CSotD: Who do you trust?
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Political cartoonists got a bit of a break in that they could draw cartoons about Putin’s re-election just about any time and then put things on autopilot and take a vacation when the election actually took place.
But Patrick Chappatte makes a good point in that Putin himself seems to be on autopilot, neither caring about casualties in Ukraine or the results of his election.
You shouldn’t take that too literally: The war is on his mind and he’s made nuclear noises in an attempt to keep NATO nations from becoming too involved. There have also been some hits to Russian oil refineries and other indications that Ukraine is willing to bring the conflict to him.
He doesn’t seem to care how many people are being killed, either in Ukraine or among his own troops, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t watching in hopes that the West will listen to the Republicans and the Pope and let him win.
Moreover, while he had no reason to sweat out the results of the election, we did see evidence of dissent in the streets as well as soldiers overseeing the voting process to make sure people didn’t spoil their ballots or otherwise misbehave. He wasn’t worried about losing, but he did want to get a sense of support on record not only in the form of a solid victory but with a good turnout to confirm the people’s love.
There were quite a few cartoons about the election, but not many that rocked me. I did, however, get a laugh out of Guy Venables‘ piece before the election …
… as well as a grim chuckle out of his commentary on the “results.” Empty steps would have earned a shrug, but blood-stained steps told the story better.
It’s not that his opponents were actually killed, but serious contenders might well have, say, died in a prison camp shortly before the election, while those who stood for office were basically “Potemkin candidates” who had no chance, and no intention, of winning.
It occurs to me that you could shoot a comedy that would involve having a hopeless drudge selected to run against the Leader, only to have computers fail and make him the winner.
The problem would be that the final product would likely seem less like The Mouse That Roared and more like Z, though with the right touch, you might be able to pull off something like The Prisoner of Zenda.
Pretty sure you wouldn’t see it playing Moscow, however.
Elsewhere in Dystopia, Matt Golding notes the failure of Donald Trump to secure a bond so he could appeal the penalty he was assessed in New York State for lying about the value of his holdings there. Which brings to mind the old joke about the kid who killed his parents and then threw himself on the mercy of the court on the grounds of being an orphan.
It also reminds me of a time I was waiting for a ride to the airport in Denver and was approached by a homeless guy who put the touch on me. I was out there early, so we walked around for about four blocks while he told me his story, which might have been true and also might have been total BS, but was so entertaining that I gave him a generous contribution because I thought he’d earned it.
Thing is, I knew I was being a sucker but I felt okay about it. If, by contrast, I had the resources to give Dear Leader the half-billion or so he needs, I don’t think I’d find his story all that interesting, and I sure wouldn’t front him the money with any hopes of getting it back.
Note that the bond he got for the money he owes E. Jean was secured by some of his holdings. The fact that he hasn’t been able to come up with security for the larger bond is an interesting indicator of how much of his vast wealth may be based on hot air.
But not to worry, as Bill Bramhall points out, because he’s got his daughter-in-law installed at the head of the Republican National Committee and she’s going to redirect funding to where it will do the most good. For Dear Leader or Daddy Dearest or whatever she calls him.
I watched Margin Call a few weeks ago, which follows a financial company through a sudden, unexpected bankruptcy based largely on their spinning of fantasies and allowing their reach to vastly exceed their grasp.
Maybe it was like when my firefighter son watched Backdraft and began picking out the parts that couldn’t possibly happen, but this ex-business writer was left pretty cold by what I gathered was supposed to be the terror of these wheeler-dealers watching the wheels come off their deal.
Which was how it would go if I had the capacity to give Trump a half billion, because I’d have the experience to know it wasn’t gonna happen on my watch.
The difference being that Kevin Spacey and Jeremy Irons and Stanley Tucci and Mary McDonnell all went down in flames while I suspect Dear Leader has enough bullshit left in his bag of tricks to survive yet again.
If nothing else, he’s got that old wheeze going where Michael Whatley is the chair but Lara Trump is the co-chair. Logically, either they’re both co-chairs or they’re not, but she’s now promised that none of the lucre will go to his personal debts and damn I just knocked over my coffee.
Don’t leave now, folks. The show ain’t over.
If nothing else, note that, while Wikipedia says that Lara’s degree is in Mass Comm, it also notes that she attended the French Culinary Institute.
So she may know how to cuisiner les livres.
But let’s leave on a positive note. Two weeks ago, First Dog on the Moon reported the discovery of a whole lot of new animals in an undersea trench off Chile, and added this pleasant little squid that he then confessed doesn’t exist.
Not so fast, Puppy Breath: It does exist, but off the coast of New Zealand.
Which doesn’t change today’s theme of having someone pull our legs, but allows us to leave on a pleasant note.
Well, it would have.
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