Shouldn’t we take Trump at his word when he says he “doesn’t have a racist bone” in his body? I think we should.
Take him at his word when he calls supporters who beat senseless a homeless man because he was Latino, “passionate.”
Take him at his word when he condoned the beating of a Black Lives Matter protester by Trump supporters, and when he says “I’ll pay the court costs.”
Take him at his word when he bought full page advertising in a New York newspaper to push for the conviction of five black teenagers in the beating of a woman in Central Park. He called them “murderers” before the trial and told people it was OK to hate them. They were convicted; then years later DNA proved they were innocent.
Take him at his word when he made fun of the color of the skin of Native Americans, members of the Mashantucket Pequot Nation, when they wanted to start a casino in Connecticut. Even though we all know that intermarriage throughout the years has produced Native Americans of every color, he just had to say, in an attempt to block the casino, “They don’t look like Indians to me,” he laughed. “They don’t look like Indians to Indians.”
Take him at his word when he puts an article in front of the words “Hispanic” “African American” “Jews” thereby lumping all members of a group into one entity and stripping them of their individuality; “The Hispanics” “The blacks” “The Jews.”
Take him at his word when he says the first black president must be “from Kenya” and sends investigators to Hawaii (where the president was born) to prove it. It can’t be proven and he says the investigators are “surprised” by what they are finding.
Take him at his word when he tells his staff at an Atlantic City casino to get the black employees off the floor because one of his gamblers didn’t like them. He was fined by the New Jersey Casino Control Commission $200,000 for this.
Take him at his word when he calls his African-American employees “lazy,” and says he “hates … black guys counting my money.” He says he wants “short guys with Yarmulkes” doing that.
Take him at his word when he refused to hire black people for his riverboat casino on Lake Michigan.
Take him at his word for refusing to rent to people of color in New York City.
Take him at his word when he attacked a gold star mother because she was also a Muslim, by saying she probably “wasn’t allowed” to speak.
Take him at his word when he said an Indiana-born judge couldn’t do his job fairly because “he is a Mexican.”
Take him at his word when he refused to condemn white supremacists who are campaigning for him.
Take him at his word when he shared with his supporters online a star of David he took from an anti- Semetic, white-supremacist website.
And take him at his word when he hires to run his campaign a man whose ex-wife says he chose his daughter’s school because he “didn’t want my daughter to go to school with Jews.”
Yes. I guess we should take him at his word.
He is a racist and a bigot.
Shouldn’t we take Trump at his word when he says he “doesn’t have a racist bone” in his body? I think we should.
Maybe poor white families are right in wanting to vote for Trump. Let’s see. You are a 47 year old white man living with your wife, your twenty-year-old son and your 15 year-old-daughter. You have worked in the factory for 30 years. You get weekends off and two weeks vacation a year. You have seniority so a lot of people have to be laid off before you. Your wife works at WalMart. Your son’s wife works as the payroll clerk at a construction company. You are all covered by the Affordable Care Act. Your mother lives on her own paying for elderly housing with one-third of her Social Security check and is covered by Medicare. Your son’s wife makes $50 a week after she pays day care.
Voting for Trump will do this for you according to what he has said he will do if elected and what he has always done in his business endeavors.
He will put up trade tariffs and, since Chinese goods will now cost as much as American made goods, WalMart will close stores and lay off people to make up the difference. Your wife loses her job, and since there will be no minimum wage all she will be able to get is a job at a fast food place for $3 an hour. American goods will also go up and people like Trump will get even richer since they will not have to pay taxes.
Your daughter will get a tax break on daycare at the end of the year. Of course you will have to pay for the daycare up front, but since there will be no work for construction companies building our infrastructure your hours will be cut. You will have no recourse because unions have been busted. Your son will be drafted because we will be at war on several fronts and your daughter in law will come live with you with their baby.
Your mother’s Social Security will be cut by a third and privatized Medicare will become so difficult to negotiate your mother will get sicker and sicker because she doesn’t know where to get health care, and of course the Affordable Care Act will be repealed and we will go back to insurance companies telling you when and where you can go to the doctor. When she gets too sick your mother will move in with you. You, your wife, your daughter, your daughter in law and your mother will all scrounge just to hold onto your house and buy food. And if your son gets wounded in the war he will come home to you without any veterans benefits. And without the Americans with Disabilities Act he will not be able to get a job and if he decides to sell trinkets for money to pay the bills Trump will have him removed from the streets because he doesn’t look right.
You want to tell me why you think it is a good idea to vote for Donald Trump? Is it that he tells it like it is? Is it the wall? Is it his promise to invade everyone? He has already told you what he will do. Pay attention or don’t vote. You are going to hurt yourself and your family.
Tolerance, acceptance, discrimination – I heard recently that this is the most tolerant generation we have ever seen. I believe it is true, but is that really a good thing? Is it possible that tolerance is just an easy way out? To tolerate, to put up with, the differences means we don’t have to accept the differences, we just put up with them. It is more difficult to accept our differences, since there are then decisions to be made. Who and what do we accept and not accept? Who and what do we discriminate against? We tolerate because we have made discrimination a bad word, when in fact we all discriminate and we should. We should discriminate between right and wrong, between good and evil. To just tolerate our differences is easy. To accept our differences means we have to perform the difficult personal task of deciding what we think is right and wrong, good and evil. Then we have to choose, and then be personally responsible for our choices. To just tolerate is the easy way out.
So Donald Trump is fact-checked and found to be lying at least 75 percent of the time.
And now we are supposed to listen to Gingrich the Newt slinking out from under a rock to be irate about how we are treating poor Donald. Last time he was irate was with Bill Clinton and Monica. Then, lo and behold, he admitted he had an open marriage and an affair. So I wonder how come he was so irate and appalled with Bill and Monica, as if what they did was so foreign to his way of life. At the time he was doing the same damn thing. And if that vision doesn’t make you swear to vote for someone else, nothing will.
But the real problem is I am never shocked when members of what Mark Twain called, “the only real criminal class” in the United States, Congress, blatantly lies to us.
It isn’t even surprising when they pooh-pooh it all by calling it “spin” or “mitigating exposition” or some other such sweet nonsense and go on with their political games, smiling.
It doesn‘t shock me. It doesn’t seem to shock anyone, and I wonder why.
The first time I remember hearing a lie and being shocked was at eight years old on a middle-of-the winter Friday poker game at my house.
We kids were ripped out of a deep sleep in the North Purchase woods by five drunken, voices slurring in unison the words to “Sweet Genevieve” through the frigid night air outside and the accompanying pleas of “Open the door.”
My father and his friends had been tossed from Tibby’s bar again and showed up hungry for spaghetti, beer and cards and wanted my mother to unlock the front door.
I got to watch the game from the warmth on the wood floor next to the kerosene stove. There was Wicki Nixon, Case-a-Minute Davey, Little Paulie, my uncle “Sea-Bee” Cyr and Scrapper Jack himself.
Before the game started, Wicki took the cards, shuffled, looked around the table and said what he always did. “Let’s have a fair and square game boys.”
A couple dozen hands in, I see Little Paulie palm a card and slip it under his leg. Later he pulls it out to fill a heart flush and takes a big pot, smiling.
I edge closer on the wooden floor but staying within the circle of heat.
He does it again later to fill three sevens, takes another pot.
Then when he tries it again, he fumbles the card and it flops onto the floor while everyone else is filling Melmac plates with spaghetti and getting another beer, and he steps on it.
“Paulie, you hungry?”
“No,” he lies and looks at me eyeing the foot.
When he leans to pick it up – fourth card into a game of 7-card stud – he gets caught.
“What you got there, Paulie?” Scrapper Jack asks and leans over sideways to look at the card in Paulie’s hand.
“Hey, look at this,” Paulie says. “The damn kid must have been playing with the cards and we been dealing without the queen of hearts all along.”
He tosses it on the table.
I was shocked that he lied – and him sitting right across from the shelf with the cream-colored plastic statue of our Blessed Mother with the screw-off base for the rosary.
Everyone looked at me.
My father wagged his head and they were just about to go back to dealing, but I couldn’t let it slide.
I couldn’t let him lie right in front of the Blessed Virgin so I stood up in my underwear to the tallest 4-foot-1 I could muster and stared him down.
“You’re a G… D… liar,” I said.
He laughed. “Nice mouth,” he said, but he was nervous. I could see it in his eyes.
“And you’re cheating.” I knew this was fighting words and wondered if that applied to little kids too.
Now I was on the spot. Everyone turned to me in the musty yellow light.
Wicki, a tremendously religious man with Dagwood Bumstead hair, peered over his black rimmed glasses at me for a long time. I snitched a peak at the statue.
I figured he was staring because I had taken the Lord’s name in vane, but then he said, “I believe Johnny.”
“He hid the seven last time,” I said, “under his leg.”
He’d a killed me if he could have, but Uncle Sea-Bee was helping him out of the chair and my father was fishing though Paulie’s pockets for money as they bum’s-rushed him to the door.
When they get back, they give me his money and it was the first time they let me into the game.
“That was good,” Davey said as he dealt. “A man stands up.”
Then they proceeded to take all of Paulie’s money from me hand after hand, fair and square.
Truth is, I was scared to death, but I was shocked that he had lied because to me it put a black mark in that white bottle of milk in the catechism book and would end him up in “Hell or Hopedale” as my father would have said.
Hopedale was a dry town next to ours and was as good as hell for shoe-shop piece workers like us.
I only had the guts to stand up because I trusted that the Blessed Mother wouldn’t let me take the rap for some cheating weasel like Little Paulie.
But today I listened to the spin of the beginnings of what has become, because of Donald Trump, the most insif you are a younidious, devious and lying presidential campaign that has nothing to do with a fair and square game, and I wasn’t shocked at the lies. And there certainly wasn’t any plastic statue looking over the situation.
I guess that’s the problem with politics – not that it’s all lies of varying degrees, but that we’re not even shocked, and that we don’t have the trust it takes to stand up to the weasels like Little Paulie, Newt Gingrich, Donald Trump and all the rest of them who ply this spin and polish partisan political game, lie in our faces and go on with life without ever being called for it.
Either they know they aren’t telling the truth, or they have convinced themselves that their lies are true because they said them so many times. Either way, for my money, they should get the bum’s rush and be sent to Hell or Hopedale.
To know if Donald Trump’s “threat” was a real threat or just a joke we have to decide on just what kind of people he was talking to. If he was talking to rational, intelligent, caring human beings it was probably a joke. But if he was talking to reactionary, rabid, ignorant people, who apparently wouldn’t recognize the truth if it jumped up and crapped in their Easter basket (you know bat-shit crazyTrump supporters) then we all know for sure he was calling for someone to assassinate his opposition. Keep in mind, Trump knows exactly who his followers are.
OK my Clinton bashing friends, Here is the real thing about the classified emails, The state department has said that FBI director Comey was wrong. The emails he was talking about were marked (c) for confidential and they were marked confidential in error and weren’t really classified. Now most of you know I was in the ASA and worked together with the NSA when I was in the army. Let me tell you from experience, (c) is not how you mark something classified. Some dork did that and there is no reason why even the Secretary of State would think that means Confidential. So, once again, Hillary didn’t lie to anyone.
There is a reason why some poor white people vote against their own best interests in voting for Republicans such as Donald Trump. It isn’t nationalism, it isn’t because they believe they will get better pay, it isn’t because they believe things were better ten years ago. It is because the racism inherent in the GOP gives them at least one group of people they can feel superior to. This is born out by the fact that intelligent poor people vote Democratic.
Condoleeza Rice used a blackberry when she was Secretary of State. So why didn’t Clinton when she took the same job? When Clinton asked to do the same as Rice and use a blackberry, the Bush-appointed NSA chief said no, it was called too expensive. In effect the GOP made it as difficult as possible for her to do her job, just as they were doing with the president. They forced her to use a private email server and then turned it into a smear campaign against her. She won’t tell you that because she had more class than that. Vote for Clinton.
Indeed, for a surprisingly large percentage of the electorate, the claim that Hillary is innately dishonest is simply accepted as a given. It is an accusation and conviction so ingrained in the conversation about her that any attempt to even question it is often met with shock. And yet here’s the thing: it’s not actually true. Politifact, the Pulitzer prize-winning fact-checking project, determined for example that Hillary was actually the most truthful candidate (of either Party) in the 2016 election season. And in general Politifact has determined that Hillary is more honest than most (but not all) politicians they have tracked over the years.
JESUS IS MY FRICKIN’ SAVIOR
When did class go out of style?
I was just wonderin’
When did mothers start telling kids to “frickin’ shut up” in the parking lot on the way to church?
And when did fathers start wearing in public T-shirts that say, “Fuck you.”
When did TV decide a good show on the air waves should be about how the devil is just a good guy with baggage?
When did it become accepted that our politicians tell whatever lies they want because it is “election season?”
When did every religion have its own Bible; each saying something different? Who changed the wording in them? And why do people still call it the “word of God,” if it says so many differing things?
When did the middle finger become the only gesture we use when driving?
When did people become so inconsiderate of each other as to not even pay attention on a highway, driving 70 mph, weaving between cars, driving a plastic and steel missile too fast to be controlled and then texting, or phoning, or applying makeup, or drinking and not even caring that we are putting everyone else on the road in jeopardy of being killed?
When did your political party become the yardstick by which you are judged to be good or evil?
When did men and boys begin showing their ass to everyone by wearing their pants as if they just got out of prison, and when did parents allow their kids to leave the house looking as they do?
When did teenage boys decide the right thing to do is make the old lady move out of the way when you want to walk down the sidewalk, and when did the strongest get to take the seat on a bus?
When did it become weak to negotiate rather than bomb a city?
When did it become acceptable to do nothing about hungry children because “I work my ass off and don’t feel I should give to the lazy and stupid?”
And when did Christians decide greed was good, brown people were rapists, black people were thugs, Asians are our enemies, starving children are not our concern, only our religion is true, homosexual is bad, abortion is bad, birth control is bad, rendering to Caesar is bad, blessing the meek is bad, it is OK to lie, cheat , steal, disrespect everyone including your parents, violence is good, as long as we say out loud in public at least once a week that, “Jesus is my frickin’ savior.”
When did enough people in this country become so classless that they would elect Donald Trump to run for president?