Big Boobs vs. Donald Trump
There’s a certain irony in the fact that two of the women who are leading the attack on President Trump could collectively answer to the nickname “Big Boobs.” I am naturally referring to Stormy Daniels (née Stephanie Clifford) and Hillary Clinton.
Because those on the Left want to do everything in their power to encourage anyone who opposes President Trump, their favorite pundits on CNN and MSNBC often identify Stormy as an actress. But we should all keep in mind that her biggest hits never went into general release; not with titles like “Trailer Trash Nurses,” “Bikini Kitchen,” “Porking with Pride,” “Operation: Desert Stormy” and its sequel, “Operation: Tropical Stormy,” although I suspect they would all be easier to sit through than “The Phantom Thread,” “Ladybird” or the excruciating Oscar-winner “The Shape of Water.”
I do, however, want to defend Stormy against those who insist on pointing out that she has occasionally denied having sex with Donald Trump, while at other times she claims to recall it vividly. Considering how she has earned her living for the past 18 years, I think it’s perfectly understandable if she can’t always keep the names straight.
On the other hand, I can’t think of a single excuse for Hillary Rodham Clinton. As a young lawyer, she reveled in the fact that she had managed to get a middle-aged man accused of raping a 12-year-old girl off with a wrist slap. Later in life, she relished demeaning the women her husband had sexually assaulted while defending him and dismissing them as “lying trailer trash.”
Now, she has the gall to take credit for the #MeToo movement, claiming to have been the inspiration for women calling out their serial abusers. This, coming from the woman who’s befriended the likes of Anthony Weiner and Harvey Weinstein and served as a blocking guard for Bill Clinton, is the ultimate display of hypocritical chutzpah. It would be like Louis Farrakhan whining that the B'nai B'rith had once again passed him over when it came time to name their Man of the Year.
I know that most people probably don’t believe me when I insist I wouldn’t want to have a billion dollars. If such a sum fell into my lap, I would get rid of it quickly, giving some of it to friends, including some of my readers whose strained circumstances prevent their paying full price for their subscriptions. I’d also give a lot to charities for children, animals and military veterans, but only after I had carefully vetted them; and, finally, to medical researchers seeking cures for cancer, Alzheimer’s and, if I can find any, liberalism.
As I see it, if you have a huge amount of money, it requires spending an awful lot of one’s time with lawyers and accountants. Besides, there’s not much that I want to own. I certainly wouldn’t want to live in a castle. Those places require an army of servants, and I don’t want to have to live in a place where people are constantly distracting me by cleaning and dusting and fluffing up pillows. I’m crazy enough the way things are without asking for trouble.
Even in movies, I’m never the least bit jealous when I see rich people riding around in Bentley’s or having their front door opened by a butler. In fact, there are only two times in my life that I ever saw something and thought to myself, “I’d like to have one of those.”
The first time was when I saw James Cameron’s “Titanic.” While most people focused on the young lovers, I couldn’t help noticing the villain’s henchman. Even as the ship was going down, he was still trying to carry out his boss’s instructions, which I seem to recall consisted of killing Leonardo DiCaprio’ character. A mission I might have given him myself.
The next time I found myself wishing I had someone like that in my life is when I heard that Donald Trump’s lawyer, Michael Cohen, say that he had not only paid Stormy Daniels $130,000 out of his own pocket to buy her silence but was such a good egg that he never even mentioned it to the president.
And I can’t even get my lawyer to return my calls!
Every single time I hear some Democrat who’s arguing for open borders insist that all these poor illiterates are great for the economy, I feel the simultaneous urge to giggle and to hurl a brick at the TV screen.
If only you could tie the bozos to a chair and keep them tied up until they explained how it is that the places the illegal aliens come from — Mexico, El Salvador and Guatemala — don’t boast thriving economies, even though they are blessed with tens of millions of poor ignoramuses. Or, perhaps, I would cut to the chase and simply ask them how it is that next to Antarctica, Africa is the least desirable continent on the face of the earth, although blessed with several hundred million illiterates.
Although we tend to think of the American revolution as a war between good people and bad people, we are fortunate that our enemies at the time were English.
King George III was hardly a prince of a fellow, but England was the nation that gave the world the Magna Carta, which offered protection to the Church, protected the barons from illegal imprisonment and unwarranted taxation, and promised access to swift justice.
Although it was an agreement between the king and a few other nobles, having little practical effect on the lives of commoners, and although it went through various permutations through the ages, it did provide a 500-year-old jumping-off place for the Founding Fathers, who perfected the document and made it a Magna Carta for every American.
It probably also explains why Australia, which began as a depository for England’s most incorrigible criminals, is today a democracy and a staunch American ally. Probably the country’s major shortcoming is that progressives have so much political influence Down Under that the citizens allowed themselves to be disarmed by the politicians, just as their American cousins are attempting to do over here.
In related news, the city leaders of Deerfield, Illinois, are insisting their constituents surrender their guns or be fined $1,000 a day. The Land of Lincoln is starting to sound a lot like the Land of Lenin.
Meanwhile, in New York, the Land of Cuomo and Di Blasio, pressure is being applied to banks and credit card companies to do their part to prevent their services being employed in the purchase of firearms.
Long before Donald Trump attracted the enmity of the Deep State saboteurs, the leaders and bureaucrats at Foggy Bottom, a common alias for the State Department, have been at odds with most patriotic Americans. They tried to push us into the League of Nations and finally succeeded when it came to the UN; and their record of anti-Semitism, which takes the politer form of being anti-Israel, is a long-established fact of life. If one paid the slightest bit of attention to the globalists who have served as the secretary of state, you would realize why our foreign relations have often been at odds with our national interests.
Things started out okay in the early days when the president could choose from the ranks of Thomas Jefferson, James Madison and James Monroe, but once we got to the likes of Robert Lansing, Woodrow Wilson’s helpmate in pushing for membership in the League of Nations, along with Dean Acheson, John Foster Dulles, Henry Kissinger, Madeleine Albright, Colin Powell, Hillary Clinton and John Kerry, we were clearly scraping the bottom of the barrel.
Considering the fact that one man, Barack Hussein Obama, was responsible for appointing two of those deplorables, it shouldn’t come as too big a surprise that we recently learned that Obama’s State Department handed nine million of our tax dollars to George Soros so he could support the communist government in Albania, while leaving him with more of his own money to spend promoting communism in Guatemala, Colombia, Romania and his own native Hungary.
Today’s words of wisdom are supplied by Nicolas de Chamfort, who observed that “Conscience is a dog that does not stop us from passing but that we cannot prevent from barking.”
The tragedy of our time is that too many of us are hard of hearing, while even more of us have solved the problem by shooting their dog.
Today’s joke was supplied by Russ Mothershed, who lightens the mood in Knoxville, Tennessee.
A man was sitting reading the newspaper when his wife hit him with a frying pan. After picking himself up from the floor, he asked her what that was all about.
“That was for the piece of paper I found in your pocket with the name Jenny on it.”
“For crying out loud, Jenny was the name of the horse I bet on last week!”
The wife apologized and went back to her housework.
Three days later, the man was watching TV when his wife bashed him on the head with an even bigger frying pan, knocking him unconscious.
When he came to, he asked why the heck she had conked him a second time.
She replied: “Your horse just phoned.”
Today’s bit of biblical lore was supplied by Charles Schmitz, the legend of St. Louis, who claims: “Technically, Moses was the first person with a tablet that downloaded data from the cloud.”