Okay, this wins at least the day, if not the week.

Yeah, who is that?  Sits around with a pocket calculator. You know who I’m talking about. The guy. Probably has a compass and a ruler, too. His job description is “does that kind of thing.” Hummm … you know, the doer of thing. Thing doer. Yeah, that’s it. Has a calculator and kinda does thing.

This reminded me that Alex Jones and my baby boy were in the New York Times this weekend, where we learned that Trump talks just like Jones.  The New York Times did an editorial mentioning my boy in a very flattering manner.  In that editorial, they included a clip of Jones talking just like Trump – doing an end-run around the truth.

It’s my boy’s favorite clip from the deposition because over the six months he’s had this case, he has learned to do a spot-on imitation of Jones.  In this clip, you will see my boy accidentally slip into his Jones imitation for just a few seconds.  At about 1:30, “Hummm… that guy’s paramilitary.”

In case you were wondering, my boy isn’t getting a big head over this. It’s still his job to clean all the dog poop out of the backyard before the Easter Egg hunt. And Alex Jones was particularly angry over this column. On his show, he said, “The New York Times tries to make him out to be Matlock, but he’s not. He’s what would happen if you mixed Gollum with a lawyer.”  I wonder if Alex Jones owns a mirror?

It’s all talk.  Just talk.

Y’all, Herman Cain has withdrawn his name from consideration to be on the Fed.

“My friend Herman Cain, a truly wonderful man, has asked me not to nominate him for a seat on the Federal Reserve Board. I will respect his wishes. Herman is a great American who truly loves our Country!” Trump tweeted.

Remember his tax plan that was 9 – 9 – 9?

His plan for the Fed was 666.

Now if he’ll just go back to wherever he was when Trump found him, we can all breathe a little easier today.

… there’s this, bought to you by People Magazine.

On the high holy days of fine Christians? Tsk. Tsk.

The real crisis at the order.

Larry Mitchell Hopkins, a 69-year-old Trump supporter and leader of a rightwing militia in New Mexico, has been kidnapping immigrants at gunpoint and pretending to be a U.S. Border Patrol agent. He was arrested yesterday and charged with possessing firearms and ammunition as a convicted felon.

Instead of hiding under white hoods, they hide behind fake badges and paramilitary costumes.  But make no mistake, they are the same people with the same hate.

I have an idea what we should do with these wanna-be cops. Let’s round them up with all their ammo and send them on an expense paid trip to Yemen to fight Trump’s war.

Folks in New Mexico don’t agree with me. Get a load of this:

A prominent New Mexico Republican, Gavin Clarkson, a former Trump administration official who is now running for United States Senate, met with masked members of the group in March and praised their efforts, according to a video of the encounter uploaded to Facebook.

Clarkson is now saying of the group, “Masked militiamen are the antithesis of what a free republic looks like.” It’s strange how rising of the white hoods makes the cockroaches scramble.

Alfredo over at the Dairy Queen and I have been wondering what this purchase was for from the Republican National Committee.

Building maintenance, my sweet patootie.  They bought that for what’s left of Attorney General Barr’s reputation after the Mueller report was released.

We’d be willing to bet a Blizzard on it.

 

“For the sake of the country, fulminate, don’t go forward with impeachment. It’s so bad for the country.”

— Former Independent Counsel Ken Starr, on Fox News, urging Democrats not to impeach President Trump.

I do not need Ken Starr’s permission to fulminate. I’ve been damn fulminating for 18 months. Didn’t do diddle squat from keeping Trump from appointing idiots to the Supreme Court.

Yeah, and it would be uncalled for to report rapes of Baylor coeds by football players because it would be real bad for Baylor’s football program and you know, Baptist Jesus, to acknowledge it.

You know what you are Ken Starr? You are living proof that you don’t have to have a big prick to be one. (Sorry, right here on Easter Eve and I embarrass Momma.)

He needs slapping. He’s begging for it. And after I do, I’m gonna hold him down and wash his mouth out with soap. Mine, too, probably.