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Burt Prelutsky / Sep. 21, 2020

Donald's Unrequited Love

It pains me to say it, but President Trump deserves the shellacking he's getting over Bob Woodward's book, "Rage."

It pains me to say it, but President Trump deserves the shellacking he’s getting over Bob Woodward’s book, “Rage.”

Apparently, it was Lindsey Graham who helped persuade Trump to grant the uberliberal Woodward unbelievable access to his time. If the rumors are true, Trump granted him 18 interviews either in person or over the phone that lasted over 20 hours.

It’s not as if Woodward is a neutral observer of the political scene. He helped bring down one Republican president and has been dying for nearly 50 years to bring down a second.

If Trump felt the need to be interviewed for a book certain to be a best seller, why not let Mollie Hemingway make the money?

My suspicion is that the poor guy is still trying to seduce the east coast media because he thinks that nobody can resist the Trump charm. It explains why he has granted so many exclusive interviews to the New York Times editorial board.

If he were my son, I’d sit him down the way that Judge Hardy used to sit down Andy Hardy and say, “Donny, she’s no good for you. In your heart, you know she’s just a little tramp. She doesn’t want your candy, she treats your flowers like stinkweed, she finds your little love poems embarrassing and she refuses to go to the prom with you. Grow up, son. What’s wrong with that nice girl next door, Polly Benedict?”

After leading his subject on, that little tramp Bob Woodward concluded his book by insisting that Trump isn’t fit to be president. One can only hope that Trump has finally gotten over his adolescent crush.

In the latest case of governmental overreach, here in California Governor Newsom has canceled trick-or-treating. But of course that only means that the tiny tots won’t be allowed to dress up as ghosts and princesses; it won’t stop the politicians from continuing their usual equivalent of egging our cars and our houses.

It figured that with the election less than eight weeks off, some woman would come forward to accuse President Trump of having raped her.

I have a rule of thumb about rape accusations against anybody: If you or your parents didn’t report it to the police – not to your best friend or a college administrator, neither of whom is equipped to deal with felonies — I am not going to take your accusation seriously 20 or 30 years down the road.

It is particularly absurd in this case because the woman, E. Jean Carroll, claims the crime took place in a dressing room at New York’s Bergdorf Goodman’s department store. I have no doubt that the two had consensual sex. It sounds like the sort of thing that Trump would have engaged in back in the 1990s, but rape? In a department store where E. Jean would have only needed to raise her voice above a whisper to get the real estate mogul arrested?

It is all too reminiscent of the fraudulent charges the Left concocted in the attempt to destroy Brett Kavanaugh’s reputation and the earlier attempt against Clarence Thomas.

I sincerely believe that the Socialists hate it when they get their way through an honest election. It’s as if they somehow feel cheated if they can’t demolish lives while achieving political victories.

As we see in their ravaging of one city after another, it’s not just individuals they love to destroy.

They barely deserve to be called human. They more closely resemble ravaging wolves.

I’m not saying all this because the man accused is the one I pray will remain the President. I swear I’d have said the same if some man had come forward to claim he’d been raped 25 years earlier by Barack Obama.

In case you haven’t heard, the Motion Picture Academy, which had already done all it could to accommodate black activists who complained that not enough Academy Awards were going to black actors and actresses by turning them all into presenters, has now made itself even more of a laughing stock by adopting a quota system that would even make the powers at Harvard and Yale blanch.

It seems there are now four rules in place for movies that hope to qualify for Oscars:

One-fourth of the leading actors must come from certain “under-represented” groups (black, Asian, Hispanic, Middle Eastern, Native American or Pacific Islander).

But no midgets, Mormons or albinos? Maybe next year?

One-third of all secondary roles must be filled by actors from another group of sacred cows (women, a racial minority, LGBTQ or suffering from a disability).

No, Ethan Hawk, a lack of acting ability doesn’t count.

The main storyline must focus on an under-represented group.

White, heterosexual men? Soon, perhaps.

Two of the film’s senior executives must come from a minority group.

The truth is I had stopped going to movies even before this political correctness had taken root because I thought they stunk. Now I have an even better excuse.

It does raise interesting casting questions though. For instance, how will they determine how to count someone like Halle Berry, who’s only half-black, but is a woman. Is she therefore worth three-quarters of a point on the quota meter? And how are they going to count bi-sexuals, which is the “B” in LGBTQ, if they are going to insist on canoodling with women some or even most of the time?

And while I’d hate to be accused of tossing a monkey wrench in anyone’s plans, but where are the Jews in all this? I mean, they keep referring to blacks as a minority group, but there are 42 million of them in the U.S., but only about seven million Jews. It seems to me that if you’re only one-sixth the size of a so-called minority, you should, by all rights, get six times as many carveouts.

But then the question arises, are they only talking about minorities here in Hollywood? In which case, we Jews might even constitute a majority and therefore shouldn’t be stealing all those acting, writing and producing, jobs that should rightfully be going in this brave new world to Eskimos and transgender dwarfs.

Speaking as a Jew, I was relieved when it turned out that when Elizabeth Warren lied about her heritage, she claimed to be a Cherokee and not a member of one of the tribes of Israel, although if she had, I would have been prepared to point out that she sure didn’t look Siouxish.

But, now, it turns out that a professor at George Washington University named Jessica Krug has been lying about being black.

When I heard about her deception, I immediately wondered how her parents took it when they first got word that their daughter was telling people she was a black woman.

I don’t care how broadminded and accepting the Krugs are, surely there had to come that moment when Mr. Krug turned to his wife and said: “Okay, who was it, Dora? Don’t play the innocent with me. I’m not black and you’re not black, so there’s only one way we wound up with a black daughter. Was it that plumber from when we lived on East Elm Street? I still remember you used to say he looked just like Sidney Poitier.”

We’ve been told that six names on President Trump’s short list should he have the opportunity to replace Ruth Bader Ginsburg on the Supreme Court are Ted Cruz, Tom Cotton, Josh Hawley, Daniel Cameron, Paul Clement and Neal Francisco.

The last two names didn’t ring any bells, so I looked them up. Clement is a lawyer who was the Solicitor General under G.W. Bush; Francisco is a lawyer who was Trump’s Solicitor General. Both seem like good solid Conservatives.

Mr. Cameron is the Attorney General of Kentucky a, a black man who got a lot of Obama-type buzz after his impressive appearance at the GOP convention.

If it were up to me, my choice would be Clement or Francisco. If I leaned toward the latter, it would only be because his father is from the Philippines and Trump would get credit in some quarters for appointing the first person of Asian heritage to serve on the Court.

I would not appoint a sitting senator because we need them to hold down seats in the Senate and I wouldn’t short-circuit Cameron’s political career because we need black Conservatives to serve as role models and to win important elections.

When you look around at what Democratic mayors and governors are allowing to take place in the cities and states they’re supposed to defend, by aiding and abetting the anarchists who are out to destroy our civilization, I recall that Benjamin Franklin argued against the regal eagle being our national symbol.

He argued for the turkey.

I don’t know why — perhaps out of belated gratitude that it was the turkey that provided the Puritans with much needed protein. But it can certainly be argued that the turkey would better represent the America of today. The turkey, you see, is generally regarded as in the running, along with pandas, sloths and Democrats, as the dumbest creature on earth.

My wife had an uncle back in Nebraska who started a turkey ranch, but after the first rainstorm, he was out of business. Turkeys, for reasons that nobody knows, prefer to drink water that drops from above them, and, like my late cousin Jerry, they never know when to stop drinking.

But unlike Jerry who would wake up the next day with an Olympic-class hangover and a case of short term amnesia, the entire rafter of turkeys had drowned, thus validating W.C. Fields’ observation that the stuff — water — can kill you.

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