And the word of the day will be…”Decency.” Hey! I can dream.
Okay, I just read the U.S. Chief Executive has been accused of sexual misconduct by no less than 20-women (who are all lying) and now he’s supporting a U.S. Senate candidate who’s too creepy to be let into his own local Alabama mall (No Dairy Queen for you.) But it looks like the only politician to get the boot will be the Senator from SNL?
So I really don’t want any harm to ever come to the current U.S. Prez. But what if the top ten leader of the Free World was kidnapped by a band of nuns, armed only with rulers and rules, and they whisked him away in the dead of night.
And in a beautiful place (not unlike those national natural treasures he’s shrinking in say, Utah) far, far away, the 33%-prez could play golf every single day and hang out with peeps like Lane Kiffin, Steve Bannon, Will Ferrell, Putin and that conservative contributor clown from CNN named Ed (who smiles all the time just like anyone would who just climbed out of a 200-year old ideological time capsule.) They would all be safe, happy, and content. And best of all, we’d never have to see them or hear from them ever, ever, ever again.
I live in 70:30 California. And I can dream.
And on that day when it’s confirmed that the ex-Prez is alive and well and tweeting tweets only he (or maybe Kiffin) will ever read, I will first close my eyes and then slowly breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, Mr. Miyagi style. And I suspect it’ll just take a few seconds to gain a looong awaited state of true relaxation.
And when I see that #45 is safe and sound, based on visual evidence of the circus hair, immense derriere, and that golf swing at once reminiscent of a man with a stick and a hula hoop inaudibly screaming at his shoes, I’ll know there is a God…but not the one that gets prayers from Alabama.
And on that magical morning, I know the sun will brilliantly rise in the east to the comforting sweet sound of birds chirping and the scent of blueberry pancakes filtering through the now refreshed air.
11-years ago, my alma mater USC Trojans came to hometown Pasadena and gave away a National Football Championship to a big open-carry red state. My 60-minute eye witness account of the disaster briefly led to some serious sleep challenges. Imagine almost a total CNN year of my daily watching a team of scrubs always led the wrong way down the field. Let’s just say I probably picked the wrong year to relax deeply and sleep restfully through the night.
So on that glorious day when the ex-prez, Kiffin, Ferrell, and Judge Crater (or Moore) are all together and joined at the tweet someplace far, far away, my business will declare a holiday. And I’ll pay double-time. And we will party…well into the night.
I’ll dream of beautiful smiles and the First Amendment, not the end of the world. Bridges will replace walls. Rainbows will replace hot air. The word of the day will be “Decency.” Hey! I can dream.
