My endorsement for the honest politician

In the ugly and crowded field of 2020 presidential contenders the most monumental task is in deciding which of these to despise the most.  We have entered the phase where the pretenders, the Quixotic warriors, have begun to exit the field. Some go in shame, while others depart as they entered: completely unnoticed. Politics is an ugly business. It attracts the worst among us and it brings out the worst in us. In presidential election years this is magnified ten-if-not-twenty fold.

I make observations and often share my criticisms. One would scour my catalogue long and hard to find an occasion where I have lavished praise upon any candidate. The search would be fruitless. While I may favor the positions taken by one side or another on a case by case basis, I have no affiliation with either of the two primary parties. I firmly believe that political parties are inherently evil, and yes, some more evil than others. In the few too many decades I have spent on this planet, there has yet to be a politician who has provided me with a suitable explanation of why the fuck I require governing.

I have recently stumbled upon an obscure, independent presidential candidate. He is a completely self-absorbed narcissist, completely void of principle or core conviction. He would lie, cheat and steal, even pimp his own mother to win an election. Indeed, a misanthrope of monumental magnitude; a man who, were he in possession of any scruples, they would most certainly belong to someone else. These are all top calibre qualities for anyone to succeed in politics, yet sadly few will ever even hear of this man. Despite the gift of all these stellar qualities this man has one fatal shortcoming: he is honest.

An honest politician? Preposterous you say? Well, what follows here is the candidate’s own press release to announce his campaign:

This is to announce the candidacy for the president of the United States of Mr. Ralph Nota. Mr. Nota is running under the banner of the Go Fuck Yourself Party. Here is, in his own words, the campaign manifesto

” Hi, I’m Ralph Nota and I’m running for president. I’m here to bathe in your fawning adulation. I won’t ask how any of you are doing because, well… I really don’t give a shit. Okay, so here’s the deal. I’m part of a mob who’s looking to throw out the current mob. Things aren’t gonna be one bit different for you, you’re not important. What is important is that my mob gets control so we can take care of ourselves and put the other mob in jail. Or kill ’em, whichever is easier to clean up. So we’re gonna need your money and your vote because you just can’t vote for that other guy. He’s terrible, right? Come on! Don’t you listen to the news? A vote for Ralph Nota assures that for the next four years I will wipe my ass daily with the US Constitution and pretend that all you motherfuckers don’t even exist. My economic plan is to cash in early and often. All you motherfuckers are on your own, except for the crumbs we’ll allow you to keep. We’ll do just enough to keep you on that government teat so you won’t wander off of the plantation. We’ll pass more laws for you to obey and for us to break with impunity. Then we’ll come back here in four years and do it all again. We’ll have some new bogeyman or shiny object to distract your attention from any substantive matters, and you will thank us for it. Because you’re all dumbasses and I’m better than you are. That’s why I should be president. Fuck you all and thanks for your support.”

 

There it is folks. This guy doesn’t have a prayer, but hell! At least he’s honest.

 

Mother Superior

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A Doom and Reprisal report from Ale 81 Inn field correspondent, Ford Wenty

 

I surely hope that the pews of Mother Superior’s private chapel are padded. All of the kneeling required for her prayerful reflection must play hell on her near octogenarian knees. It is clear that, due to long hours massaging her rosary beads, arthritis has set into those bony digits; so much so that it was necessary to make a little starter tear in her copy of the SOTU address to avoid the colossal embarrassment of a mid-rip failure. Despite the fact that she is no longer able to firmly grip a ruler she has yet managed, through a combination of cheap vodka, prescription pain killers and an indomitable will, to maintain an order among her increasingly rebellious charges.

Through her long years of pious existence in service of the Church, Mother Superior has developed a possession of spirit common to zealots of every stripe. Under any creed there breaths nothing more deadly than the true believer, for they are awash in whatever flavor of holy spirit that their gods dispense. Becoming one with the spirit infects the corporeal being with the certainty that they, the true believer, are to act as the very instrument of their god on earth. The warning signs for when a zealot’s meter has grown full are not always obvious. Some of the more common manifestations are confusion, slurred speech and wearing white out of season; all three of which the Mother Superior exhibits with regularity.

This righteous fervor blinds one to practical realities, a small price to pay for such heightened enlightenment to be sure, but no less debilitating to navigation in the physical realm. It must have been in this weakened and vulnerable state that she allowed herself to accept the counsel of the Torquemada Twins, Adam and Jerrold. There are certainly more boisterous voices in the flock, but no others with the tools of Inquisition at their disposal. In the throes of her delusions of grandeur Mother Superior could not see beyond to the possible consequences: what should happen if their quarry were to escape?

Throughout history there have been bold prophets to proclaim the date of the end, usually through some construct which entails their being cast in some messianic role. There seems to be some manner of universal prune juice which causes societies to excrete these at roughly decade intervals. Most fade into history and are forgotten; those which we know range from the infamous, a la Jim Jones, to the pathetic Heaven’s Gate exit in 1997.  In those two examples the prophets went the way of their own prophecies, but the more forgettable cases end with shame and exits of a less permanent nature.

Mother Superior now stands before us painted in that very shame, but no quitter is she. She is of that rare breed who, even after utter public repudiation, will carry on undaunted. Doubling and tripling down on the same delusions, repurposed and repackaged daily to fit the ever changing news cycle. In semi-lucid moments she angrily rattles her beads as she shakes her fists in righteous indignation. Her remaining acolytes are in tow, eagerly slobbering for her continued pronouncements. Completely oblivious to the fact that she is thoroughly discredited, they blithely go their way to parrot her words. The Dark Gospel echoes in an electronic cathedral where most no longer come to take their communion. Their sacraments of horse piss and turd biscuits do not trans-substantiate into anything higher. They, like Mother Superior herself, are only the fruits scraped from the sidewalks of her home parish.

She will at some future date depart from this realm. There, but by the Grace of God goes she, mortua sorore graditur (if my Latin is correct). And she will leave us in prayer:

 

Our gender neutral, benign and omnipotent, anthropomorphized, extra-corporeal entity

who resides in Washington D.C.

Hallowed be thy State

Thy Kingdom unchallenged

Thy will be imposed

Here, there and everywhere

Forever and ever

Amen

 

Proof of Utah: I was good to you Ben!

Willard the Rat

 the Ratman, Willard, as he appears today….

220px-Willard_(1971)_theatrical_poster

…. and then

You’d think Old Willard would have learned his lesson! Don’t remember this one? Look it up. I think you’ll find the similarities are stunning.

Just like in the old tale our pal, Ratman, aka Willard, thinks he has made some new pals. He actually believes that the rats will follow him. Willard, hate to break it to you pal. The ending doesn’t change: the rats will still eat you.

The only way this ends any differently is if you ingest poison yourself, or perhaps find your neck snapped in a trap. Either way, you’ll never get elected to anything again. Not even in Utah.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Rise of the Bootysnatcher

InkedFord Wenty profile image_LI

A report from Ale 81 Inn field correspondent, Ford Wenty

Strange days in Iowa.  Iowa, at least in my experience, has always been a bit odd. Let’s face the facts, unappealing as they may be. Minneapolis-St.Paul can not possibly contain all of the lunatic fringe in the Upper Midwest. Even with Madison, WI the region is still in dire need of an habitat for this endangered breed. What better than the nothingness of their buck-toothed cousin to the south, home of the Harkin democrat.

 

In a statement released late Monday night, an Iowa Democratic Party spokesman said:

“We found inconsistencies in the reporting of three sets of results. In addition to the tech systems being used to tabulate results, we are also using photos of results and a paper trail to validate that all results match and ensure that we have confidence and accuracy in the numbers we report. This is simply a reporting issue, the app did not go down and this is not a hack or an intrusion. The underlying data and paper trail is sound and will simply take time to further report the results.”

 

Well alrighty then! Not a very satisfactory state of affairs. They have only had, what, four years to get ready for this thing? One almost has to feel bad for this spokesperson. Almost. I get it, things are going sideways and all of the sudden you are the guy that they decide to throw to the wolves; to nudge out upon the stage with a story. Because some story has to be told. Even if it isn’t a very good one. It’s your story and come hell or high water, you’re sticking to it.

I would ask that you, the reader, please keep the following in mind as you follow this story. With an accuracy greater than the completion percentage of most NFL quarterbacks, it can be assumed that any official spokesperson of the democrat party is lying. It becomes mostly just a question of degree. It may be a minor obfuscation or omission, a slight shading of the truth; or they may just be flat out lying their ass off. Whichever case may apply in this instance we do not yet know for certain, but rest assured this story will change in the days ahead.

There has been some talk about a defective app, a specially designed political tabulation app produced by? Democrats! Some of Hillary’s people involved somehow and, directly or indirectly, Mayor Buttplug is an investor in this group? And Biden? Maybe, maybe not, and what does any of it mean? It’s quite possible all of this is just so much noise. After a couple of days the chatter and the dust will settle and we’ll be worried about New Hampshire. Or maybe there is more “there” there. Until all of the details get rooted out, corroborated or refuted, we can only rely upon this time honored question to point us to the truth: qui bene?

I wonder…. they were awful quick to include mention of (by denying any occurred) the prospect of a breach or hack. Just like during the democratic convention in 2016, when they just happened to have that fellow from Crowdstrike at hand to explain that DNC hack. Remember? I sure do. Do your own homework kids. There is plenty of video.

So what could really have been going on? Well, I wonder if it had anything to do with this, from Judicial Watch:

 

(Washington, DC) – Judicial Watch announced that eight Iowa counties have more voter registrations than their eligible voting-age population. According to Judicial Watch’s analysis of data released by the U.S. Election Assistance Commission (EAC) in 2019 and the most recent U.S. Census Bureau’s five-year American Community Survey, eight Iowa counties are on the list of 378 counties nationwide that have more voter registrations than citizens living there who are old enough to vote, i.e., counties where registration rates exceed 100%. These 378 counties combined had about 2.5 million registrations over the 100%-registered mark. In Iowa, there are at least 18,658 “extra names” on the voting rolls in the eight counties at issue.

The chart below details the eight Iowa counties’ registration rate percentages:

Reg Rate Total Population
Dallas County 114.8 80,864
Johnson County 107.9 144,425
Lyon County 102.5 11,745
Madison County 102.5 15,720
Poweshiek County 102.1 18,428
Dickinson County 100.9 17,000
Scott County 100.8 171,493
Warren County 100.5 48,630

In addition to the eight listed above, Polk County, Iowa’s largest, has an unusually high registration rate of 95.9% of total eligible citizen voting-age population.

 

What might the one have to do with the other? Qui Bene? Let’s say that you’ve somehow managed to “bank” an extra 20,000 ballots. In a tight race 20,000 ballots can make the difference. Especially in a widely divided field. In order to make that plan go smoothly the beneficiary would need to be in on the game. So which of this field would the DNC most like to win the race. Qui Bene? If you think the answer is Joe Biden you would be sorely mistaken. Bernie? Liz? Meh! Not so much. Surely not Mayor Buttplug!? Again, no.

Who is conspicuously absent from this field? Michael Bloomberg. Qui Bene? Doubt me? Look at the spin that the network shills at the Ministries of Propaganda will paint upon this canvas in the week leading up to the New Hampshire primary and then tell me I’m wrong.

This level of incompetence is not a naturally occurring event, even for democrat activists. This is the kind of stupid that does not occur without some planning. This is a smoke screen, or perhaps better stated, a woke screen. Breath there any among us who believe that the Iowa Democrat Party operates as a fully autonomous entity? Or do they take their marching orders from the national committee, the DNC? Just ask the Bernie supporters. They know the truth of this by their own experience.

Bloomberg is the DNC choice. He adheres to a maxim long respected among the democrat donor class: that you win elections the old fashioned way. You buy them. Since Mini Mike was too late to the dance he could not risk a poor showing in Iowa. So? Don’t show at all and be insulated from it.  I suspect that the truth that democrat operatives in the state of Iowa have known for some time, is that Bernie Sanders was trending to be the clear winner from the field. The DNC is not going to have any of that. There is too much real money at stake.

Not finding enough “blank ballots” in their bank to effectively blunt Sanders’ performance, the subsequent fiasco is designed to delay, obfuscate and de-legitimize the entire caucus. As they begin to shape their narrative it will be molded to show a strong performance from Sanders, but not a clear win. Hence we see the emerging numbers to indicate that Mayor Buttplug is on top with Bernie running a close second. That is with 60 some percent of the votes counted. A la Rick Santorum in 2012, some weeks later after New Hampshire has already been decided, the revised count will show what they can no longer hide: Bernie came out on top.

The DNC got away with this in 2016 and apparently think they can do it again, but they must be concerned. Otherwise, why bestow the legitimacy upon Buttplug? Could it be that they are aware that they risk completely alienating the Bernie wing of their party? They have fronted themselves with blacks, women, and they have tried with Hispanics and even those only suspected of being Hispanics; yet all to no avail. They’ve not yet tried serving up the gay slice of the woke pie. Until now. We just got our first serving.

Mayor Buttplug is sufficiently woke to balance the smart money Bloomberg ticket. He is being groomed for a VP berth on the Bloomberg train, an insurance to carry enough of the woke wing of the party across the finish line. So…where does it go from here?

Joe Biden is still hanging out at the Y in Cedar Rapids, scaring Middle School kids with his leg hair. Senator Warren is scheduling another appointment with the John Kerry speech coach to learn how to properly ask, when in flyover country, ” Can I get me a _____”. Beer, huntin’ license, pair o’ bowlin’ shoes……insert the credulous rube meme of your choice here. Bernie is off to beg for more cash wherever he can find it and Mayor Buttplug?

He was last seen driving east on I-80 with a trunkload of Bloomberg campaign cash. He and his sweetie will stop for a quickie at the Motel 6 on 933 North in South Bend. They’ll share a cheap bottle of gas station Spumante and some Snickers bars before riding down to an empty lot on Sample Street, where they will bury the trunk full of dirty money for a rainy day. Then it’s on to New Hampshire, where no doubt they will be feted and ceaselessly fawned over by a suddenly adoring media. The DNC is betting that they can make this Bernie’s last stand. I would bet that they are wrong. These are a people so tone deaf they can not even recognize the roar of the monster they themselves created.

 

Our Duty to Offend

A Doom and Reprisal OPINION piece from Mr. Ford Wenty

JackKeepthatShitup

That’s right. Jack is back.  Are you offended already? That was kind of the intention. For those with a sense of humor, you are encouraged to read on.

This will be quite abbreviated from my normal rant, so without further ado here are my thoughts on this, the final week of January 2020.

Here we are in the week following the observance of the Dr. King holiday and fast approaching the annual celebration of Black History Month. Gonna have to bust out some of the old Al Green records to get myself all pumped up for it. The reason for my cynicism is nothing to do with any antipathy to black people. It comes, instead, because there is nothing truly special or commemorative in either. Not any more. The hyper-consciousness of not just race, but “identity” issues in general, here and now in the age of the Sacred Woke have so diminished the importance of the “special awareness dates”. In the age of the Sacred Woke special awareness is omnipresent. In our childhood many of us may recall what may have been referred to as “Christmas Specials” ( Charlie Brown, Rudolph, Frosty…). Now they are available on disc or streamed from any of a host of sources: no longer special. It’s the same thing. Everything has been devalued. It helps properly condition a sleeping populace for the imminent collapse of their currency, but that’s another rant.
Besides the echoes of that great, sonorous voice of Dr. King proclaiming “I have a dream”, the most often cited words of the great man are “judged by the content of their character, not the color of their skin”.  To nearly all with an IQ above 60 the stark contradictions to this premise which are found in the identity politics of the Sacred Woke are unmistakable. There is a great hand wringing over this in some quarters, but to my thinking the simplest way to refute these foolish ideas is to simply ignore them. I seldom play by anyone else’s  rules and see no reason why the Sacred Woke should be any exception.
I am sometimes criticized and occasionally censored because of my use of certain  epithets in some of my work. Words like nigger or kike, faggot or dyke. Taken within their context these words are never used with any malicious intent. Rather, I may use these to accurately depict a stereotype. A stereotype is just a multi-faceted caricature. Caricatures are, at least in my opinion, indispensable in satire. Satire is but one of many means by which one may exercise their free speech. It is no more, nor is it any less entitled to those protections. If one professes to value free speech then it must be understood that free speech is like muscle mass: if you don’t use it you lose it.
In the age of the Sacred Woke the citation of Dr. King’s character/skin color equation is always offered in the affirmative sense. That is to say that we are to set aside any consideration of race which might cause one to ignore or diminish a person’s positive attributes and accomplishments. Applied equally then we must also ignore race in our judgment of negative attributes. Just as we must not exclude on the basis of race, we must also not excuse upon that same basis. In layman’s terms: being an asshole is an equal opportunity employer.
To celebrate Black History Month I am going to encourage all, regardless of race, to celebrate their constitutional freedoms to be who they are, mind their business and prosper. You are only guaranteed the opportunity, not the outcome.

Bernie Bro Ballyhoo

InkedFord Wenty profile image_LI

A report from Ale 81 Inn field correspondent Ford Wenty

Project Veritas is at it again. Mr. O’Keefe and company have graced us with yet another of their exposés; this time peeling back the carpet to reveal the rotted sub-floor beneath that is the Bernie Sanders campaign. The chief subject of this episode is an Iowa field organizer by the name of Kyle Jurek, a name now known to millions. The marvelous thing about Project Veritas’ guerrilla journalism is that unlike more conventional methods, where one listens, records and then reports the words and actions of their subjects, the viewer is instead given the story directly from the subject’s own mouth. On that score Mr. Jurek hardly disappoints: he is a small man with a very big mouth.

Why should we care?  This seems a natural question, we are assured, as there are extremists at either end of our political spectrum. It will be suggested that Mr. Jurek is a lone wolf, an outlier not in any way reflective of the democrat constituency as a whole. Whether this bears any truth or not will make little difference to those who will be content to wrap this warm shawl of comforting thought around their fragile psyches. There is, however, good reason to care and we should all be thankful that this Trotsky wannabe has been exposed.

Jurek holds the title of field organizer, one of many designations applied to the broader category of what we may refer to as campaign workers. While no individual candidate’s campaign runs  in perpetuity, there is always a campaign running somewhere. Consequently there is a pool of campaign workers who are always seeking one with which to hire their services.  I’m not talking local volunteers: these are the professionals, otherwise known as paid shills. Those employed with losing campaigns move from one to another, alway remaining within a sympatico orbit. Those from winning campaigns, in contrast, will generally land positions within the winner’s administration and later get a soft landing into a cushy media gig. George Stephanopolous comes to mind as a stellar example.  Herein lies the seeds for that Deep State that our friends on the left take such great pains to deny.

For the field organizer landing one of those government jobs with the winning team it is akin to the minor league ballplayer getting called up to the majors.  This seems an apt comparison as there are indisputably “farm clubs” for this talent pool. One of the most prodigious of these in the past decade has been SEIU, a name no doubt quite familiar from the Obama years.  It is through that very vehicle that Mr. Jurek has attained his bona fides as a presidential campaign field organizer.

From the limited information that we have been able to obtain thus far we have pieced together at least a partial history of Jurek’s career path. After attending Saginaw Valley State University in Michigan he remained for a time as a graduate assistant before joining SEIU sometime in the late 2000’s.  Although unclear exactly when it was established, Jurek still has an active LinkedIn profile identifying him as a field rep/organizer with SEIU UHW in Oakland, CA. There are unverified accounts that after joining SEIU in Michigan he was later dispatched to work on campaigns in California and Arizona. Jurek served as an SEIU organizer in their $15 per hour minimum wage strikes in Michigan in late 2014. We have not yet found verification, but we believe that Jurek was also a part of Sanders’ 2016 campaign in Michigan. We do know that he was hired for “recount consulting services” by the Democrat Senate Campaign Committee  in Florida in November 2018.

From Jurek’s LinkedIn page:

  • Kyle Jurek

Field Rep / Organizer at SEIU UHW

 

Recount Consulting Services. Hmm… wonder what that could be? :

 

 

Those familiar with this column will know that we seek to view matters through that unique lens of the stoner’s perspective. By Jurek’s own admission (as seen in Project Veritas video) and a lengthy arrest record we are assured that he can lay claim to a membership in Stoner Nation:

1/7/2020 OWI/ DWI

1/7/2020 Failure to provide proof of financial liability ( No Insurance )

1/7/2020 Possession of drug paraphernalia

1/7/2020 operating while intoxicated – 2nd offense

1/7/2020 Violation of probation

All Saylor Township, IA

9/27/2019 Possession of a controlled substance

9/27/2019 Unlawful possession of prescription drug

9/27/2019 Possession of drug paraphernalia

Urbandale, IA

Arenac County MI Sheriffs Dept

9/24/2016 Misdemeanor Dangerous drug

9/24/2016 DUI

He was arrested Pinconning , MI Police Dept

6/19/2009 3 ct. controlled substance

Bay County Prosecutors Office

6/20/2009 Possession of Cocaine ( less than 25 Grams ) guilty plea

6/20/2009 Possession of Analogues guilty plea

6/20/2009 Possession of Marijuana guilty plea

 

There are more, going back to his college days at SVSU, but you get the point. If you are a stoner this is not a dude you want to run with. He is a dumbass who does not know how to maintain a low profile. While his communist international card may be safe for now, I move that his Stoner Nation card be revoked forthwith. Stoners share one universal creed: Don’t be a dick. Jurek has not only broken, he has utterly shattered this rule. We are by and large a very forgiving people, and were he a snot nosed twenty-four year old grad student much of this might be discounted. He is thirty-eight years old. GTFU, okay? The intellectual capacity of this manchild is so glaringly deficient that it can only inspire disappointment. His behavior helps to reinforce a stereotype that we should no longer have to defend, making it far too easy for alcohol soaked hypocrites on the right to equate marijuana use with this brand of stupidity.

At the age of thirty-eight, even if you don’t participate in the electoral process, it would be reasonable to expect that as an adult one would know how to count. Counting backwards by fours from this, a presidential election year, one regresses from 20, 16, 12…….84, 80, and…..wait. That’s 1976. No presidential election in 1978. And it wasn’t McGovern. That was 1972. What should we think of a thirty-eight year old man with a Karl Marx beard, a college graduate, who can not complete a sentence without the words “like” or “f-ing”? Yes, those are important words in a stoner’s vocabulary, but not every other word! It would seem that the re-education camps Jurek advocates for are in fact a fait accompli. They are the very public education system of which he is living proof.

In addition to some remedial courses in English, mathematics and history, I might also recommend some required reading for Jurek: Orwell’s 1984. If nothing else would sink in to his addled mind, I would hope that he could learn one, if only one, lesson. Mr. Jurek – you are no longer one of the proles. You are a party member now and as such, once your revolution has been realized, you will be purged because of your drug use. Your chemical dependency compromises your ideological purity. Surely a man so well versed on Comrade Stalin would know this.

I strongly suspect that Kyle Jurek is too far gone, now beyond redemption. As a very last resort I might prescribe daily dosing with The Presidential Cheese (cannabis rex). Perhaps, just perhaps, all of this is just due to shitty dope. We can but hope….

 

bernie gulags

 

Ford Wenty, report end 1/20/20

 

Testimony?

Thefoureunuchs

L to R; eunuch, ballbreaker, eunuch, token

 

Ah, testimony. Lovely word, isn’t it? Testimony: derived from Latin. Another gift from those crafty Romans. Testes, testis, testimony. From the oath taken under Roman law, that is to swear upon one’s manhood. Back in those years before the Romans had co-opted the Hebrew God to their own purposes, there was no “word of God” upon which to stake one’s honor. In any culture; any language; any time in human history, a man compelled to swear an oath at the risk of his jewels has proven to sufficiently incentivize truth telling. With this in mind, I for one, believe that this word ought be treated with a bit more reverence.

What is being offered up today, under the sublime leadership of the only alien being ever seated in the US Congress (pictured below)……

 

JabbaNadler 1Nadler 2Nadler 3Nadler 4……is not testimony. Not in any legal sense, nor in it’s euphemistic sense as given in the word’s origin. There aren’t enough balls present in that line up to do the word justice. These people, just like the recent parade of disgruntled diplomats at the Adam Schiff show, are the embodiment of what is wrong with Washington. The names and faces have been changed, but the story remains the same. The same condescending, rules for thee – not for me, hypocrisy hustle that swamp rats have heaped upon us for decades now.

Chairman Waddler adjusts himself upon that pillow of excess flesh folded beneath him. It’s a fortunate byproduct of the transformation he has undergone since arriving on this planet. A man who never could find his own ass with both hands now has a valid excuse. Some say that he actually has a pouch somewhere in those folds where he carries a spare gavel. Should this actually exist one shudders at the thought of what else might be found there.

You are witnessing the long playing version of the Caddyshack Presidency. These hearings are like a board meeting of the Bushwood Country Club, where the snobs scheme at how they will rid themselves of the nouveau riche trash, Rodney Dangerfield’s Al Cervic – ironically also a real estate developer. In their universe this is who Trump is. There is a scene from Caddyshack that I consider the most emblematic of the farce we have witnessed for the last three years. The swimming pool scene where the plebian caddies and club staff are permitted a brief opportunity to avail themselves of this amenity.  The look of horror upon the faces of the members is rather like the perpetual scowl of the swamp rat in the full throes of TDS.  And in both instances this fear is not just for the fact that the unwashed have breached their sanctum: it is the fear that once they’ve gone there will be a big, fat turd left floating on the surface.

I for one hope that President Trump leaves them a pipe-plugger of epic proportions. Lord knows we’ve been swimming in their toilet for years.