Out like Flynn

I spent most of today moving Donkey School to this snazzy new home from unfashionable Blogspot where I started it back when there was still a chance of a public option in ObamaCare.  I wrote about pop culture for a while here and there, and politics when it occurred to me, but mostly Donkey School has been dormant for the longest time.

Until last night. Last night I got tired of pingponging back and forth for the benefit of Zuckerman’s database and yelling at the little NPR people inside my girlfriend’s Alexa, yelling that if the lies spewed all over us are true, why won’t anyone ask Ponce if he’s pissed at LittleFingers for knowing for two and a half weeks that Flynn lied, but never passing it along?  Is Ponce pissed that he was the last to know, and might not even know now if someone hadn’t left a Washington Post in the EEOB crapper? Does blowdried Poncey have the slightest shred of dignity?

Now let’s stipulate that what the liars are saying happened happened the way the liars say.  Does anyone with a Secret Service entourage have an opinion about Flynn telling Putinwelt (on a call that only a genuine dope wouldn’t guess was being recorded for customer service and training purposes) not to get antsy about the lame-duck sanctions? Does Small Ryan? Ronald McConnell? Johnny McVictim?  Why won’t anybody ask?

My friends on Facebook are all, great, he’ll get impeached. Yeah, great, so Poncey’s POTUS? Or Ponce gets booted too: Speaker Small Ryan? We are fucked no matter what, for at least two years, and Putzder going back to frying burgers doesn’t compensate.  Did you notice that Littlefingers yesterday turned his first bill into law, and all it does is make sure Secretary Rexxon doesn’t get in dutch for spreading green around in Putinwelt? That‘s Job 1 for Ronald McConnell, Lyin’ Ryan & Littlefingers?

I’m ranting, I know.  And it’s a luxury, with Daniel the DREAMer sweating in some ICEy cell and god knows what other genuine suffering being felt under the radar, out of Alexa’s range, families inches from torn apart, decent quiet hard working people shivering with fear in the darkness, what screams drowned out by the blather of outrage or not outrage and by Littlefingers’ whining?

OK, your turn...

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