They All Laughed at Eugene Pallette
In 1946, one of Hollywood’s premiere character actors, the barrel-shaped, frog-voiced, Eugene Pallette, cut short his career because he was absolutely certain that the Soviet Union was about to start raining atomic bombs down on our cities.
In 1946, one of Hollywood’s premiere character actors, the barrel-shaped, frog-voiced, Eugene Pallette, cut short his career because he was absolutely certain that the Soviet Union was about to start raining atomic bombs down on our cities.
He retired to his well-stocked ranch/bomb shelter in Oregon, leaving behind some of the best-loved movies, mainly comedies, of the 30s and 40s, including “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington,” “Topper,” “The Lady Eve,” “My Man Godfrey” and “The Adventures of Robin Hood,” where his delightful Friar Tuck helped the kids put up with the mushy stuff involving Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland.
What was dismissed as paranoia 71 years ago is today, in the wake of Trump’s victory, considered prophetic by the billionaires of the Silicon Valley. According to an article in the New American, Robert Johnson, president of the Institute for New Economic Thinking, told attendees at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, that “hedge-fund managers all over the world are buying airstrips and farms in places like New Zealand because they think they need a getaway.”
Tim Chang, the managing director of the venture capital firm Mayfield Fund, has admitted that he and his well-heeled chums are “figuring out how to get second passports and having vacation homes in other countries in order to have safe havens to go to.”
For those who are willing to tough it out closer to home, some are taking advantage of Larry Hall’s Survival Condo Project. In 2008, Mr. Hall bought an empty Atlas missile silo near Wichita, Kansas, for $300,000, refurbished it for another $10 million, and sold out the units shortly after putting the condos on the market.
At least, Mr. Pallette was worried about Joseph Stalin and the Evil Empire. But these latter-day Chicken Littles are equally worried about Donald Trump.
If you asked them why they are so terrified, I suppose they’d say they have good reason to fear the worst. After all, in just his first three months on the job, President Trump placed Neil Gorsuch on the Supreme Court and cut back on the EPA’s job-killing regulations. God only knows what the madman will do next. Lower taxes? Build a wall? Cut off federal funding to Planned Parenthood?
Frankly, I’m surprised these guys are willing to settle for New Zealand. Once Trump builds up a full head of steam, they might want to be signing up for the next Moon landing. In which case, I’d volunteer to chauffeur them to the launch pad.
Speaking of Trump, he is now being condemned by the usual suspects — the biased media, Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer — for inviting dictators to meet with him. Of course, if he didn’t reach out to those who violate human rights on a regular basis, he wouldn’t be able to invite enough world leaders to join him in a poker game.
It is not the President’s job to change regimes, it is to negotiate with even the worst of them in America’s best interests. It seems the Democrats have changed their tune since George W. Bush, who never met a regime he didn’t want to change, was running things.
If the citizens of Russia, Turkey, the Philippines, Egypt, China, Saudi Arabia and North Korea, are unhappy, it’s up to them to do something about it. It’s Trump’s job to worry about us.
I, for one, always welcome the opportunity to see Hillary Clinton on TV, as it serves to remind me all over again how great I felt on November 8th when, against all odds, the American people, after suffering through eight years of Barack Obama, decided to do something about it.
Anyway, there she was on the tube taking responsibility for losing the election. Okay, she wasn’t exactly taking responsibility, but at least she wasn’t blaming that particular massacre on some stupid video. Instead, she was blaming James Comey, Russia, Wikileaks and misogynistic voters.
Of course, she neglected to mention that Comey, Russia and Wikileaks, wouldn’t have had any influence at all were it not for the fact that she had insisted on using an illegal private server during her time as Secretary of State.
Funny, but whenever Mrs. Clinton takes responsibility for anything, it comes down to her being mainly responsible for doling out blame to everyone but herself.
A couple of days later, probably sensing that I was longing for yet another appearance, she was back, this time at a banquet celebrating the 100th year of Planned Parenthood. To her adoring fans, she bequeathed her latest mantra: “Resist, Insist, Persist, Enlist.” In case anyone ever decides to eventually use those inspiring words on her tombstone, they would do well to notice the acronym spells out RIPE.
Mrs. Clinton has repeatedly said that if the election had been held a week or two earlier than November 8th, she would have won the election because, as we all know, she was leading in the polls. In much the same way, if the 2017 Super Bowl had ended just a wee bit earlier, the Atlanta Falcons would have won 28-3 instead of losing the damn game 34-28.
I’m reminded of a joke that was floating around in the week following the election
After the votes were counted, neither Trump nor Clinton had won enough Electoral votes to be declared the winner. Instead of letting the House of Representatives make the final decision, the two agreed to a week-long fishing contest to settle the matter. The RNC and DNC decided on a remote lake in northern Wisconsin.
To avoid any hint of hanky-panky, at the end of each day, they would have their catches verified by the Justices of the Supreme Court.
After the first day, Trump had landed 10 fish, Hillary none.
After the second day, Trump had added another dozen fish. Hillary still hadn’t reeled in a single one.
On the third day, Trump landed 20 fish. Hillary didn’t even catch a minnow.
That evening, Hillary was outraged, screaming, as usual, at her assorted flunkies: “Everybody knows that nobody lands the big ones as well as I do. Just check my trophy wall. I’ve caught whales like Jeff Bezos, Warren Buffet, Mark Cuban, Bill Gates and George Soros. I’m sure the s.o.b. is cheating. I want two of you to go out tomorrow and catch him at it.”
The fourth day was Trump’s best. He caught 24 fish, Hillary caught a cold.
That night, Mrs. Clinton received the report and let out a scream that could be heard back in Chappaqua, scaring Bill and his latest bimbo so badly, they tumbled out of bed.
Her staff had never seen her so livid. Not even Huma Abedin had ever seen her this passionate before. At least not with her clothes on.
Hillary’s knuckles were white, her eyes were ablaze, as she looked up from the report and said, through clenched teeth: “You are not going to believe this….the bastard is cutting holes in the ice!”