No, no, we said FISH fight, not fist fight.

I’m not a fishing authority or anything, but the times I’ve been, a fishing pole is a tad safer.

Thanks to Patti for the heads up.

You’ve seen him on the teevee deeply caring that you get a good night’s rest. He looks innocent enough to be a choir boy and … dammit, he almost is.

Meet Mike Lindell, the guy hawking My Pillow.

Recalling his recovery from crack cocaine and alcohol addiction, Mr. Lindell said he “woke up” in 2009 “oblivious as to what was going on in our country.”

“What I saw before me were friends unemployed, terrible political correctness, people saying ‘happy holidays’ instead of ‘Merry Christmas’ and people trying to take God out of everything and not even acknowledging Jesus Christ,” said Mr. Lindell. “Quite frankly it looked like the End Times prophesied in the bible.”

“I now bring you back in time to the summer of 2015,” Mr. Lindell continued. “I see Donald Trump coming down an escalator and announcing he is running for president. For me it was a divine and miraculous moment — I felt something miraculous was about to unfold.”

Yeah, just like the Rip Van Wrinkle of dope, he awoke from his years of debauchery to discover people magically descending down elevators with beautiful women following them, almost like 9 virgins rolled into one. This has to be from God’s wayward brother, Cocaine God.

If I ever heard a good reason for if you get coked up, stay coked up, this is it.  You fried your brain, son.

President Trump was “chosen by God” to run for the White House, My Pillow founder Mike Lindell said on the opening day of the annual Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) in suburban D.C.

Here is a man who thinks Trump was chosen by God and that hackers are not a problem at all. In fact, My Pillow found no need to alert its customers that their credit card information was hacked for several months back in 2017. No need at all, until RiskQ makes it public this year. And then, and only then, do they say anything.

The hackers accessed the credit card systems in April 2017 and stayed on the site for several months, according to researchers with the firm RiskQ.

After RiskQ made its results public, MyPillow confirmed in a statement to CENT that it detected the breach back in 2017.

Personally, I think they should have advised their customers that as a precaution they should take a down escalator with a hooker into a street corner of drug dealers. After all, that’s how God picks winners!

Thanks to Alfredo over at the Dairy Queen for the heads up.

As you have heard, one of the Sandy Hook parents took his own life yesterday.  Jeremy Richman’s death happened at the offices of the foundation he had founded in his daughter’s name.  Tragic doesn’t even begin to cover this.

Richman was one of the parents who sued Alex Jones in Connecticut. For those of you have asked, he is not one of my son’s clients.

Jones offered condolences.  Ya know, through his lawyer.

Last Saturday night Jones was kicked out of Lucy’s Chicken in Austin after he tried to start a fight there and got ridiculed by the customers. This was a day or two after his deposition in Austin.  This is the video that was captured.

UPDATED:  I refuse to put his nasty face on my website but you can see it here.

Jones took to the airwaves and started screaming about how reporters are trying to hurt him and Donald Trump. He said they are guilty of treason because all he’s ever done is love America.  And then he snarled …

“If you’re found guilty of treason, and they want me to kick the switch to open that trapdoor and drop your neck down and snap that son of a bitch, I swear to God I’ll pull those levers all day,” he said as footage of Maddow appeared on screen behind him.

Yes, this is the screen shot he used.

Crazy people listen to him and he knows it.

Thanks to Kyle for the heads up.

To add insult to injury, Paul Manafort has been sent to a federal prison described as a boy’s dormitory.  Cumberland is in Maryland.  It ain’t hell.

One top D.C. defense attorney said his clients describe Cumberland as a “boys dormitory” with food that’s “nothing to write home about.” It’s got a commissary (where canned tuna — which, oddly, is used as a kind of currency in the camp — is sold) and a bare-bones fitness facility. The biggest perk, though, is that prisoners tend to be on their best behavior for fear of being sent somewhere rougher. “Nothing bad happens to you there,” said the attorney.

If you want to send him some money so he can buy cappuccino, be sure to give a little extra so he can get a candy bar.

But will he get the Jack Abramoff Memorial bunk?

Eric Holder, appearing on MSNBC with Ari Melber, has just said that Bill Barr “is wrong” by stepping in and being judge and jury on possible charges against Trump.  He said that Barr’s conduct is highly unusual, and that these kinds of actions involving the President should be deferred to Congress, not taken over by the Attorney General, a political appointment.

Here we go.

A few months ago, my cousin, Jesus Hachecristo, came to his Tia Imelda’s funeral.  Long after the service, and everyone had gone home, we sat in the dark in the cold backyard of the house I grew up in, passing, as usual, a bottle. “Primo,” he said at last, “your Pop is going to be very popular in the community.”

“What community?”

“The old folks home.  He’s gonna move, right?  Old ladies, there, they dig old men with money and most of their teeth.  So do young ones, truth be told.  Look at Bernie Sanders!”

“Dude, too soon!”

“Nah, I think he’s gonna run.”

“For what? Head of the old people’s home?”

“Not your Pop!  Sanders!”

“Same question.  Same answer.  Still too soon.  The election is…” I checked my phone; it was past midnight. “Two years from yesterday. This year’s election is still 2 days off.”

We drank in silence for 5 or 10 minutes, then: “Still…”

“Too soon, Cuz.  For any of it.”

Not anymore. Now that it looks like nothing will stop the current resident of 1600 but losing to the next President, it’s time to think about how that’s going to happen.

Uncle Barry’s Home Remedy for Busted Muellers

I think it is still too soon to pick a favorite.  I like a lot of what I see about a lot of the people running, about to be running, or thinking about running.  But the door for the latter is closing fast, and I wanted to talk a little bit about why.

Because one year from now, the race for the Democratic Primary may be all but over.

In an apparent move to forestall the eventual candidate being harmed by statistically-eliminated clingers-on, the California-June-Miracle-That-Never-Ever-Happens has been moved to the Almost-A-National-Primary-Super-Tuesday on March 3, along with Texas.  By the end of that night, over a third of the Democratic delegates will have been allocated.  By two weeks later, that number will be nearly 60%.

That percentage can go even higher, by the way, as there are still 17 primaries and caucuses comprising 20% of the delegate count yet to be scheduled, including heavy hitters New York, Georgia, Colorado and Washington.

This distribution, combined with the Democrats’ proportional allocation rubric, has a couple of practical effects.  First, with the front-loading of one-third of the delegates in the first four weeks, any well-funded candidate can stay in the race until March 3, despite any performance in Iowa, New Hampshire, Nevada and South Carolina.

Second, candidates that are less-well-funded can follow the traditional route of trying to gain buzz in New Hampshire and Iowa, trying to build momentum and cash heading into Super Tuesday.  Alternatively, they can choose to concentrate on one of the first four contests, and a winnable subsection of the Super Tuesday races, and hope for a strong showing in the bigger states.

After March 3, the natural horse-race tendency of voters and media to focus on the front-runners will begin to lead to a lack of oxygen (a.k.a. money) for the failures to launch.  Now, a large group of people could be sitting on small piles of delegates, which could make for interesting horse-trading come July in Milwaukee.  However, I believe that, after nine debates between this June and the end of next February, voters will have settled in on their favorites, fallbacks, and fugazzis.

Fuhgeddaboudit!

If, however, there is no actual winner on the first ballot at the Convention, THAT is when the recently-chastened superdelegates arise from their crypts and are allowed to vote.  Ironically, in this most crowded, most crowd-sourced, most crowd-centric, most in-crowd field in years, the old crowd may actually determine who wins. Just like in retirement homes.

We got this, Dad!