing were the ones who were right.  I was determined to prove them wrong, and so far, I have been unable to.  Part of it is my writing imperfections, but a large chunk is my abysmal failure at marketing.  Some people can sell ice to Eskimos.  Some, like me, couldn't sell water to someone dying of thirst.

I thought semi-retirement would bring me more time to write.  For me, the foundation of any writing is a consistent schedule, with a specific time each day reserved for writing.  Now, all my routine is upended.  Every day is different.  Some days I go in early.  Some days I go in late.  I have other projects going.  And, sadly, as I age, it takes longer to clear my head and focus.

The consequence is that I am writing fewer and fewer posts.  I have gone from an average of about five per week to less than two.  And even that frequency is shrinking,

I am not giving up, but I am greatly discouraged.

For lent, I am giving up other distractions.  I am giving up morning TV (including YouTube or other videos).  I will give up my ten minutes of playing my online baseball game, at least confining to evening.

This might help me write more.  It might not. 

But it's worth a shot.

Stay tuned.

The Best Part #2

 

2

 

The tire held.  Barely.  It would have to be his priority when the workday was done.  Or maybe he could go at lunch.  He was reluctant to leave the office once he got there.  It wasn't easy to time things out, and he would wind up consuming a lot more calories than he intended.

Freedom Tax Service was in a small strip mall in a section of town that wasn’t the best, but not yet the worst.  Most of their clientele were people who brought in their freshly minted W-2s and were looking to get cash fast. That was a lot different from where he had worked before, for almost twenty years.  Their clientele were people with more complicated returns; rentals, side hustles, and S Corporations filtered through to the individual.  It was more interesting, in a way, but it had long grown old for him.

He opened Freedom’s door and heard the little chime.  Only Marie was there, popping out of the break room to see if it was a client.  “Hey, Aldie!  Got some fresh brew in the back!”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Aldie replied. He would add her name but realized he wasn’t 100% sure what it was.  Was Marie right?  Maybe it was Mary.    She was an old hand at Freedom, meaning this was her second tax season.  Nobody had been there more than three years because that’s when the franchise was opened here.

Even after three days, he had sampled the coffee enough to know it wasn’t worth it. It tasted one step above battery acid tinged with toxic sludge.  There wasn’t enough creamer and sweetener on the planet to make it drinkable. No, he would stick with his morning brew from home. 

Marie was a bright, chipper force, at least based on the few days he had known her.  She was short and stout,  dressed in khakis and a blue blouse.  She wore large framed glasses and had frizzy brown hair that stopped an inch or two above her shoulders. She had a bright, welcoming smile, which was a good thing because her desk was closest to the front, and she most often acted as the receptionist. Marie also did tax returns.  The office was far too small to have a full-time receptionist.

This meant that sometimes Aldie would have to answer the phone or greet someone at the door. It was part of the orientation he had when starting up.  Well, it wasn't so much an orientation as “Sometimes you’ll have to answer the phone and talk to whoever comes in the front.”

This is not something Aldie liked to do.  He had a separate office at his old job and was never expected to handle incoming calls or clients. The phone was one of his least favorite things about life. But beggars could not be choosers.  At least not ones with bills and mortgages.

As he settled into his work area, a desk with a computer just behind Marie, he noticed there were no returns set for him to do.  It was really early in the season, but there had been a few.  Most were from people who got their W-2s almost at the crack of January and wanted to git-er-done.  If they had not been to Freedom before, there was a lot of information to get to set up the initial tax return.  Some people lost patience with the process and huffed off if they had to get additional information or documentation.  But if they had been there before, it was only a matter of minutes to complete the whole thing.  Then they left smiling with a check in hand.

The next person in was the only other office person, Annabelle Lee, her Goth personality making Aldie think with that name, maybe she really did step out of an Edgar Allen Poe poem. She was the office manager and the one in command unless the franchisee holder made a rare visit. Annabelle was tall, at least compared to Aldie, thin and with straight black hair that ran down the length of her back. 

“Guys, y’all be ready,” she said, continuing to march towards the back office, the only one that had its own door.  “Pearce Lumber is handing out W-2s today.”

Before we could react, she was in the back office.  The office was really Jackson Strickland's, but he was so rarely there that she used it in his absence.  There was a third desk behind Aldie that Annabelle used on those rare occasions.

The only time Aldie had seen Jackson was when he was interviewed, just before Christmas. He had gone back to Jackson’s office, poorly lit, a desk lamp pointed at him as if he was in a police interrogation. The interview was not all that tough, and Aldie handled it well, even though it had been two decades since he had had to do one.

There was one question that threw him.  “Do you believe in Jesus Christ?” Jackson solemnly intoned.

The proper answer is, “That’s none of your business and not a question you can ask in an interview or base a hiring decision on it.”  Or even, “Yes.  And I believe that one of the most significant themes in the bible is that usury is wrong, that it is not proper to charge interest for lending money.  I’m sure that if Jesus were to return and see the tremendous rate of discount you’re taking on your clients’ tax refunds, you would have some overturned desks and a pearly gate shut in your face.”

But Aldie said neither of those things.  Instead, he said, “Sure.  Absolutely.”

There was no more time to think.  Three men had just come in, W-2s from Pearce Lumber in hand.

Time to make Jesus weep.

 

 

A Nation of Many Parties: Saturday Political Soap Box 267

 

We are a nation of many parties.

And no, I'm not talking about stuff like Super Bowl parties or Valentine's gatherings, all of which SHOULD DEFINITELY NOT BE HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!

No, I'm talking about how we are a nation of multiple parties forced to work through a duopoly controlled primarily through large donors.

If you read other political posts of mine, you will see I am an advocate for a multiple party format like they have in other successful democracies, that will better allow for coalitions and compromises to achieve legislation.

It's true that our electoral system is designed to favor a two-party system.  There would have to be reforms to allow a multiple party system to thrive.

Currently, there are at least four political parties in Congress, trying hard to behave as if there are two.  At different times, the struggles within one of the major parties are more apparent than the struggles in the other.  Right now, that is more apparent in the Republican Party.

Without further afroofroo, these are the four major political parties/divisions that I see that make up the 117th Congress. My numbers are based on the 117th, 435, with three vacant seats assigned as to how I think they will fall when their special elections are held.

Progressive Party

This is the party of bold new ideas, a transformative politics designed to move us into the future, addressing the major problems facing us - health care (Medicare For All or something as inclusive), the climate crisis (the Green New Deal or something as comprehensive), and economic inequality (a living wage, a fairer tax system, consumer protections, and more).  On the surface, they seem like big spenders, but in the past, I have seen them produce some of the best budget-balancing plans to come out of Congress.

Yes, this is my party.  Their greatest weakness is to sometimes wander into what is referred to as Cancel Culture or over political correctness.  That's more true of Progressive commentators and media than it is of our actual representatives.  I love the internet media giant TYT, but sometimes they are very narrow and exclusive as to who they consider a Progressive.  That kind of ideological purity is maddening.

Numbers in the House: 94.  This estimate is based on the number of members of the Congressional Progressive Caucus.

Examples of Progressives:  Bernie Sanders, Elizabeth Warren, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez

Democratic Party

This is the Democratic Party that went into retreat during the Reagan Era and has never fully come back out.  They believe in government, and they want to improve things, albeit at a much slower and measured pace than Progressives.  An example - Progressives would like a $15 minimum wage to happen NOW...Democrats may want it to be an extended step ladder over many years that gradually reaches $15 an hour...maybe...with some exceptions.

They are more beholden to big donors and therefore willing to compromise to needed legislation to meet their donor demands.  

It is important to note that they do believe in government.  They do believe in problem-solving.  They can get things done- if they get the numbers to do so.

Numbers in the House:  129.  

Examples of  Democrats:  Barack Obama, Joe Biden, Joe Manchin.

Patriot Party

Yeah, I'm using the description I think they will eventually call themselves.  More accurate would be the American Fascist Party, ergo - the Trump Rump (what an image that is - but it fits).  These are people devoted blindly to the cult of Trump. There's not a whole lot of policy goals to this - maybe build the wall, shore up conservative religion, keep the white culture in charge—a lot of what else is up to what dear leader thinks.  Trump's against the $2,000 covid stimulus checks?  Of course!  It's SOCIALISM!  Trump's for the $2,000 stimulus checks?  Of course!  It's our God-given RIGHT!

Numbers in the House:  85.  This is my wildest guess.  The Freedom Caucus 49?  The 61 who voted against Liz Cheney's leadership position?  The 138 scumbags who voted to decertify Pennsylvania's electoral votes even after an insurrection?  The fear of Trump is still strong in the Republican Party, so it's hard to get a clean number.  Ultimately, I just went with my best guess average.

Examples of Patriots: Donald Trump, Josh Hawley, Jim Jordan, Ted Cruz, Majorie Taylor Greene.

Republican Party

Once you remove the Trump fear factor, these are the people trying to harken back to more traditional Republican values (Reagen era) - low taxes, deregulation, conservative corporate-friendly judges, and wars for economic power reasons.  They ally with the Trumpers when convenient.  Okay, they have sold their soul to the Trumpers.  Bur even more important to them than the Trumpers are their corporate and wealthy donors, which they are more enthrall to than any other political party/division.

This used to be a popular philosophy. It's not now, which is one reason they have to ally themselves with the Trumpers.  Alone, they would win very few elections. I mean, really, is there anyone left on the planet who actually thinks that Trickle Down Economics works?

Numbers in the House: 127.  Again, this number is cloudy because they are all still hiding under the shadow of Trump.

Examples of Republicans: Mitt Romney, Mitch McConnell, Susan Effing Collins, Adam Kinzinger.

Are there other viable political parties in America?  Probably, and they might emerge under a true multi-party system.  The Green Party, Democratic Socialists, Reform Party, the Libertarian Party - these and others are all possibilities.

The most chatter I hear is about Libertarians.  There is chatter amongst some millennials that SAY they lean that way.  But it is confusing.  If you get 100 people in a room who say they are Libertarians, you'll get 100 very different, very distinct ideas about what a Libertarian is. Is it Justin Amash who stood up for the impeachment of Trump?  Is it the Pauls (Ron & Rand) whose idea of Libertarianism does not extend to women's reproductive rights?  I'm not ruling out the emergence of a more prominent Libertarian Party - I'm just not really sure what it would look like.

Whatever the makeup of the political parties, we should be able to agree on one thing -

If you threaten the life of other elected officials or any American for that matter, you should be expelled.

That should be a no-brainer.

History of the Trap Vol. 2 - Chapter Two: Dance Party Part 6

 

6

 

“What you doing down here by your lonesome, Marty Martian?”  Coming down the hall was Walter Drayton, his broad body taking up almost half the hallway. As he sauntered closer, I could see that Stevey Wentworth was hidden behind him on one side, and Donald Granite, Mark’s younger brother, on the other side. “Wet your pants, Soap Boy?  You come down to Home Ec to wash your soiled undies?”

This was not good.  I analyzed if  I could rush past them.  The odds were dim, but it didn’t matter.  I was frozen in place.  I couldn’t move.  I tried to speak, and nothing came out.

“Did you get the message from Mama Tigh?”  That’s what they called Morgan Tigh?  Mama Tigh?  I can’t see her being thrilled with that.  I guess if that’s what her killer boyfriend calls her, she just goes along with it.  “You shouldn’t be running to hide.  You should be going to your Daddy for confession od all the lies you told about Mark.”

“I…told…no lies,” I croaked out. 

Stevey guffawed.  “See, Walt D, I knew she couldn’t scare him.  I think it’s time for us to reinforce the message, using our extra special delivery system.” Stevey bunched his right fist up and smacked into his open left hand.

Donald stepped up, inches from my face.  “You need to back of my brother…NOW!”  He punched me in the gut.  I doubled over, barely able to stand.

My standing issue resolved a second later when Stevey unleashed an uppercut to my jaw.  I fell to the ground, the back of my hard-hitting the hard floor. 

The pain was tremendous, but I did not get the blessing of drifting to unconsciousness.  My damaged jaw's pain, my squalling gut, my broken crown, soon paled compared to the pain I know felt by being kicked in the side.  I didn’t even know which one was doing it.

The wide one, Walter, was kneeling over me.  “And now I'm gonna smash your face in.” I tried to lift my arms to guard my face, but my body was no longer responding to signals from my fogged brain.

But the blow never came.  His descending fist was held back by something. “You morons!”  That was Morgan’s voice.  It sounded far away, but it couldn’t have been if she was close enough to hold Walter back. “You’re just making things worse!”

Walter stood up.  “Your sweet talking meant nothing.  He needs to learn his lesson the hard way.”

Morgan was furious.  “I had this in hand.  And now you’ve left him bruised and maybe with bones broken, and how is all that going to be explained?  You’ve just increased the target on Mark, on all of you!  That’s all you’ve done!”

Stevey giggled.  “Maybe he ran into a door!  Or went through the Home Ec’s washer and dryer trying to clean up his pee smell!”  Stevey started laughing out of control until Morgan abruptly slapped him.

“Stop it!” she shouted.  “This is not how Mark would have wanted things done!”

“Isn’t it?” Walter said, smirking.  “I know you’re his lover Mama, but maybe we know him a little better, having hung out with him for years, and you are just this year’s squeeze.”

Morgan balled up her fists, taking a defiant stance.  “Like to test that out?  Want to see whose side he takes?”

That seemed to deflate their aggression. “Ok, Mama Tigh,” Walter said.  They started to leave, and then Walter turned and pointed at me.  “Later, Martian.  You should be grateful Mama showed up.  Next time you might not be so lucky!”

“WALTER!  GO NOW!”  Morgan stood firm, and the three left.  She looked at me, lying damaged on the floor. “You are an extra special kind of idiot, too, running off on your own just after I tried to warn you.”

“You…you can’t tell me what to do.” It was all I could do to speak, and it was more instinct than any rational expression.

“Yes, I can.  And I will,” said Morgan.  She took a step toward me and stared hard at me; her eyes lit up with a combination of anger and fear. “I told you there were things beyond my control.  Now, maybe you’ll take me seriously.”

She huffed off, leaving me broken on the floor.  This person, who was a student nurse, offered me no comfort or aid.  She just left me, bleeding and bruised.

Beyond her control?  What a lie.  What a terrible self-delusion. 

She was responsible.  She lit the match, and I wouldn't forgive her just because she couldn’t control the flame.

 

Updated: The Final Trump Premium: 288,285

Final Update

In September 2020, I started using MATH to answer how many COVID deaths can we really hold Trump responsible for?

The following takes you through the math and updates the numbers to TWO WEEKS after the inauguration of Joe Biden.  This allows for two weeks for the time it might take for deaths to occur in infections that began by Inauguration day.

This is what's published in the original Trump Premium post but with numbers updated through February 2nd:

 The incredibly damning Woodward tape made it irrefutable. To explain it as succinctly as I could, I created this meme/statement -

It's true.

He knew.

He lied.

People Died.

I soon discovered that I was on the right track.  At first, I saw it from my favorite writer, Stephen King.

He knew.

He lied.

447,715 died.

It proved very popular.  I began seeing King's version many places.  Hard to believe his version would take off, and mine wouldn't.  Maybe he has more followers.  I don't know.

But, really, is that fair?

Should we attribute what is, as of writing this, all 447,715* confirmed COVID-19 deaths to Donald Trump?

I mean, I am a major league Donald Trump despiser, but this is a global pandemic, after all.  Some deaths would occur here, no matter how top rate the leadership.

We need to look at what the Trump premium is.  What would be the best estimate at how many more deaths the United States experienced because of Trump's lack of leadership?

Let's start by conceding that it might be fair to assume that the US would have at least a share of the cases based on its proportion of the world's population.  Estimates vary on this, but I think a reasonable percentage would be 4.25%.  That's a little bit of rounding, but not much.

This is based on numbers provided by the Bing COVID-19 tracker.  Please keep in mind this is in constant flux, rising every hour.  As of 8 AM, the global total of confirmed COVID-19 deaths is -

2,243,638

We then look at that number and take out the number of US deaths to reconfigure what it would look like with a proportional number of US deaths based on US population -

2,243,638 - 447,715 = 1,795,923

Then we take that number, adjust it up to cover what it would be with 4.25% of COVID-19 deaths attributable to the US.

1,795,923 / 95.75% = 1,875,638

1,875,638 * 4.25% = 79,715

79,715**

Our population share of the global COVID-19 deaths would be 79,715.

But let's give Trump the benefit of the doubt.  Even under the right leadership, we are not the best-behaved country on Earth.  We can't have expected to react as well as South Korea, Taiwan, New Zealand, or even China.  We just have a bone-deep strain of rugged individualism (politically incorrectly version - selfish pricks -people who value their personal liberty over social responsibility).  So, let's say we behave WORSE than the rest of the world (well, except maybe Brazil), even with the leadership saying and doing the right things.  Let's say, I know this is horrible, but let's say we are TWICE as bad as the rest of the world.  So let's double the number we could expect under good leadership -

79,715 * 2 = 159,430

So, where does that leave us, comparing the number of COVID-19 deaths we have to the number that we might have had if someone like Trump*** wasn't President.

447,715 - 159,430 = 288,285

So, a more accurate version of what both Stephen and I are trying to say is -

It's true.

He knew.

He lied.

288,285 died.

There.  Doesn't that look better?  That's not so bad, is it?

Better? Even with a more accurate number, it is...

Mind-numbingly Horrifying

I will not let you forget this, Trumpeteers.  Over 74 million Americans were able to ignore this and vote for him anyway.  I'm shocked.  I know we live in a partisan era of divided media, but - my God, HOW COULD YOU?

For those itching for me to keep the same stat on Biden - I will.  I will not begin right away, but I will give him a chance to try to right this leaky ship as much as possible. Trump has left with no vaccination distribution plan in place, and our slow reaction has allowed several more highly infectious variants to emerge.

Therefore I am giving it a one month rest, a period to allow for a transition from Trump to Biden, and for that month, I will not accumulate a premium on either one.

I will begin the Biden Premium on March 2nd.  I do not expect it to be zero - we are in a real mess.  BUT...Biden does KNOW.  Biden will not LIE.  He'll tell it to us straight.

*that is the reported number on the Bing COVID-19 tracker at 8AM Wednesday, February 3rd.  Tragically, that number is still rising by a thousand or more every day.

**all numbers are rounded to the nearest whole number.

***just kidding.  There is no one like Trump.  I cannot imagine a worse leader to have at this time.  I always knew he was incompetent, narcissistic, and racist, but the Woodward tapes prove something in addition to that - he's evil.  No other way to put it.  Sorry. The truth hurts.