If we got nothing else out of the Vice-Presidential Debate, Non Sequitur (AMS) reminds us, it was JD Vance’s plaintive whine about the moderators not letting him derail things with outrageous whoppers.
Still, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions: Lying is evil, but quietly tolerating lies greases the slope.
Blatant dishonesty is not confined to the vice-presidential candidate, and Clay Bennett (CTFP) offers clarity by setting this scene at Mar A Lago.
It’s starting to seem a little foggy as to whether the White House is going to be the home of a fading Trump or his healthier running mate.
When a fellow whose sexual partner has joked about his lack of impressive equipment starts publicly obsessing over the size of Arnold Palmer’s penis, we’re witnessing the last gasp of a failing intellect.
Trump claims he’s a very good golfer, but he and Stormy both know he doesn’t measure up to Arnie’s putts.
Jeremy Banx is kidding, but we can probably expect loyal MAGAts to begin doing the Sweet Sweet Sway in tribute to their hero’s impressive moves.
Juxtaposition of the Day
The latest insult to the American intellect came in an absurd attempt to make a spoiled preppy who never held a real job look like a working stiff by putting in 15 minutes in a closed restaurant, serving fries to a hand-selected stream of pretend customers.
This mummery was intended to prove that Kamala Harris didn’t have a summer job at a McDonald’s, which the Trump campaign says is a lie because of course burger joints keep meticulous records of every college kid who passes through those golden arches, even if only for a summer.
Badiucao questions the quality of the fries, Rowe questions the honesty of the fryer. And I revert to British usage and proclaim him a chip monk, since they set him to operating a machine so automated that you could train a chimp to run it.
Having operated fryers back when you had to keep track of them because the basket didn’t automatically rise at the appropriate time, I echo the fellow on social media who wrote “Anybody can work a fry scoop. Can you drain a deep fryer without spilling that 400 degree lava on your skin or all over the floor during lunch rush?”
BTW, you rotate the used oil from French Fryer 1 to French Fryer 2, and from Fryer 2 to Onion Rings Fryer 3, and from Fryer 3 to Fish Fryer 4. But first you drain Fryer 4, and do it all in the morning when the oil is cold to avoid splattering lava on your hands and arms which are already covered with little burn marks and knife wounds because that’s what happens when you work as a fry cook for more than 15 minutes in your life.
Though if the place is open 24/7, there’s no time when the oil is cold and that also makes wiping the hood an adventure. I’d have paid to watch Dear Leader clean the hood over a hot set of fryers.
Not that anyone could prove I ever worked in a restaurant, and I was there longer than 15 minutes.
Dear Leader clearly knows more about French fries than he does about broadcasting.
What “license” does he think CBS has? Does he genuinely not know the difference between a network and a local station?
Imagine the chaos which would ensue if every local broadcaster had to bid on its license at expiration!
Does Dear Leader also think cable channels are FCC licensed? Cable companies? Newspapers? Web sites?
If he’s going to go Full Bat Guano, he should at least make it entertaining. For instance:
Here’s Dr. Trump’s analysis of Kamala Harris and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Medical Report, in which it is reported that she suffers from — and we should probably include a trigger warning here for sensitive readers — hay fever.
A deeply serious condition that clearly impacts her functioning by making her eyes water and which might even make her sneeze if she doesn’t take a little Claritin or Allegra or something.
Which she does. Crisis averted!
Meanwhile, there’s no need to see Dear Leader’s medical records, because Mike Johnson assured Meet the Press that Donald Trump “has more stamina and mental acumen and strength, probably, than any political figure, probably, in the history of the country.”
Except for the ones who never canceled campaign events and interviews less than a month before the election because they were “exhausted.”
And who didn’t, as Morten Morland illustrates, babble incoherently on the occasions when they did show up.
However, we have had letters from Ronny Jackson and Trump’s personal physician attesting to his good health. There would have been a third letter, but the doctor who lied to the Draft Board about his heel spurs is no longer available.
You know what you guys need? A little comic strip called “Love Is”. It’s about two naked eight-year-olds who are married.
Don’t listen to Jeff Danziger (Counterpoint). Listen to Homer Simpson: “Love Is” is all you need.
Better yet, Ann Telnaes suggests, watch the watch. You are getting sleepy, sleepy, and when Dear Leader snaps his fingers, you will believe that the riot he provoked was an act of love, and that the police cheerfully let the peaceful tourists into the building.
While Tim Campbell assures us that the kind of love Trump distributes can really light up a room, or a whole country.
John Darkow is less interested in metaphors and more inclined to simply point out the horrifically absurd, traitorous lie at the center of Trump’s Big Lie Project.
And it is a deliberate project.
The result of a consistent and total substitution of lies for factual truth is not that the lie will now be accepted as truth and truth be defamed as a lie, but that the sense by which we take our bearings in the real world—and the category of truth versus falsehood is among the mental means to this end—is being destroyed. — Hannah Arendt
The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command. — 1984 (George Orwell)
MeidasTouch reports that Fox News refused to air this commercial:
There has to be a significant percentage of voters that have absolutely no idea who Arnold Palmer is.
Isn’t it a drink? Half iced tea and half lemonade. 🙂
1. Think of the Arnold Palmer drink.
2. Now think of Trump describing Arnold Palmer.
3. Now try to drink your Arnold Palmer
Your “putts” pun was a thing of rare beauty. A gem.
I woke up this morning wishing that some news anchor would ask Mike Johnson or the other elected lickspittles, “Donald Trump today said that the sky is green, do you agree?” and watch them sputter to explain how what he really meant was a slightly yellowish shade of blue that was the Democrats’ fault. It really is getting to the point of denying actual facts and evidence shown directly to them. Comical if it weren’t so shameful and dangerous.
“Putts.” Heh heh!
As a diehard Mario fan, I found Ms. Daniel’s comments on Trump genitalia to be a direct insult to Toad.
😛