Tag: donald-trump

TDR

A Humorous Take on Campaigning for Jury Duty

Imagine this: running a full-blown election campaign… to be a juror. Yes, I’m talking about knocking on doors, kissing babies, raising funds, and making promises you absolutely have no intention of keeping. “Vote for me, I swear to be impartial! I’ll fight for justice! Free snacks in the deliberation room!” All for the privilege of sitting on a jury destined to end in a hung verdict. Truly, the dream. And let’s not forget the “committees.” Oh, the committees! If elected, you’ll join a room full of people who prove that the phrase “common sense” is anything but common. It’s a front-row seat to humanity’s greatest hits of idiocy. If you’ve ever wondered where the dumbest people on Earth gather, I have your answer: jury duty.

My Time in the Hot Seat (A.K.A. Jury Duty)

Take this gem of an experience I had. We were deliberating a case where a man raped and murdered a young woman. Grim, I know. But the evidence? Rock solid. Open-and-shut case. Even with all the lawyer shenanigans—objections flying like confetti and attempts to suppress evidence because, get this, one of the investigators once knew someone who had once been raped (a friend of a friend of a friend situation)—we still managed to find the guy guilty. Victory for justice, right? But wait, there’s more! When it came time for sentencing, I thought, “Surely this is the easy part.” Nope. One juror decided the defendant reminded her of her grandson. And wouldn’t you know it, the lawyers played that angle like they were auditioning for the Oscars. Suddenly, we’re in a stalemate. I’m over here advocating for hanging the bastard (figuratively speaking, of course), while Grandma-of-the-Year is suggesting we let him off with a pat on the back and time served. Now, here’s the worst part: on a jury, you can’t just stand up and call someone a “stupid ass.” Oh, no. That’s “frowned upon.” Instead, you have to carefully craft arguments within the confines of what the judge deems “appropriate,” all while refraining from saying what you’re really thinking, which is, “Are you serious right now? Are we even on the same planet?”

Why Bother?

Act I: The Sacred Ritual of Jury Duty

So why would any sentient human voluntarily endure this exquisite form of psychological waterboarding? Picture it: you, a marginally functioning adult, trapped in a room with twelve strangers who were specifically selected because neither lawyer thought they were clever enough to be dangerous. These are the “peers” the Constitution promised you—people who list “breathing” as a hobby and whose critical thinking skills peaked when they successfully operated a revolving door on the third try. But I digress. You didn’t come here to read about the jury box. You came because of the title. So let’s pivot, shall we?

Act II: The $19 Million Question

Ask yourself this delightful riddle: Why would a grown adult spend $19 million of their own money to secure a position that pays $174,000 a year? At that rate of return, they’d make their money back in roughly… checks notes …109 years. Clearly, these are not people motivated by the paycheck printed on paper. No, no. They’re motivated by the paycheck printed on offshore account statements. If you’ve ever had the distinct displeasure of watching Congress “work”—and I use that word with the same enthusiasm one uses to describe a sloth “sprinting”—you’ll notice something remarkable. Half of them speak to the press with the intellectual firepower of a wet match in a dark cave. Three neurons? That’s generous. Some of these folks would lose a debate to an automated customer service line. And yet, somehow, they retire with more money than a dragon sitting on a pile of gold in a fantasy novel. Curious, isn’t it?

Act III: The Alchemy of Public Service

Follow the money, dear reader, and you’ll find it leads to a magical kingdom where laws are written by the people they conveniently don’t apply to. Take, for example, the estimated $278 million net worth of one Nancy Pelosi—a woman whose stock portfolio performs with the uncanny precision of someone who definitely doesn’t have access to classified briefings before making trades. If you traded stocks on insider information, you’d get a lovely pair of matching bracelets and a rent-free room with bars on the windows. But when they do it? It’s called “savvy investing” and featured admiringly in financial magazines. And when Hillary Clinton solemnly declares that “no one is above the law,” one can only assume she’s performing avant-garde comedy at this point. A truly bold artistic choice. Because obviously, when they say “no one,” they mean “no one who matters less than us.” You see, in the fine print of American democracy—written in ink visible only to those earning above a certain tax bracket—there’s a small but important clause: “Laws apply to citizens. Congress members, however, have ascended to a higher plane of existence where laws are merely suggestions, ethics are optional, and accountability is a word that only appears in dictionaries owned by peasants.”

Act IV: Gods Among Us

Perhaps this is the real revelation. Our elected officials don’t consider themselves people in the traditional, law-abiding sense. They are demigods—mortal enough to need campaign donations but divine enough to be exempt from the rules they impose on the rest of us. Laws are for the little people. Insider trading restrictions are for the little people. Consequences are for the little people. And the little people? Well, they’re too busy sitting in jury duty, debating with flat-earthers about reasonable doubt, to notice.

Behold, the magnificent spectrum of “public service” in America—a system so beautifully designed that it makes feudalism look like a fair-trade agreement. On one end, we have Jury Duty: the sacred civic obligation where you, the humble taxpayer, are graciously compensated six whole American dollars for a full day of your rapidly depleting lifespan. Six dollars. Not per hour. Per day. That’s less than a footlong sandwich. That’s less than two gallons of gas. That is the republic looking you dead in the eye and saying, “We value your service the way we value a vending machine coffee—barely, and only because nothing better was available. “You will sit. You will deliberate. You will miss work. And for this noble sacrifice, the government will hand you a check so small that your bank will laugh when you try to deposit it. The Founding Fathers wept tears of pride. On the other end, we have Congress: the other sacred civic obligation where elected officials are compensated in a currency far more sophisticated than mere dollars. They deal in favors—a shadow economy so elaborate it makes cryptocurrency look transparent. A favor here, a favor there, a mysterious consulting gig for a spouse, a book deal nobody asked for, a speaking fee that costs more than your house, a stock tip whispered in a hallway that technically wasn’t a hallway so it technically doesn’t count.

The Unforgivable Crime of Curing Cancer: A Media Response Simulation

Breaking News: Orange Man Does Thing. Nation in Crisis.

Let us engage in a thought experiment so absurd it might actually happen. Imagine—just imagine—that Donald J. Trump walked up to a podium tomorrow, slapped a glowing vial on the lectern, and announced: “I have cured cancer. All of it. Every kind. You’re welcome. “Now, a rational species might respond with cautious optimism. Perhaps even gratitude. Maybe a polite golf clap. Not us. Not this timeline.

The Headlines Write Themselves

Within approximately 0.003 seconds, every major news network would erupt like a volcano of righteous indignation:

CNN: “Trump’s Reckless Cancer Cure Threatens Millions of Healthcare Jobs—Here’s Why That’s Dangerous”
MSNBC: “Oncologists React With Horror as Trump Dismantles an Entire Medical Field Without Congressional Approval”
The Washington Post: “Democracy Dies in Darkness, and Apparently So Does Chemotherapy: How Trump’s Cure Undermines Institutional Norms”
The New York Times: “Opinion: I’m a Tumor, and I Deserve to Live—How Trump’s Cure Is an Attack on Biodiversity”
Vox: “Trump Cured Cancer. Here’s Why That’s Actually Bad. (Explained with 47 charts)”

The Expert Panel Weighs In

A somber Anderson Cooper would turn to the camera with the gravity of a man announcing an asteroid impact: “Tonight, we ask the hard questions. Yes, cancer is gone. But at what COST?”

Cut to a panel of four experts, three of whom are openly weeping: Expert 1 (Pharmaceutical Lobbyist): “Do you have ANY idea how much revenue chemotherapy generates? We’re talking about a $200 billion industry. Trump didn’t cure a disease—he committed an act of ECONOMIC TERRORISM against hardworking pharmaceutical shareholders. “Expert 2 (Hospital Administrator): “Our oncology wings are the crown jewels of our revenue model. Without cancer patients hooked up to IV drips filled with chemicals that cost $47,000 per session and make you feel like you’ve been run over by a freight train hauling more chemicals—how are we supposed to afford our fourth administrative building? “Expert 3 (Unnamed Source Familiar With the Matter): “This cure was developed without peer review, without FDA approval, and most importantly, without consulting the people who were making an EXCELLENT living off the disease. This is a direct attack on the established order of profiting from human suffering. “Expert 4 (Political Analyst): “The real question isn’t whether the cure works. The real question is: what are Trump’s MOTIVATIONS? Nobody just cures cancer out of the goodness of their heart. This is clearly a distraction from [gestures vaguely] …something.”

Big Pharma Issues a Statement

“We at MegaChem Therapeutics™ are deeply concerned by this so-called ‘cure.’ For decades, we have been committed to providing patients with a carefully calibrated treatment experience—one that manages symptoms just enough to keep you alive, but not so much that you stop needing us. This is called SUSTAINABLE HEALTHCARE. Trump’s ‘cure’ is reckless, untested, and worst of all—it’s FREE. How are we supposed to monetize FREE? This man is a menace to quarterly earnings.”

The Inevitable Fact-Check

PolitiFact Rating: MOSTLY FALSE

“While Trump claims to have ‘cured cancer,’ our analysis shows that cancer was already declining at a rate of 0.003% per decade, meaning it would have eventually cured itself in approximately 47,000 years. Trump is taking credit for something that was already happening. We rate this claim: Pants on Fire.”

The Moral of the Story

In the grand theater of modern media, the disease was never the villain. The disease was the business model. And anyone who threatens the business model—be they saint, scientist, or spray-tanned former president—must be destroyed with the full fury of a 24-hour news cycle that hasn’t had a good ratings week since the last time something was on fire. Because in America, we don’t cure diseases. We subscribe to them. And canceling your subscription is an act of insurrection.

“First, do no harm—unless harm is billable, in which case, do a LOT of it and file it under ‘treatment.'” — The Hippocratic Suggestion, Revised Edition, Sponsored by Pfizer™

The Great Meme Wars: Where Civics Goes to Die

A Final Dispatch from the Frontlines of Electoral Stupidity

Ah, election season. That magical time of year when the air is thick with yard signs, attack ads, and the unmistakable aroma of people who haven’t cracked open a civics textbook since the Clinton administration—the first one. The ritual is simple: find the least politically corrupt candidate—which is a bit like shopping for the freshest item in a dumpster—vote them in, and then watch in slow-motion horror as they proceed to loot the treasury with the efficiency of a raccoon who found an unlocked Costco. You must act fast, of course, because the incumbent raccoons are already in there filling their tiny raccoon pockets, and if you don’t get YOUR raccoon in soon, there won’t be anything left to steal. Democracy. Beautiful, isn’t it?

Enter: The Meme

But tonight, dear reader, I must address a cultural artifact of staggering intellectual bankruptcy. A meme. Shared with the confidence of a man who brings a calculator to a spelling bee. This particular meme—posted, shared, liked, and reshared by an army of people whose understanding of government structure could fit comfortably inside a thimble with room left over for their attention span—targets Governor Greg Abbott of Texas. The accusation? Republicans want your vote to “fix” taxes! The evidence? A screenshot of a property tax bill. The problem? Oh, where to begin.

A Brief Civics Lesson for People Who Apparently Slept Through All of Them

Let us walk through this slowly, the way one explains object permanence to a toddler:

Level of Government	Who Runs It	What They Tax	Who to Yell At
Federal	Congress & the President	Income, capital gains, your will to live	Washington, D.C.
State	Governor & State Legislature	Sales tax, some fees, your patience	Austin, in this case
County/City	Local officials & city councils	PROPERTY TAXES, local fees, your sanity	Your local courthouse, Karen

You see that? That third row? The one labeled County/City? That’s where property taxes live. Not in the Governor’s mansion. Not in the state capitol. In your local government—which, in the case of most major Texas cities, is run by… drumroll …Democrats. That’s right. The meme-posting intellectual titan is screaming at the state Republican governor about a tax bill set by their local Democratic county officials. This is the governmental equivalent of calling your landlord to complain about the weather. It is the civic literacy equivalent of suing McDonald’s because Burger King gave you the wrong order.

The Anatomy of a Meme Scholar

Let’s profile this brave digital warrior, shall we?

Can they name their county commissioner? Absolutely not.
Do they know what a county commissioner does? They think it’s a type of kitchen appliance.
Can they distinguish between state and local taxes? About as well as they can distinguish between astronomy and astrology.
Did they Google anything before posting? Google is for the weak. Memes are peer-reviewed by vibes.
Are they registered to vote in local elections? LOL. They didn’t even know local elections existed. They thought government was just the President and “the other ones.”

This person saw a tax bill, felt an emotion, found a meme that confirmed the emotion, and launched it into the digital void with the righteous fury of someone who has never once attended a city council meeting but has VERY strong opinions about governance.

The Beautiful Irony

Here’s the chef’s kiss: these are the same people who will passionately argue about “holding politicians accountable” while being constitutionally incapable of identifying which politician is responsible for what. They want to drain the swamp but can’t tell you which level of government the swamp is in. Federal swamp? State swamp? County swamp? It’s all just… swamp.

“I don’t need to know how government works to know it’s broken!” — Every meme poster, confidently, while blaming the wrong person for the wrong thing at the wrong level of government

The Takeaway

So the next time someone shares a meme about taxes, please—please—ask them one simple question: “Which level of government sets that tax? “Then sit back and watch the loading screen behind their eyes buffer for eternity like a 2004 Dell laptop trying to run Crysis. Because in America, we don’t need to understand government to have loud opinions about it. Understanding is for nerds. We have memes. And memes don’t need citations, context, or a basic understanding of federalism. They just need a font that looks angry and a share button.

“Give a man a civics education and he’ll understand government for a lifetime. Give a man a meme and he’ll misunderstand government loudly, daily, and with absolute conviction.” — Benjamin Franklin, probably, if he’d had Wi-Fi and a migraine.

My last bit of advice as far as Texas goes. If you can look at New York and think it is just swell and Texas is terrible, well they need you in New York. Move…

For the rest of you, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed my thoughts on things. I really am practicing Satire for my book…The Big Beautiful Book of Stupid Shit… Coming soon.

Epstein didn’t kill himself, and WTF DAN and KASH?

You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out who visited Little St. James. (Epstein’s Island).

Holy shit, Dan and Kash, never, ever play poker. Seriously, watching that interview was like watching two toddlers try to hide a cookie jar raid — except instead of crumbs, they left a trail of neon signs screaming, “I don’t know how to lie, please don’t notice!”

There’s this magical thing called “poker tells” — involuntary body language, verbal slips, or just plain dumbass behavior that gives away what you’re holding. And you two? You might as well have had giant thought bubbles flashing above your heads: “I’m clueless, please don’t call my bluff.”

If poker were a game of poker tells, you’d be the easiest reads in history. You didn’t just give away your hand; you handed it over with a bow and a damn slideshow. Next time, maybe try not looking like you’re auditioning for “How to Suck at Poker for Dummies.”

In poker, self-awareness is key — knowing when you’re sweating bullets or suddenly chatty can be the difference between winning and getting cleaned out. But you guys? You were broadcasting your cluelessness like it was a damn parade.

Now, Comey is such an artist when it comes to lying. If you compare the two as current and ex-heads of the FBI, you should be scared. While Dan and Kash were basically flashing their goddamn cards like neon signs screaming, “Hey, I’m a lying idiot!” James Comey was sitting there with a poker face so solid it could’ve been carved from the frozen tears of a thousand disappointed FBI agents.

Seriously, this guy’s poker face was so tight that David Bach — a professional poker player who makes a living spotting liars and bullshitters — vouched for Comey’s Senate testimony. Bach said Comey was telling the truth, which means Comey’s poker face wasn’t just good, it was “I’m about to win the fucking World Series of Poker” good. The dude was unreadable, like a goddamn sphinx wrapped in a riddle, wrapped in a poker chip.

Meanwhile, Dan and Kash? They were the human equivalent of a flashing “I’m lying” billboard. You could see their “tells” from space. If poker was about broadcasting your bullshit, they’d be champions. But Comey? Calm, cool, collected — the kind of player who keeps their cards so close to their chest you’d need a crowbar and a warrant just to get a peek.

There is a there there, and Trump’s Boys, they are too honest to run the FBI.

Isnt that a sad statement? “They are too honest to run the FBI.”

If you look at the history of the FBI and think of Hoover…He and Comey could be twins. Yes, Comey, take that as a compliment.

Jeffrey Epstein’s Little Shitshow Island: Who the Hell Flew There and Why?

So, do I believe Epstein strangled himself? Honestly, the official story is riddled with so many screw-ups, suspicious circumstances, and missing evidence that it’s hard not to be skeptical. The combination of malfunctioning cameras, sleeping guards, broken protocols, and Epstein’s connections to powerful people makes the “suicide” explanation feel like the least believable part of this whole mess.

In short: The official line says suicide, but the whole situation smells like a perfect storm of incompetence, cover-ups, and maybe something darker. Whether Epstein was murdered or managed to kill himself in a jail cell with all those screw-ups is still a question that probably won’t get a satisfying answer anytime soon. And that’s why the meme lives on — because sometimes, the truth is just too stupid or too fucked up to swallow without a healthy dose of skepticism and sarcasm.

So, Jeffrey Epstein had this private island called Little St. James. Sounds cute, right? Except it became the VIP hotspot for the kind of wild parties that make your average frat house look like a church picnic. We’re talking alleged sexual abuse of minors, drugs, and a guest list that reads like a “Who’s Who of People Who Should’ve Known Better (or Maybe Just Didn’t Give a Flying F***).” While the full sordid details are still wrapped tighter than a Kardashian’s Instagram DMs, flight logs, court docs, and investigative journalism have peeled back the curtain on who was hopping on Epstein’s personal jet to this debauchery Disneyland.

Who the Hell Was Flying on Epstein’s Creepy Jet?

1. The Usual Suspects: Rich, Famous, and Probably Morally Bankrupt

Flight logs and leaked phone data tracked nearly 200 devices back to fancy-ass neighborhoods and luxury mansions across the US and beyond. Think gated communities in Florida and Michigan, Martha’s Vineyard (because why not?), Nantucket, and even spots near Trump Tower. Basically, if you’ve got a yacht bigger than your ego, you were probably on the list.

These weren’t your average Joes. Nope, business tycoons, politicians, celebrities, and socialites who probably thought their money was a Get Out of Jail Free card for anything shady.

2. The “Oh, Really?” Celebrity and Political Edition

Bill Clinton: Flew on Epstein’s planes at least 17 times in the early 2000s. Sometimes with Secret Service, sometimes without. Clinton swears he didn’t know about the crimes and claims he never set foot on the island. Court docs and accuser testimony? Not so sure about that. But hey, who’s counting? He is still trying to figure out what the definition of IS is.

Donald Trump: Took a few joyrides on Epstein’s jet in the ’90s, sometimes with family. No official accusations of wrongdoing, but he was definitely in Epstein’s Palm Beach social circle and partied with him. Because nothing says “class” like rubbing elbows with a convicted sex offender.

Prince Andrew: The Duke of York, who apparently thought “bad decisions” was his middle name. Accused in court documents of sexual misconduct involving a minor trafficked by Epstein. Denies everything, but his name pops up in flight logs and island guest lists like an unwanted party crasher.

Celebrities: Naomi Campbell, Kevin Spacey, Chris Tucker — all took flights on Epstein’s jet. They all deny knowing anything about the creepy shit going down. Sure, Jan.

3. Epstein’s Inner Circle: The Real MVPs of This Clusterfuck

Ghislaine Maxwell: Epstein’s partner-in-crime, convicted sex trafficker, and frequent island resident. Basically the ringleader who made sure the whole nightmare ran smoothly.

Business Bigwigs: Billionaires like Les Wexner were close to Epstein. Some visited the island, some didn’t. All have since perfected the art of “I don’t know anything” face.

Why the Hell Would Anyone Participate in This?

1. Because Secrecy and Money Make You Feel Invincible

The island was remote, Epstein was loaded, and his guests were so rich they probably thought the law was just a suggestion. What happens on Little St. James stays on Little St. James — or so they hoped. Spoiler: It didn’t.

2. A Culture of Excess, Drugs, and “What the Actual F*”**

According to accusers and investigators, the island was basically a debauchery theme park for the ultra-wealthy. Wild parties, drugs, and the exploitation of girls as young as 14. Because nothing screams “good time” like illegal sex trafficking.

3. Networking, But Make It Creepy

For some, Epstein was a gateway to power, money, and influence. The island was less about friendship and more about transactional “fun.” You know, the kind of fun that ruins lives.

Speculating on the Motives and Activities (Because Why Not?)

The folks most likely to have flown to Epstein’s island for the “fun” stuff were:

People who love exclusive, secret parties and don’t mind skating on the edge of the law and morality.

Those who had something to gain from Epstein’s twisted network — money, power, or just a really messed-up story to tell their grandkids (or not).

And, of course, anyone dumb enough to think their actions would never see the light of day on a tiny island surrounded by ocean and bad decisions.

There you have it: a cocktail of rich assholes, bad choices, and a private island that was less “tropical paradise” and more “criminal circus.” Perfect material for Stupid Shit, because if there’s anything stupider than flying on Epstein’s jet, it’s pretending you didn’t know what the hell was going on.

Lets wrap this up for the 16 percent of people who believe Epstien killed himself and Kash, Pam, And Dan, are telling the truth.

Here are a few more thoughts for the 16% who believe the media, including the ladies of the view.

The Moon Landing Was Filmed on a Hollywood Soundstage

Because obviously, NASA had nothing better to do than hire Stanley Kubrick to fake the entire Apollo 11 mission. Forget the thousands of scientists and engineers — it was all just a big movie set with fake moon dust and zero gravity wires. Cue the dramatic “lights, camera, conspiracy!” 🎬🌕

Birds Aren’t Real — They’re Government Surveillance Drones

Yep, every pigeon, sparrow, and seagull is actually a tiny spy drone sent to watch your every move. So next time a bird poops on your car, remember: Big Brother is literally dropping you a message. 🐦📡

The Earth Is Flat and NASA Is Lying to You

Because all those satellite images, circumnavigation flights, and space missions are just part of a global cover-up to hide the fact that the Earth is a pancake. Gravity? Just a conspiracy to keep you from realizing you’re living on a giant dinner plate. 🥞🌍

The Illuminati Controls Everything, Including Your Morning Coffee

The secret society that allegedly runs the world also decides what you drink, eat, and binge-watch. Starbucks cups with their logo? Illuminati recruitment tools. Your barista? Probably a high-ranking member. ☕️👁️

Elvis Presley Is Still Alive and Living on Mars

Forget Graceland — Elvis faked his death and took a rocket to Mars to start a new life as the Red Planet’s King of Rock ‘n’ Roll. The Martians just haven’t told us yet because they’re still trying to learn “Jailhouse Rock.” 👽🎸

As a science fiction writer I thank god for government cover ups. Lets face it the truth is not near as entertaining as what we will create in the absence of the truth.

The “Oops, We Totally Found a Dead Alien but Lost the Body” Cover-Up

Apparently, the Pentagon once “accidentally” snagged an alien spacecraft along with its deceased pilot. But don’t worry, the government just misplaced the body somewhere between the classified vault and the coffee machine. Happens to the best of us, right?

Roswell: The Ultimate “We Swear It Was Just a Weather Balloon” Story

In 1947, a mysterious crash in Roswell, New Mexico, sparked rumors of alien visitors. The government’s official explanation? A weather balloon. Because when you find something that looks like a spaceship, the first logical conclusion is definitely meteorology.

The Secret UFO Retrieval Program Congress Pretends to Investigate

Congress is “investigating” a secret program that allegedly retrieves UFOs. Translation: lots of hearings, a few vague statements, and zero actual answers — the perfect recipe for keeping the public guessing while the government enjoys its popcorn.

Declassified Memos That Say “We Don’t Know What This Is Either”

After decades of classified documents being released, the government basically admits, “Yeah, we have no clue what some of these flying objects are, but we’re definitely not telling you.” Because mystery is more fun when it’s government-approved.

The Navy’s UFO Encounters That Are Totally Not Aliens, Promise

The Navy has reported inexplicable flying objects near nuclear weapons sites. But hey, it’s probably just a flock of very confused seagulls or maybe some rogue drones. Aliens? Nah, that’s just sci-fi nonsense.

Alien Abductions? Just Your Imagination, or Maybe a Budd Hopkins Book

Some UFO researchers popularized alien abduction stories, but even believers admit some cases are hoaxes. So if you suddenly remember missing time, it’s probably just a nap or a really vivid dream — not an intergalactic joyride.

The real tragedy in this circus of nonsense? Our hard-earned tax dollars are getting flushed straight down the bullshit toilet. Yep, while you’re sweating over rent and ramen, Uncle Sam’s busy funding the greatest collection of “WTF” moments ever assembled. It’s like we’re all chipping in for a front-row seat to the world’s most expensive clown show — and spoiler alert: the clowns don’t even know they’re the joke.

Stay tuned for the release dates of my latest books. “Stupid Shit” is almost finished.

-Best

Trump’s Late Night Iran Strategy: A Game of Diplomatic Whack-a-Mole

As many of you might have heard, the US, under Trump—yes, that Trump—decided to play a little game of geopolitical whack-a-mole and removed three Uranium enrichment sites in Iran on a Saturday night. Because, you know, nothing says “I’m serious about diplomacy” like a late-night raid.
Now, some folks might argue that Iran was just trying to save the planet with their proposed nuclear energy programs. You know, the same way a toddler thinks they’re helping by “cleaning” the house with a garden hose. Most of you reading this would probably just nod and say, “Bless your heart,” while secretly rolling your eyes.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: we should pay attention to what people do, not just what they say. Talk is cheap, folks. Take the people crying foul over Trump not consulting Congress or the American people. Seriously? If they were in charge, they’d be the first ones waving a white flag and begging for mercy from anyone who hates this country.

Now, let’s talk about how this mission went off without a hitch—thanks to a little thing called secrecy. It was like a magic trick: “Now you see the B2 bombers heading to Guam, now you don’t!” Not getting permission from those who want to impeach Trump for merely existing? That’s the real sleight of hand.
Today’s media circus will be full of voices, both for and against. The naysayers will crank up the emotional tension, warning us that Iran, the world’s favorite sponsor of terror, is going to do something terrible. Spoiler alert: they always talk a big game, but their actions? Always violent and deadly.

Remember that phrase “speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far”? Good ol’ Teddy Roosevelt popularized it to remind us that diplomacy is great, but a strong military presence is even better. Last night, we saw that principle in action. Appeasers? They’re always going to get screwed by the oppressors. It’s a fact of life, like taxes and bad hair days.

Had Trump notified Congress, those who’ve been bought off by our enemies would have been tipped off. You know, the ones who want him impeached? Yeah, they’re probably on the payroll of foreign governments. Treason is a real thing, and maybe we should consider bringing back public hangings for those convicted of it. Talk about a big stick!

So, these are my thoughts on the stupid shit that is political posturing and theater. Those who talk shit are just pandering to the mindless masses who gobble up whatever the media, bought and paid for by America’s enemies, dishes out. It’s all emotional leverage to manipulate the masses who want to believe in crazy shit—like the tooth fairy, flat Earth theories, and other absurdities that make for entertaining blogs about stupid shit.

Have a nice day!

More Stupid Shit: Dia dos

Ah, lawyers and politicians—the true thespians of our time. If there’s one thing they excel at, it’s political theater. And yesterday, Senator Alex Padilla took center stage for his 15 minutes of fame, delivering a performance that would make even the most melodramatic soap opera actor blush.

Padilla’s stunt at Christy Noem’s press conference wasn’t just about making a scene—it was about standing up for the real victims of society: the criminals burning cars in the streets. You know, the ones who are apparently just misunderstood artists expressing themselves through the medium of arson.

The Burning Car Chronicles

Speaking of burning cars, let’s talk about the absolute masterpiece of media spin happening in Los Angeles right now. During the recent anti-ICE riots, where vehicles were literally on fire and chaos reigned supreme, an ABC7 news anchor decided to channel their inner optimist.

“It’s just a bunch of people having fun watching cars burn,” they said, as if this was some kind of impromptu Burning Man festival instead of, you know, a riot.

Let’s break this down. Cars are on fire. Objects are being thrown. The city looks like the set of a post-apocalyptic movie. And yet, somehow, this is described as “relatively peaceful”. Because nothing says “peaceful” like the smell of burning rubber and the distant sound of someone smashing a window.

Padilla’s Role in the Circus

Enter Alex Padilla, stage left. Fresh off his press conference stunt, he decided to use his newfound spotlight to condemn ICE and, by extension, law enforcement in general. In his statement to the press, he dropped this gem:

“If this is how they treat a senator, how do you think they are treating Hispanics?”

Now, let’s be clear: ICE isn’t exactly winning any popularity contests. But Padilla’s attempt to tie his self-inflicted humiliation to the broader issue of immigration enforcement is nothing short of political theater at its most shameless.

Here’s the thing: Padilla isn’t wrong to criticize ICE. But let’s not pretend his little outburst was some brave act of defiance. This wasn’t about standing up for the oppressed. This was about getting airtime and scoring political points. And in the process, he managed to toss everyday Americans under the bus—again.

The Bigger Picture

This whole debacle is a perfect example of how we the people are manipulated. Politicians like Padilla pull stunts like this, knowing it’ll dominate the news cycle. Meanwhile, the media downplays actual violence and destruction, framing it as “fun” or “relatively peaceful”.

It’s all part of the same game: distract, deflect, and divide. While we’re busy arguing about whether burning cars is a valid form of self-expression, the real issues—like immigration reform, public safety, and economic inequality—get swept under the rug.

Final Thoughts

So, what did we learn from all this? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Because this is politics, and politics is stupid. It’s a never-ending parade of bad actors, bad decisions, and bad takes.

In conclusion: yesterday was yet another day of stupid shit. And if the news out of LA is any indication, tomorrow will be more of the same. Stay tuned.

Oh, and don’t forget to follow me and sign up for emails—because, let’s face it, who doesn’t want more random shit clogging up their inbox? But seriously, I’m on the verge of unleashing my literary masterpiece, Stupid Shit, onto the unsuspecting world, and you’re not going to want to miss it. I’ll probably slap it on KDP (because I’m fancy like that), so all you Kindle-having, book-hoarding legends can read it, laugh your ass off, and then wonder why you willingly spent your time on this nonsense. Spoiler: it’s worth it.

-Scott