Joe Biden, way ahead in the polls and the candidate that seems to have a clear path to victory over Trump in 2020, was once again attacked by his fellow Democrats. What must this man have be thinking? He has been in politics for what? Fifty years? He has held every policy position available, and for exceedingly complicated reasons none of us can understand, but his past is savaged by the other candidates. When a question comes to him he looks like he wants to pass. Exasperated, frustrated, mystified, each question, each accusation, a cold soup the old man keeps trying to send back.

is now trying– for the third time– to become the Democratic candidate for President of the USA. The man must like power, I guess. At any rate, he has espoused all the political views at one time or another, and now, at 77, he must truly believe it is finally Joe time. What follows is a list of alternate jobs, other than President of the USA, that Mr. Biden might fill:

Greeter at a prestigious riverboat casino
NHL Ref
Dr. Joe, marriage counselor and TV personality
Gourmet hot dog street vendor
Permanent host of The Academy Awards
Mayor of Caramel-by-the-sea, California
Colour commentator on Monday Night Football
Private detective who lives in Hawaii
Head barber and owner of Joe’s Man Cave
Prince of Whales

In my imagination “The Internet” descended from the deep reaches of the universe and settled upon our planet like a mist. We began to interact with this powerful and mysterious entity without any real understanding of how it was going to effect us, or even if it was going to effect us. Most of us just assumed it was going to make things better, amplifying potential in a good, rather than harmful way.

However, it hasn’t exactly worked out that way. The astonishing gifts we’ve enjoyed have come with tremendous penalties, the primary of which might be a massive, unacknowledged mental health crisis.

I don’t know about you, but I have never seen as many declarations of anxiety and depression in my life as I now see on a regular basis online. It’s not at all uncommon for me to have multiple chat windows open at once, each one a conversation with a friend in crisis. This is highly subjective of course, and that people now have the means and social sanction to communicate their feelings might be something to celebrate, or, as my intuition suggests,  it could be something in the disembodied interactions we’ve been reducing ourselves to that’s causing this articulated spike in mental health problems.

It seems that the more we inhabit the abstracted realm of The Internet, the more certain we become of our beliefs. This is highly ironic to me, because we all know that amidst the spin and swirl of disinformation, fake news and uncanny algorithms, we should be as skeptical of claims to truth and certainty as we’ve ever been.

Take the White Power symbols that have been in the news.

As you may be aware, the symbol that you always thought meant “OK,” might now mean White Power.

This transition took place about a year ago on 4Chan, where it was conceived as a conscious lie. What I mean by that is that it wasn’t a White Power sign. The intent was to take an existing symbol and change it’s meaning, thus confusing the public and media and further eroding the idea of public trust.

Regardless, once this meme was in the blood stream there was no way to know what the use of the symbol meant. Did the person know it was a white power sign? Were they just saying “OK!?” Were they making a joke? Were they communicating racist ideology?

The first instance of this that I saw was of White House Advisor Zina Bash during a Supreme Court confirmation hearing.

Based on this image, people thought she was a White Supremacist.

Bash is of Mexican and Jewish heritage, and this photo that was widely circulated was a high resolution screen capture of a video, so she was in motion, not in a fixed, posed position. Claims that she was communicating a racist message seemed to me ambiguous at best. But people I know, like and respect saw this photograph, and others like it,

as crystal clear evidence of racist intent. Where I saw nothing but ambiguity, they saw none.

It felt like looking at the Neckar’s Cube, like some optical illusion was at play and the mechanics of our brains were prohibiting us from seeing the same thing.

There was simply no consensus on what was real. We were living two different stories when looking at the images. Where I was looking at what was directly in front of me, my friends were looking at circumstance, or perhaps subtext, seeing this single image as part of a much greater and evolving narrative.

Perhaps I am antique in my thinking, but when I see stories like these, I look for a kind of “courtroom proof.” If I have doubt, I am unwilling to prosecute the reputation and livelihood of the person being judged, even if they might still be suspicious to me. Maybe that makes me unwilling to act, and if so that is a sin I will one day have to answer for. Regardless, online a “thing” is true if it has momentum, if it supports the continuance of a passionately held belief, not if it meets some “clinical” standard of proof.

As our shared sense of truth and morality fall away– and disagreement leads to suspicion, if not flat-out contempt– we fearlessly share our certainties, but shamefully keep our uncertainties sheltered within, anxious that we’ll be attacked rather than supported by those whom we would love, and that, well that’s making us all feel a little jumpy and untethered.

It was a cheap, addictive entertainment.

Like Netflix.
Like porn.
Like the buildup to the Super Bowl.

The big event, as far as most media was concerned, was the landfall in Florida. This, it seemed, was the point to which all of our lives were leading, the apocalypse that was sure to prove whatever it was we needed proved. Days, perhaps even weeks before this happened, there was wall to wall coverage promising cataclysm. I learned to fear the “Cone of Uncertainty” and “Life Threatening Winds,” I listened to talking heads as if they were debating some sport, and I watched relentless loops of footage of nature destroying any puny mortal concerns that stood in its path.

And as the hurricane carved out it’s terrible path, each demolished, little island a grim foreshadowing of what was about to happen to over-populated and under-prepared Florida, the hurricane was simultaneously a prophecy of doom and a trailer for a Hollywood disaster film. Almost giddy, each day the broadcasters revealed– in all its punitive majesty– another verse in this Book of Revelations.

The media, of course, profited from our obsessive fear, and turned the volume up as loud as they could. The more clicks the better, and if it was terror and anxiety that ushered in these clicks, so be it. At one point a rain-soaked reporter, bent and staggering against the elements, conducted an urgent interview with a man who had not evacuated. Clearly the reporter was hoping for some Florida Man archetype to emerge from the scrub, a guy who looked like Kid Rock and was armed with a crossbow and some alligator mace, and wasn’t going to let some “lady storm” tell him what to do.

Instead, the reporter got a genius cardiologist, who with astonishing knowledge, detail and reasoning, explained precisely why it was safe to be exactly where he was. He was calm, too, not a trace of panic to him, and he made the reporter look like the very bad actor he was.

That the media manipulates and distorts news events, or even creates disaster porn, is nothing new. When 9/11 took place I literally could not take my eyes off the tv.

It was the most riveting thing I had ever seen, and it was a rating’s sensation. Now, with all our various technologies even further entrenched, this sense of chaos and anxiety has become a permanent, immobilizing fixture of our lives. The media, desperate to make a buck, feed us all the worst case scenarios, whipping us into a frenzy of panicky, dependent consumption.

My level of excitement had reached such heights that when Hurricane Irma finally struck Florida, I was actually disappointed–like I would be if I saw a movie where the trailers were better than the actual product they were selling.

This is completely perverse and backwards, but there you have it.

It is instructive when you’re caught in the swift currents of one of these types of stories to look up beyond your computer screen and out the window.

Remind yourself that we are actually living in the safest time in history.

( https://www.pri.org/stories/2014-10-23/world-actually-safer-ever-and-heres-data-prove )

Go outside, for surely something beautiful will fall to you.

Justin Trudeau and Barack Obama, or at least some consultation team associated with them, have made them, and now President Donald Trump, too, is releasing one. What follows are some selections from his playlist, as well as the President’s commentary on each song:

I Wanna Sex You Up by Color Me Badd

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kO6BtpIzIiM

“ This is a classic song. Sold over 6 million copies. Great artists. You ever see the video? In it a guy and a girl get it on in an elevator. Very hot. I had sex with Milla Jovovich in an elevator once. You see her in that movie Fifth Element? She wore nothing but bandaids in it, I mean, that was her costume. Very hot. Bet you would have liked some of that.”

Nadia’s Theme by Henry Mancini

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ttc9aCSRqEY

“What a beautiful, almost fragile piece of music. Made famous by that Romanian gymnast Nadia Comaneci in the 1976 Olympics. She was just a girl then, but she stole our hearts with her spectacular gymnastics. So beautiful. So limber. Later, when she was a woman, she appeared on Season 7 of Celebrity Apprentice. Attractive lady. Great boobs. Think they’re fake, but still pretty amazing. Saw her in the change room. Had to fire her, though. She just wasn’t cutting it.”

In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins

“ Very dramatic. If I was to commit a murder, I would do it to this song. Perfect music for killing. Phil was supposed to appear on Celebrity Apprentice but there was a scheduling conflict. Very short man, doubt he would have done well.”

Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds by the Beatles

“You can’t go wrong with the Beatles, and I particularly like this song because it’s about money. The Beatles should have written more songs about money.  If they did, they could have gone on forever, but people were really getting bored of all that love stuff near the end. They were fading. That’s why they had to break up. Had nothing to do with Yoko. Got to say, Yoko was not an attractive woman. Weirdly, Ringo, who was the ugliest Beatles, had the best looking wife. Barbara Bach. She was a Bond girl. A real luxury edition. We used to have sex regularly in a bathroom stall at Studio 56. Ringo had no idea. Such a fool.”

Carmina Burana by Carl Orff

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6rbZr7YoqK0

“You might remember this tune from an Old Spice ad where a guy is surfing. A hot blonde is watching him, just begging for it. Very erotic. The music is incredible, really speaks to me. Used to listen to it turned up real loud before every negotiation. Got me pumped out to head into battle. Never lost one.”

Blurred Lines by Robin Thicke

https://www.vevo.com/watch/robin-thicke/blurred-lines-(unrated-version)/USUV71300526

“Oh man, the titties in that video!”

******************************

Fantastic turnout here.

Just light’s out.

You’re a great, great crowd, a very smart crowd, and I want to thank you all for coming out in such huge numbers to hear me speak. What’s that? Wow. My people are telling me that there are thousands more waiting outside. In the rain. Terrifying lightning flying around, too, and the sort of giant thunder that scares dogs. These people don’t care. No, they’re happy to risk their lives. They just want to be close to greatness and pay their respects. Real Americans, those people. I love them just as much as they love me. Well, maybe just a little bit less– let’s be honest– but still, I give them huge, huge amounts of love.

Of course, the media will make up lies about this turnout, just like they did at the inauguration.

So dishonest.
No conscience at all.
Lazy perverts.

They’d even stoop to blacken the memory of Mary Tyler Moore just to push their liberal agenda. Makes me want to throw-up.

But you know who doesn’t want to make me throw-up?

Mary Tyler Moore.

So beautiful.
So classy.
Such manners.
A real tribute to her race.
A true 9 out of 10.

It’s hard to believe she was taken before Crooked Hillary. Crooked Hillary who is so sick and weak and has those big bug eyes that always make it look like her head is going to explode. And those coughing fits? Awful. Why couldn’t death just take her? Yesterday’s news. She’ll probably be the next to go anyway. .. And then Bill. Both in such poor, poor health. Sad. Thankfully, I don’t have that problem. I am in excellent health. Best health of any President in the history of America.

It’s a fact.
Never had a drink in my life.
And no drugs either.

And let me tell you, it’s not like I didn’t have opportunity.

I had big time opportunity.

Mary, Mary liked to drink. It’s true. She struggled with it, but it didn’t matter because she really could turn the world on with her smile.

She really could.
Honestly.
No lie.

She could also do it with her ass.

Sweet Jesus, what a caboose!

You’re all probably wondering, did I?

A gentleman never tells, but let me just say that I bounced quarters off that ass. It should have been classified as a secret weapon because that ass could topple regimes. If I had sent Mary, the vintage Mary, young, like when she was doing the Dick Van Dyke Show,

into one of those pathetic, little airport protests, everyone would have seen her ass and just forgotten where they were. Seriously.

You couldn’t say the same for Rhoda.

Oy vey!

No, Mary was the real deal, the one and only.

Mary, and I can give her no higher compliment, was a real star– the Ivanka of her times– and America and her allies, will miss her.

**************************************************************

Eliminate all conflict-of-interest restrictions governing elected officials. Buy-off and/or torture all in opposition.

Remove Harriet Tubman from twenty-dollar bill, replace with Keith Hernandez.

Find out difference between Hispanic, Latino and Mexican. Fire Mexicans. Find out if Cespedes is Mexican; if so, grant amnesty.

Rename ballpark Donald J. Trump, POTUS, Luxury Baseball Stadium and Driving Range. Also suitable for use as as detention/execution facility in off-season

Mr. Met is a loser as far as mascots go, no talent, but the merchandizing is in place.

Need to open up new mascot revenue streams. Sidekick? Chris Christie? Put him in a flesh-colored bodysuit? Sad clown in flesh-colored bodysuit wearing opponent’s hat?? Mr. Met beats on him with a baseball bat or lead pipe whenever we score.

Every time the opposing pitcher gets pulled from the game a giant image of me, President Donald J. Trump, will appear on the video screen saying, “You’re fired!” Crowd goes wild. Crowds love me, especially mobs.

Contact NASA and find out what planet Noah Syndergarrd is from. Get more like him.

Replace foul poles with beautiful, high-quality columns made from the finest ivory and marble.

Order CIA Black Op to steal opponent’s signals. Be present to ensure waterboarding.

In off-season run reality show to determine Mets new closer. Call it “The Closer.” Think intro: “I’m President Donald J. Trump, the greatest negotiator on the planet. I have what it takes to be the ultimate closer, do you?”

Create companion show for The Closer called, “The Burning Hot Wives of Major League Baseball!”

Interview players, management and other team owners (include fan vote but disregard) to find out who baseball’s hottest wives are. Then the wives, in bikinis, tennis skirts, etc, compete against one another (setting a dinner table, pleasing your man in bed, skiing, etc) to see who is the ULTIMATE trophy wife. Winner gets a featured modelling spot in Sports Illustrated and a $100,000 shopping/cosmetic surgery spree with Melania in her native Slovenia. Note: Buy Sport’s Illustrated.

Sign biggest star in the world for role in organization. Leo?? Hulk Hogan?? Billy Joel?? Larry King?? Meet with cabinet to discuss.

Donald Trump’s New York Mets-themed golf resort and luxury casino on Rockaway Beach. Former Mets work as greeters, golf instructors, bartenders, housekeepers, dealers, masseurs and high-end gigolos. Premier bachelorette party destination and homosexual paradise. Will sink Vegas.

Honor the Job Creators Night. Plutocrats and their servants get in for free. During the seventh-inning stretch there will be a welfare queen scramble. The assembled poor will run about the outfield trying to collect one dollar bills as they’re blown around by a giant fan. Loser who receives the most handouts gets a collector’s edition, Omarosa bobble-head doll and $150 worth of gaming chips at Donald Trump’s New York Mets-themed golf resort and luxury casino on Rockaway Beach.

Fire manager every three months. Employees work best if motivated by fear. (Reminder: Fire personal assistant, efficient but missing a finger, not Trump quality)

Buy-off all the umpires, but torture them first.

is married to Heidi Cruz, an investment manager at Goldman Sachs. She was recently threatened by Donald Trump.

The story goes like this:

An ad designed to target Mormons shows a photo of Trump’s wife, Melania, in one of those sort-of nude poses that only exists in magazines.

Trump, furious, blamed Ted Cruz for this assault on decency and took to the attack on Twitter, posting:

“Lyin’ Ted Cruz just used a picture of Melania from a G.Q. shoot in his ad. Be careful, Lyin’ Ted, or I will spill the beans on your wife!”

Now, everybody is curious to know what’s in those beans Trump is threatening to spill.

I may know.

Heidi Cruz and I have been confidantes to one another for thirty years.

She is an absolutely lovely person, a shining example of what America, at her best, can be.

Heidi and I met at a Christian youth camp one summer when we were both teenagers. Heidi was the best prayer partner I have ever had. Such soft hands. Anyway, it was a magical summer, and though some might say what happened between us was a sin, I cannot believe that God would frown upon such love.

Although Heidi and I have not seen one another in a long time and we have chosen very different life paths, we have remained faithful pen pals over the years. Here are some of the more recent emails that she has sent me:

Michael, my Morningstar:

Ted’s appetites disgust me.

Wednesday was Star Wars night.

Again.

As always, I dressed up as a Storm Trooper and Ted as Padme Amidala.

Ted’s rape fantasies can be quite elaborate, but this night was mercifully straightforward. I took him with force, but as I was still mad about a comment he made about the “tone” of my grace over dinner, I was perhaps a little rougher than normal, and his shrieks and crying were so loud and authentic that the secret service burst into the room. This has happened four times now. We are getting a soundproof dungeon made for this activity now.

In Christ,

Heidi
xo

Michael, my port in a storm:

I have to say, I really love the work I do at Goldman Sachs. I just feel that I’m doing God’s work, that I can really help people by creating wealth and then letting some of that wealth trickle down.

Today I caught Ted putting on my lipstick while he was shaving.

I actually threw up.

You Michael, are my endless summer,

Heidi
xo

Michael, my child of God:

I cannot believe that Sarah Palin is going to be a judge on a reality TV show. Gag. I have met her, several times, and let me tell you, she is no Judge Judy. She really is a moron. Still, she has really, really lovely hair.

I touched it once at a fundraiser and it was beautiful, like God and America.

Complete in Him,

Heidi
xo
Michael, my little lamb of Christ:

I had a variation on the dream again last night.

In it, Ted was putting on his makeup and rattling on about something gross, as usual, when Sarah Palin walked into the bedroom and looked right at me. She motioned that I should follow her, which I immediately did. I was curious, attracted– sexually attracted. She led me to another room where she let me stroke her gorgeous hair and then we began to kiss. She told me it was okay, that God would love me no matter what I did, and that she knew about the homeless man Ted and I picked-up and killed on Terrorist Sex Fantasy night, but that she didn’t care. And I was so relieved, and then Donald Trump appeared, laughing, his hands so tiny, so terrible! And then I woke up screaming and crying, which of course aroused Ted AND made the dog bark.

I was almost late for work!

We killed that man so many years ago, and outside of the USA! Do you think God really notices what happens in Africa? Why does he keep sending me these dreams?

Also, Goldman Sachs is very bullish on any company heavily invested in ethanol plants.

Didn’t hear it here, though.

Walk in light,

Heidi
xo

Friends;

I am sorry for any broken limbs and shattered teeth that my enthusiasms may have caused. It was not my intention to hurt any of you, and you should know that Father Russia loves all of his children.

I must thank you very much for this training session. I needed it. Sometimes, the stresses of a global Alpha can be intense. Sometimes, you must break something or you yourself will be broken!

(Waits for applause to subside)

A man does not have it easy in this world, let me tell you.

But I am not here to speak of the unknowable hardships and cruelties a man such as myself must endure. No, I am here to congratulate Ezio Gamba for the powerful and autocratic judo lessons he has dispensed to the national team! He has made you all super hardcore, and that is the Russian way!

We are too hardcore for the Americans!
(Cheering)

We are too hardcore for the Japanese!
(Cheering)

We are too hardcore all the feminine states of Europe!
(Cheering)

We are hardcore!!
(Waits for applause to subside)

And Ezio, much of that is due to you, and I thank you.

I will tell you something you would not guess, but it is not conducting surveillance operations or gassing protestors where I feel most at home.

No, it is on the judo Tatami. It is there where I am my powerful true self.

I am a master of all flesh in the Tatami. There, in a tight embrace, I can unleash the unmeasured furies of my passion!

When I was a young and confused KGB agent, it was judo that provided me with a safe spot. It was there I could be my masculine self and share my physical feelings with other men, but elders grew concerned at the disorienting and often unsettling intimacies of the matches, and so they set me up to fight with Lyudmila.

She was very mannish looking and a formidable opponent. I did not know she was of the females until much later, after much rough combat. We were eventually paired in matrimony and an off-spring was made in the dark of the Russian night.

The American song Islands In The Stream played, I remember.

Yekaterina.

A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.

Our daughter, it is the one good thing Lyudmila and I did together. She is better than any judo moves we ever made, and I am not ashamed to say I would kill with my hands any man who would think to violate her with his primitive heterosexual urges.

No longer paired with Lyudmila, I was free to practice judo with whomever I liked, and those were glorious times for Vlad. Such beautiful judo! Truly, it is the sport of love.

Anyway, my old female partner has gone on to marry another man, a man 20 years younger than her! How about that?

I could have him killed, but I will not. He will suffer with Lyudmila as I suffered with Lyudmila, and I will continue to be the most powerful Alpha in the world, enjoying judo with as many partners as I choose!

You must eat the pain, comrades!!!

Long live Russia, and long live judo!!

It’s been well over a week now since Ammon Bundy and his militia men took over the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge headquarters in Oregon.

As the harsh winter falls like ash around them, neither the Federal Government nor The Citizens for Constitutional Freedom have shown even a hint of quit.

****************************

The Citizens for Constitutional Freedom Press Conference, January 14th, 2016

Ammon Bundy: Once again, our intelligence gathering services have had to bring us some very bad news.

On the heels of the death of our great teacher and brother, David Bowie, another true patriot and giant amongst men has been taken from us. Our comrade, Alan Rickman, star of stage and screen, has fallen.

Ryan Bundy: This is bullcrap, man!! Bullcrap!!

Ammon Bundy: Easy brother, easy.

Ryan Bundy: By the hammer of Grabthar, we shall be avenged!!

Ammon Bundy: Rickman died as he lived, with his boots on.

While carrying out an assault on a government facility in Northern California, Rickman was struck down by a hail of gunfire from CIA operatives posing as paramedics. It was a cowardly and treacherous act and….What? Well, where did you hear that? Really? Really? Did TMZ report that, too? Well, geez. Cancer, hunh? Do they think it was planted in his body by the government. Inconclusive, eh? Okay. Okay. Give me a moment. Just bear with me! This is a very stressful time, okay? Don’t forget, I’m fighting tyranny here, for you and your children, so just cut me some slack! I’m doing God’s will, not yours, okay!?

(Conference is interrupted for five minutes)

Ammon Bundy: Okay, thanks for your patience. Sometimes constitutional freedom take a little bit of time.

Our intelligence department has just confirmed that Alan Rickman died under very mysterious circumstances late last night. Naturally, many of my men– myself included–have been shaken to the core by this devastating news. I’m not going to lie to you, it’s not my style, but there were more than a few tears shed last night. Three more of our men, devastated by grief, just like when Ziggy Stardust took his final bow, left the encampment and returned home this morning, and as always we wish them Godspeed.

Ryan Bundy: May our comrades ride as swiftly and surely to their families as Alan Rickman to Kate Winslet, in his portrayal of noble Colonel Brandon in Sense and Sensibility!

Ammon Bundy: As always, we will continue the battle, to be the tip of the spear, just as Professor Severus Snape would have wanted. If he were here right now, he would cast a spell on the government and we would all be enjoying the land that is rightfully ours to profit from.

It is hard to imagine, but it was only a few short weeks ago that my family and I sat around enjoying Rickman’s brilliant work in that modern Christmas classic, Love Actually. Yeah, I can see more than a few smiles in the press gallery, there. Rickman spoke to us all, even godless, liberal media, and he had the truly unique ability to tap into the soul of the white, middle-aged man and speak directly to us.

Ryan Bundy: Lord, I related, I related so hard, for who amongst our clan hasn’t made the mistake of giving our wives a Joni Mitchell CD for Christmas!?

Ammon Bundy: Hallelujah, brother, don’t I know it!

Alan Rickman told the difficult truths. His portrayal of complex antagonists is what made me want to get into the business of fighting for the Constitution and taking over government buildings. I had always hoped to find an adversary as strong and charismatic as Rickman– a Hans Gruber to my John McClane.

We will miss him truly, madly and deeply. May a flight of angels carry you home, brave soldier.

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