Donald Trump is going to die by his own hand. I think we’ve known this for a while.
Word is out that the Tomahawk strikes didn’t damage the runways of Al-Shayrat. Planes are still leaving from the base.
It’s turning out to be a rather expensive shot across the bow rather than a show of force.
But you wouldn’t know that by listening to President Numbnuts. He is satisfied with what was accomplished. A president wears many hats, and Trump has a construction helmet, complete with reflective vest, work boots and a spade in his collection. Check it-he’s an expert at public works:
“The reason you don’t generally hit runways is that they are easy and inexpensive to quickly fix (fill in and top)!”
When did you find that out- the last time you bombed a runway?
Donald, let me stop you at the word “reason”. I’ve been watching you for a bit now, and reasons and explanations are not your strong suit. I am no public works expert either, nor am I versed well in the destructive capabilities of our armaments. But I am pretty sure a thousand pound warhead makes a crater somewhat bigger than the ones you and I occasionally run over when we drive. Furthermore, a jet takes off at a rather high speed and I’m guessing that “filling and topping” is not something that can be done quickly or haphazardly. If I remember right, it took a few months, and a lot of concentrated resources and people to fix Baghdad International after we strafed it in 2003.
To wit: Tomahawks don’t make potholes. And a plane is not a car. Trump seems to think that a few shovelfuls of hot gravel is all it takes. Perhaps he has seen a hole in a road being repaired in Manhattan getting “filled and topped” from his limousine and drew an analogy. Adorable.
The Near-President needs to shut the fuck up. Desperate to spin the narrative of this story, he’s made a jackass out of himself yet again by injecting his moronic Twitter commentary into a very serious situation.
Me and the wife watched a midnight movie, and finally, we have a good one to watch.
I am not talking about Inception. Inception was…pretty lame. Chris Nolan reached his peak having the stones to tell a Hubert Selby story. Inception is nothing but a teenage geek fantasy; and the first thing I heard from someone’s mouth about that travesty is that it was “finally a film for adults”.
A giant metaphor for getting laid is “adult”?
I will speak of Inception no more, and do not come here telling me I didn’t get it. Because I got it in the first five minutes. There was approximately five minutes of that film that made me laugh, so I was right on time, in some sense.
Your holiday ghost story is, ironically, “Devil”.
There’s a guy I’ve been waiting to hear from, since he’s a pretty good storyteller. Most of you know him as “M-night”, but I like to call him a good storyteller.
I think it’s safe to say that he broke a barrier or two with “The Sixth Sense”. We still compare movies to it, because we get bored until he comes up with another movie. He has made a few clunkers in the past. We get irritated when he gets a budget and makes things like “The Village”.
So he goes away for a while, but we all like to go see him when he has a new story.
I find this to be very gratifying when he does, don’t you?
I wouldn’t waste any time at all in renting it, if I were you. But wait until you have someone to cozy up with, if you get scared easily.
Wait perhaps until tomorrow, but just wait.
Ssssssssssh, as Alvin Lee once counseled. And he played some very mean guitar, so I have a tendency to perk up when he says Ssssssssh. Too many “S” letters in there. I have the album, don’t get smart with me.
Ssssssh. Is that better? I don’t feel like going to get the album, and most of you never bothered, so shut up. Ssh. That’s my Ssh, copyrighted.
Now it is yours. Now go find a way to see “Devil” if you haven’t. No, no no!
Put down Inception. It is a dumb movie, and not worth figuring out.
Shh, as in “sshut up”, valley girls and boys.