By David Glenn Cox
Sometimes what the light reflects off of is brighter than the light itself ever shown. Showing us things that we would never ever would have known, any other way. My relationship with my own father had been rocky enough, through the years. However, it never reached the point where I had to text my dad through a guy in his office. What level of pitiful, could this pitiful relationship reach? “Please tell dad to look out window, will be standing on front lawn to wave at 3 PM.”
Of course, I never showed up to my dad’s political convention with my wigged-out girlfriend, higher than Casey Jones on the cocaine train. Boy, I can only imagine what my dad would say, if I did that! I wonder if Junior will get a signed Christmas card this year or one of the generic ones, they send to all the employees. “Merry Christmas and don’t talk to nobody, if you know what’s good for you!”
Imagine, he can’t even call his own dad on the phone. “White House switchboard, to whom do you wish to speak?” Ah yeah, this is Don Jr. listen; I need to speak to the President…it’s urgent! “Hold please and I’ll try to connect that number. I’m sorry, but there is no one is in the office at this time.” Yes, they are! I saw them through the window, while I was disguised as a window washer!
Now for the longest time, the public has been led to believe primarily through the efforts of Don Junior himself. To have us think that him and his dad were thick as thieves and two peas in a criminal cabal pod. Daddy famously called Barron Twump, Malaria’s child. Which would also make a great name for a death metal band. It seems to imply his fatherhood technics were learned almost entirely by watching Cocker Spaniels.
“Okay kid, I’m down on the floor. What have you got for me? Goo, goo? What kind of crap is goo, goo? I expect better from any kid of mine! Work on it and I’ll be back next year, to see how you’re doing. It gives insight into Erk Twump. Erk always seen as less involved than Junior and was voted most likely to eat his own crayons and paste. Could it be that Erk is saying, “Bro, give it up. Don’t waste your time, you’re embarrassing yourself.”
Daddy’s little girl is the apple of his eye. The Ivanka contraption, another good name for a death metal band has dropped from sight. The Ivanka contraption is rumored to be looking for a new home. Somewhere nice, with lots of morning sun and no extradition treaty. Why no texts from Ivanka? Was she out of the loop or fully involved in wholehearted support of the insurrection?
Like a royal family, Erk is the spare, the second son inheriting nothing. But how is it, that the Twumpy twins were the titular head of Twump’s business affairs. And yet, Junior has to text the hired help, to talk to his dad? Sounds like a Dan Quayle job to me. If the light was out in his office, it meant that Dan wouldn’t be in today. If his office light was on, it meant he’d already come to get his golf clubs, so please turn out the light. Assistant, Second Vice President in charge of paperclips and break room supplies.
There is that famous dream where you find yourself in a classroom wearing only your underwear. The Faux News hosts texts are also enlightening and leaves them in this standard naked classroom dream. They have been exposed, and what’s more is that they are on the cusp of something very dangerous. That of the fan who gets pulled into the game. Outraged that their texts have been released to the public. Outraged that their civil rights are being violated. We sent private texts to a man at the center of a criminal conspiracy and now they are being made public! “I had every expectation that my communications with Mr. Capone were strictly private!”
About 99% of all the history we don’t know about, is because it wasn’t written down. Caught up with their electronic whiz bang, it never occurred to them that texting is no different than writing it down. And if it is proved true that Republican Congress people gave surveillance tours of the Capital before the insurrection to the insurrectionists. And that those tapes are in the hands of January 6th committee, it’s Orwell on Acid.
The proponents of the surveillance state too stupid to realize every step they made was being videotaped by the surveillance state. They assumed the tape would never see daylight, like they assumed that their texts would never see daylight. Jim Jordan maintains that he simply forwarded a tweet from Mark Meadows. And sure, it was seditious, but so? He just forwarded it; he didn’t write it himself. “Well sure, I just zig heiled, but I didn’t make it up myself!”
Faux News facing several billion dollars in lawsuits generated by the same hosts whose texts have now been exposed. It seems to me that new blood must be found to host the Faux network at this point, out with the old and in with the new! And Roger Ailes begot Bill O’Reilly who begot Tucker TV dinner. Ed Henry was fired for sexual harassment. Hannity, Tucker TV dinner and Howard Kurtz have also been accused of serial sexual harassment. Something tells me Faux will have a schedule shake up soon, using those large paychecks to pay down the large anticipated judgments. Killing two birds with one stone.
If it keeps on rainin’, levee’s goin’ to break
If it keeps on rainin’, levee’s goin’ to break
When the levee breaks, I’ll have no place to stay
Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan, Lord
Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan
It’s got what it takes to make a mountain man leave his home
Oh well, oh well, oh well,
– Led Zeppelin / Memphis Minnie