By David Glenn Cox
It is now a known. History and historians will not be left in the lurch, combing through the archives looking for clues. Whenever the question is asked, “How long do you think Twump would hang around in an interview, if they didn’t kiss his ass every five minutes?”
Arizona has a really good radio market between Phoenix and Tucson, so it was pure serendipity I found the NPR interview at all. I’m old enough already and don’t need to be reminded by a radio station. The measured vocal patterns make the hair stand up on the back of my neck sometimes. Like Jack Nicholson in “One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest” listening to the head nurse. Like everyone in the room is on anti-depressives but you. “Commmming…up next!”
They actually sold a story about a shortage, as a sort of national emergency. The shortage, after the big five-minute buildup, was Chai Tea, Apparently, it had millennials frowning and stomping their feet from Greenwich Village to the shores of San Francisco Bay. I know the story was meant to be tongue in cheek, but it was too much cheek and not enough tongue. I’m sure it sounded much funnier in the office. But it came off sounding like a private inside joke making fun of the audience in parody. Too stupid to catch on that they were actually, the butt of the joke.
Upper class, white bread elitist humor. “Ha, ha, Oh, no! What are we going to do now? We’re all out of Chai Tea! Whatever will become of us?”
I’m not knocking NPR, just to knock NPR. They do good work, but sometimes, I don’t care for the presentation. But their reputation is well known, and it’s no secret which side of the pond they fish on. Reality has that well known Liberal bias, and it’s hard to produce good journalism from the standpoint of, “Oh well, I guess that’s just the way God wants it!”
So, the question to consider, is not how long the former would-be dictator lasted on public radio. The question, is why was he there in the first place? How long will it be before? “Well, we have with us today. A very special guest here on the Five A.M. Hog Report.” Coming up next on QVC, the former President discusses election fraud and non-stick bake ware. “They stole the election, and as you can see… your muffins won’t stick.”
The NPR host and I always struggle with his name, Steve Inskeep. What kind of radio name is that? What happen to the radio names storm Brick Storm or Chet Thunderbolt? But Mr. Inskeep said, he had tried for several years to get this interview with Twumpy. But it wasn’t gonna happen, during the days of thunder, Bubba. But now, but now, the old lion must come down from the mountain to drink from the muddy, dying water hole.
Apparently, the old war horse is being placed on hold when he phones in, at some of the other networks. There is no other reason possible. The old narcissist inside is looking for his release, like a junkie or a sex maniac, who can’t touch himself or a stripper looking for one more pole. Willing to go into the lion’s den, full well, expecting that it might end sooner than planned or more suddenly than unexpected. But he got his fix, he got his release, he’s big news again…on NPR at least. He’s King for a day! “I’m still big! It’s the pictures that have gotten small! Did you hear? I hung up on them!” Ta da!
We’ve passed the high-water mark and the fever has broken. NPR is a respected serious news outlet. Twumpy needs that, he needs to be taken seriously. If for no other reason than to show his supporters that serious people still take him seriously. Because more and more Republicans want to look forward and not back. The Doppler effect has taken over and the sound doesn’t have that same ring to it, the way it used to anymore. Our guest tonight is Mike Lindell, three guess what the hell, he wants to talk about! “And admit that the waters around you have grown.”
The January 6th committee reminds me in many ways of the Watergate hearings. It doesn’t happen minute to minute, or even day to day. It happens over weeks with a revelation here or a refusal to testify there. And slowly a picture emerges, and public opinion begins to shift. Would you please face the cameras and kindly tell the folks at home, exactly why you won’t testify about what you said to the President, during the insurrection? Like a bank guard refusing to say what he was doing during the robbery.
It is a quagmire opening under their feet. Drip, drip, drip, round and round she goes, next stop prison or scandal. Saying nothing, is almost as bad as the worst thing that you could possibly use as your alibi. “I was looking at pornography and masturbating, during the insurrection. So, I couldn’t have spoken to the President.” I was downstairs in the Capitol garage, buying a huge quantity of drugs at the time. I was on the phone with my teenaged prostitute, trying to line up a date.
When those who make a living by speaking to the public, refuse to speak to the public. The rivers should run backwards, and the volcanoes should suck air. It’s one thing when a mob boss refuses to testify, or a friend of Twump seeks a pardon with his check book. But when a member of Congress refuses to testify about their whereabouts and actions during the commission of felonies in their workplace. “Houston, we have a problem.”
Exitus atfay assyay ightmarenay! “Look everyone; I’m still on top! I’ve still got it!” The old rooster must now crow and prove to the chickens that he’s still cock of the walk. Big news everyone, the splashing and thrashing of a drowning man soon to depart the scene as Sunday dinner. Act Three: The Sad Ending. Receiving fan mail each week from a writing service Malaria hired, and the studio only wanted to rent his car. Banned from all social media and soon to be reduced to waving at passing cars. That is, until the Screw in charge of the road gang says, “to get back to work picking up the trash.”
“And look at this lady’s, your flapjacks will slide right off the pan, just as slippery as when the Democrats stole the election from me!”