Absolute Complete Dumpster Fire Clown Show and Some Russians - Weekly Column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
27 February 2020

Absolute Complete Dumpster Fire Clown Show and Some Russians

Almost as illogical as the debates are some of the comments on the InterGossip:

1. Complete / total / absolute dumpster fire – “Dumpster fire” was a fresh, effective metaphor decades ago; it’s tired now, so let it go to its reward. Further, a dumpster fire cannot be complete, total, or absolute. Some events need no modifiers.

2. Complete / absolute clown show – First, what is a clown show? When we visit the circus there are clowns, but is there an entertainment featuring only clowns? If so, it can be said to be complete when it is finished, but how can it be absolute or not absolute?

3. DemonCrats and variants – neither original, amusing, nor useful.

4. RepubliCraps and variants – neither original, amusing, nor useful.

5. The third-rail of politics – what are the first and second rails? The metaphor is based on electrified underground railways, which applies to very few Americans. No one in Texas takes a subway to work. A Massey-Ferguson tractor, yep.

6. Trumpf, Dumpf, Trumpsuxx, Killary, JoeBiteMe, crudities re the mayor of South Bend, Burnie, Fauxahontas, and all the other silly, sarcastic misspellings of names are counter-productive. And, anyway, we the people should be more mature than the candidates.

7. A rhetorical question followed by a pause and then “Oh, wait…” No. Please. No.

8. Hermione Grangering – now that is a fresh new metaphor. In ten years it won’t be, but people will still use it.

9. ROFLMAO – yeah, well, so’s your dog.

10. The Russians – Always the Russians. The Russians control the Democrats. The Russians control the Republicans. A cabal of Russian oligarchs control all the casinos in Dime Box, Texas. The Russians ate my homework. The Russians left the refrigerator door open last night. The Russians stole the tv remote control. The Russians are responsible for that one sock lost in the laundry cycle. I’m late for work because the Russians hacked my alarm clock. The radio mast at the big truck stop down the road is part of a Russian spy ring sending all our truck secrets to Russian albino monks in an underground bunker in the woods near Ekaterinburg. Yevtushenko’s poems are coded messages for taking down all our Ford Trimotor airplanes through modified AppleWorks programming. Vladimir Putin and the boys at the Moscow Kremlin monitor your doorbell cameras for laughs. The Russian navy sent a bunch of commandos ashore at Sabine Pass last week but they were all eaten by Texas Department of Public Safety attack alligators. Dostoyevsky was not a Methodist. Russians are infiltrating our school boards so that they can sneakily replace Hank the Cow Dog with Ruslan and Ludmilla. Only half the American electorate vote in presidential elections and somehow that’s the Russians’ fault. Moles that dig up the lawn because, hey, Russian moles, right? Boris and Natasha were looking over my shoulder and bullying me when I voted and the election judge wouldn’t do anything about them when I held up my hand like the presidential candidates. Sniff.

The Russians aren’t the problem. As Pogo said (does anyone remember Pogo?), riffing off Commodore Perry, “We have met the enemy, and he is us.”

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