Pardon Me?

 

Oh, my lawdy! I'm starting to get the vapors!

President Biden pardoned his son, Hunter!

What ugly, brutal miscarriage of justice is this?

And don't forget! He PROMISED us he wouldn't do it!

Just because multiple Presidents in the past have pardoned relatives (Abraham Lincoln, Bill Clinton, Donald Trump) doesn't allow Biden to do the same. He had declared repeatedly that he wouldn't do it.

Me? I don't really care. It doesn't affect my opinion of Biden one way or another.

Why did he change his mind?

Biden's earlier declaration was based on a series of misinterpretations and errors in judgment.

1) I think he really thought Kamala Harris would win. It was not a huge mistake. I fully expected her to win as well. We both over-relied on the common decency of the American people.

Oops.

The idea here is that there would be little value in viciously pursuing a President's son, especially for crimes that most are rarely prosecuted for and virtually where no one goes to jail.

2) He then thought that with the Orange fascist in control, he would have little desire to pursue vendettas. I mean, really, what was there in the con man's character to lead you to believe that he would waste his time demolishing opponents he had beaten?

Oops.

3) It would look bad as to their stand against the criminal clown, making it look like they were just like him.

As if he would care.

Oops.

Cut to current times.

King Fool has been accumulating the worst collection of cabinet nominees in the history of ever - billionaires, sexual assaulters, fraudsters, criminals, those who want to destroy the department they head, and on and on. It's embarrassing, really. But I guess MAGA is no longer capable of being embarrassed. It's a cult, worshipping at the feet of their criminal overlord, not a political party.

In that tone, it becomes clear that Mister Vicious is dead serious about retribution. His FBI selection, Kash Patel, has an actual hit list of people who have committed NO CRIME other than stand up to the unholy narcissist-in-chief. MAGA congress members want to prosecute everyone involved in the J6 committee - including witnesses.

Biden had to see this monstrous march to prosecutorial insanity and decided he had to get his son out of the way.

Under that steady stream of vile bile?

I WOULD EFFING ABSOLUTELY DO THE SAME!

The reaction to this shouldn't be "Heavens to Murgatroyd! How dare that man pardon his son after telling us he wouldn't do it!"

It should be, "Why did he do it? Because an unholy s---storm is coming our way! Anyone who doesn't bend the knee will be destroyed!"

Look at Joe and Mika of Morning Joe. They groveled all the way to Mar-A-Lago and, in the process, demolished their feeble little morning show. But you know what? Maybe they feared what standing up to him would mean. Fear led them to choose safety over courage.

And we are going to see this repeated over and over again.

This is how fascists win.

I don't blame Biden for saving his son. It may not be the only pardon to come. He may have to protect many who have committed no crime but will have their lives consumed anyway.

Yeah. There's a lot I could say, but I'll leave it to other posts. One biggie is when MAGAs try to compare the pretend crimes of those who stand against him to the REAL crimes of the Orange Buffoon.

Yeah. It's going to be a rough four years.

The Cleansing of the Soles: Mysterious Photograph #2

 Everybody has dreams. 

One of mine was to see my name as an author in a pulp fiction magazine.  I was reading Worlds of If and Fantastic Stories from when I was as young as 8, buying them for 35 cents.  I fantasized about what it would be like to have a story published in them one day.

Sixty-one years later, I still dream about it.  What feeble efforts I made over the years were ignored and easily swatted away,

But I'm not giving up.  I have found a contest in Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, a short (flash fiction) story based on a "mysterious photograph."

My first submission, One Small Step, did not win.  It did not receive honorable mention.

Nevertheless, I persist.

I submitted the story below. my second attempt.

I am pleased to report that it was runner-up, and my name will be in the January/February issue of Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine! 

So, part of my dream has been accomplished!  The story itself won't be, but my name will be in a pulp magazine, and for writing!

This reinvigorates me to keep trying, that maybe there is some merit to my writing!

And now, for the winning runner-up!

The Cleansing of the Soles

by T. M. Strait 

It had to be you. Of all the people to walk into my basement, it had to be Marvin. Restraining order be damned – there you were.

“Get out!’ I shouted. “You can’t be here!”

“Yes, I can! I don’t care what the lawyers say! This is my house, and I’m taking it back!” Marvin moved menacingly toward me, a bat in his hands.

Enough of his belittling and abuse! I’d had my fill. Rather than cower, I surprised him by rushing toward him, my arms in front of me. I took advantage of his confusion, and I knocked him down. He fell heavily, his head crunching on the concrete basement step.

He didn’t move. “Marvin? Are you okay?”  I kicked him, but he didn’t respond. I checked for breath. There was none. A pool of blood under his head seeped out to redden the gray of the step.

Marvin would never threaten me again. It wasn’t easy, but I stuffed his body in the freezer. I mopped up the blood. I thought I was done when I noticed the blood on the bottom of my sneaker.

In a panic, I took off my shoes, and threw them to the washer.

I needed to be done with this.  I wanted the last remnant of Marvin off of me.

I wanted to wash that man right out of my sole.

One Small Step: Mysterious Photograph #1

Everybody has dreams. 

One of mine was to see my name as an author in a pulp fiction magazine.  I was reading Worlds of If and Fantastic Stories from when I was as young as 8, buying them for 35 cents.  U fantasized about what it would be like to have a story published in them one day.

Sixty-one years later, I still dream about it.  What feeble efforts I made over the years were ignored and easily swatted away,

But I'm not giving up.  I have found a contest in Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, a short (flash fiction) story based on a "mysterious photograph."

I submitted the story below.  I did not win the grand prize of $25.  I did not get honorable mention.

Nevertheless, I persist.

I have submitted two more stories since.  I've heard nothing back, but I am determined not to give up.  Like a monkey in front of a typewriter, someday I may stumble out a winning entry.

Meanwhile, as I lose, I will continue to post out my losing entries as the deadline passes.

One Small Step

by T. M. Strait

I don't always think things out. Rob the Scherba Museum's space exhibit of its rare Martian rocks? Not a bad idea. Hiding in a spacesuit until closing? Not so much.

Lisa got me into the suit and convinced others it was part of the show. Near closing, she told them she needed to take me to a backroom to remove the suit.

Instead, she left me in the suit, kissing me for luck, leaving bright red lipstick on the face glass.

I waited several hours after closing, timing my exhibit exploration with the security guard's routine.

The rocks lay on a Martian landscape, including a Mars Rover. Lisa's app neutralized the lasers protecting it. I filled the suit's pockets with valuable rocks. Lisa's fence thought we could get millions!

I left the museum and went into the streets behind it. Lisa was to meet me and help me out of the suit, 

But there was no Lisa. I waited. And waited.

Dawn approached. Where was she?

I heard a ding from inside the suit. A voice said, "Ten minutes air remaining."

What? I had no idea how to get out of this suit. I screamed for Lisa.

I don't know if she heard me, but suddenly she was skipping towards me. She smiled, reaching into my spacesuit pockets, gathering the Mars rocks. I couldn't hear her, but she was dancing and making happy noises. She mouthed the words, "Thank you!"

And she danced away.

Nope. Didn't think that part out.