Initially, I was going to write a rant about stupid Trump and his prime time State Of The Union collective of words, in which he attempted to coerce Americans that a crisis of heart and soul, the likes of which no one has ever seen before composed of coyotes and gangs was upon us. Women and children will most likely become victims of uncontrolled illegal immigration. Worse, he subjected us to his ugly puss in a slow zoom close up. What the fuck was wrong with his squinty eyes? Uneven Botox® injections? Conjunctivitis is so 1990. And what was up with that insane breathing? If history repeats itself, in the case of Trump “the ignorant redundancy loop”, he was saying something he didn’t want to say. In short, this silly spectacle did not win over new Trump supporters. If he said sensible gun control in place of border wall, he would have. And now we return to The Grown-Ass Man, already in progress.
It was the annual block party for Leavitt Avenue. A group of apparent new mothers gathered around a keg of Tecate Lite®. It was the farthest point from the horrendous Cure tribute band, Why Can’t I Be You? As if synchronized, each woman looked away from her phone focusing on Valerie. She cleared her throat realizing the need to project her timid peep.
Three weeks ago, Aquaman, the King of Atlantis, began a personal evolution. It is not a coincidence that the transformation began right after meeting Trump, the strange orange-skinned surface dweller, during a peace summit.
Like any good nosy American, I have been watching the news avidly as to who did what to who with what, specifically, with all the mail bomb terrorism. As of 9 PM CST of today, there are no answers, just a lot of speculation and more questions. This is what we know.