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Political Conservative’s NRA Shame

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An interesting word prompt arrived in my inbox today, one that wouldn’t normally interest me except that I taught an eighth-grade science class this week. The word is “assay.” It’s not used a lot in day-to-day speech, but it should be.

It’s defined as “an investigative procedure [in science] for qualitatively assessing or quantitatively measuring the presence, amount, or functional activity of a target entity.” The word comes from fourteenth century Anglo-French “assai,” meaning “trial, test of quality, test of character.”

For instance, if you wanted to test the character or functional activity of the Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) — America’s biggest D.C. shindig for conservative Republicans each year — you would investigate who pays for it and who takes the stage.

The National Rifle Association is generally a big contributor to the event, including sponsoring the festive Ronald Reagan dinner. This year, the money behind the dinner is being kept secret.

Also not made public was the big speech by the NRA’s chief executive Wayne LaPierre. As survivors of the latest school massacre made their way to the nation’s capitol to plead for controls on the lethal weapons that murdered their friends and so many others, CPAC made public their schedule of speakers. LaPierre’s appearance was nowhere to be seen. But lo and behold, he’s on the stage as I write.

He’s the GOP’s secret weapon, literally.

Wayne LaPierre speaking to his bought-and-paid-for minions

Republicans may be ashamed or afraid to let the public know that the NRA is paying for and speaking at their conference, but they cannot hide the NRA contributions coming straight into their campaign coffers. That’s how we know that when the man who sometimes sits in the Oval Office in between golf games takes the stage at CPAC tomorrow, he’ll be standing on bales of NRA cash that helped get him into office: thirty million bucks, to be exact.

It’s a pretty simple assay experiment to test the character and “functional activity” of the GOP these days. Even high school students can do it.

 

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Don’t Buy the Trumpian Golden Glitter: A Poem

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Don’t Buy the Trumpian Glitter: A Poem

I wish I had time to tell how all that glitters is not gold.

How gold drapes in the Oval Office magnify a black heart of greed.

How shiny “health savings accounts” break the backs of the sick.

How the promise of “trickle down” tax policy does nothing but piss on the poor.

How pretending that climate change doesn’t exist won’t make it go away.

How the myth of “making America great again” is fraught with #FakeMemories

How the lure of “someone who says what he thinks” can lead to nuclear war.

I wish I had time to tell how all that glitters is not gold.

Because I love today’s word prompt:

Glitter.

Don't Buy It

Don’t Buy It

You Are Done, Mr. Trump

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You are done, Mr. Trump. No argument. Thus far, the Republican party has been willing to put up with your minor — what shall we call them? Shortcomings? Indiscretions? Many of your supporters even applaud you for “telling it like it is,” and “saying what everyone thinks but is afraid to say.”

You know, your traditional American values of contempt for blacks, Hispanics, women, Muslims, disabled and overweight people; your inciting violence, your purposely undermining confidence in our elections, your trying to intimidate voters by sending goons to “watch” polling places.

I’m even afraid to put up a Hillary sign in the yard here in New Hampshire, lest I attract a rock or a bullet through my window.

But now you’ve gone too far, Mr. Trump. You’ve said the “P” word, and Republicans didn’t know you were like that. They are shocked, just shocked! 

News Flash: It's Who He Is

News Flash: It’s Who He Is

Your non-apology points out that you said the “P” word ten years ago when you were young and less mature, a mere sixty years old. And besides, former President Clinton has said and done bad things, too (and, by the way, was impeached for them). And furthermore you claim, “Anyone who knows me knows these words don’t reflect who I am.”

Right, we’ll just leave that there with the pile of rape accusations and sexual harassment lawsuits waiting in the back room.

It’s not flying anymore. It’s over. You’re done. Now it’s all about damage control for that Grand Old Party that chose to focus on hate and fear and division a few decades ago and is paying the price today.

Your Friends are Bailing

Everyone is bailing on you now. Speaker of the House Paul Ryan doesn’t want to stand on the same stage with you. Ouch. In the bright red state of Utah, there’s a total insurrection, a senator calling for you to step down, and a GOP candidate running specifically on the platform of deadlocking the electoral college and getting rid of you.

Your Vice Presidential candidate is pretending you don’t exist: he’s perfected the “kindly old grandfather who is deaf when he wants to be” act and pretends he isn’t drowning in your cesspool. (Psssst — I think he’s after your job, Donald.)

Even your buds over at FOX News call your comments “crude” and “lewd.” After all, Roger Ailes has set the standard there, and . . . oh, never mind.

Pharisee: A Self-Righteous Person; A Hypocrite

At least you still have the right-wing evangelicals. Because, you know, God is a guy, and if God didn’t intend men to grope women, then why did He give men hands to begin with?

No, seriously, I can see where these evangelicals are coming from. The Family Research Council (FRC) says their support for you was never based on shared values anyway.

WHAT???? WHAT??? The “family values” lobbyists don’t care about values??

Sure enough, the “Christian public policy ministry” FRC website says that Trump demonstrates “an understanding of the importance of values voters in the general election” and has “a desire to work with them.” It never says he shares their values.

Wonder why people are leaving the Christian church, FRC? Look in the mirror.

FRC was busy yesterday promoting #BringYourBibleToSchool day, so perhaps they didn’t have time to carefully review the P-word video. I suggest they take a listen. Also, #ReadYourBible.

No argument.

#UnfitForOffice

** I know that this post will lose me some of my Christian followers. That makes me sad, but it’s inevitable. Still, please, please, in this election and every day, ask yourself that over-used but profound question: What would Jesus do?

Day eleven of my daily blogging pursuit

Republican Apocalypse

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REPUBLICAN APOCALYPSE

I had some trouble sleeping last night. My subconscious was taken over by an angry alien with violence in his eyes and what looked like orange cotton candy sprouting from his head. He was on a tirade, waving his arms and yelling, “We’re going to make them pay! Everybody’s gonna pay!”

Then this sweaty little person with humongous ears started imitating the alien, jumping up and down and waving his arms and yelling, “You’re repeating yourself, you’re repeating yourself!”

The alien shrieked, “I do not repeat myself! I do not repeat myself! I do not repeat myself!”

“Win, win, win!” he repeated.

His skin was getting redder and I was afraid he might explode and get that orange stuff all over me.

“We’re gonna grab and grab and grab and bring in so much money and so much everything. We’re gonna make everybody pay. Except Israel. I love Israel.”

Ah, an Israel reference. Perhaps I was just having a run-of-mill apocalypse nightmare, and the orange guy was the Anti-christ.

“Everybody’s gonna pay. Everybody.”

Yup, sounds about right.

Some grandfatherly guy started talking about how they should all get along, and maybe everyone should go into a room somewhere in Ohio and lock the door until they calmed down.

The orange Anti-christ and the guy with the flapping ears ignored him until he tried to speak again, and then Orange said “I’d like to punch him in the face. In the old days, that guy would be carried out on a stretcher.”

A crowd started jeering and cheering.

I got worried about the grandfatherly guy and felt panic setting in. People could get hurt. I could sense the beginning of the end of the world, and there was nothing I could do about it. The only weapons I had were Facebook and Twitter.

Then an African-American guy who had been tangled up in the curtains finally freed himself and bounded into the chaos. I suspect he may also have been an alien because he didn’t seem to have full command of the language and he appeared to be listening to voices in his head. He extended ten super-long appendages that might have been fingers and said we should all hold hands and celebrate “the fruit salad of our lives.”

Well, why not? Makes about as much sense as anything else in the dream.

End Times

End Times

Please note: if you have not been watching the Republican debates, this will make no sense whatsoever. Just like the debates, actually.

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