Trumpian Revelation

Fiorella and her friend talked over the fence last night about everything that's been going on in the neighborhood. Then Friend noticed Fio's ubiquitous DUMP TRUMP button and asked her if she hated Trump. Fiorella, taken aback, carefully expalined that she had been brought up to never use the word "hate," that she didn't hate Trump or anyone else, but that she was certainly opposed to him and his presidency.

Neighbor didn't seem too wild about Trump either, but she said she doesn't see an out because "Hillary is so sneaky and currupt."

Fio started to say something about Hillary being out of the picture now and that she'd been exonerated time after time after time, but settled for a mention of Robert Woodward's book, but Friend obviously didn't understand what Fio was talking about. Fio took the hint and dragged the convesartion back to neighborhood doings.

But as she walked back up the hill to home, she finally understood something that had escaped her heretofore--Trump's base, like Trump, doesn't read.

New Lyrics

Hello, anger, my old friend,
You've energized me once again
And I will scream and write and fight
Because I know that left is right

                  
                          WHOOPIE! 

              HAPPY DAYS ARE HERE AGAIN! 

              PAUL MANAFORT DOWN FOR EIGHT 
                              
                             AND MORE TO GO!

                                            😁

Fighting the Good Fight

Lest anyone forget, for the last five days, Fiorella has been posting a reminder on FB of the 400 immigrant children still in custody. Each of the reminders is original and splashy.

(1) Okay, people. Have we lost focus on the children? Where are they? What's happening
(2) How long have the children been in jail now? When will they be released? Where will they go?
(3) THE CHILDREN (repeated as many times as allowed on FB)
(4) THE CHILDREN (This time surrounded by sobbing emojis)
(5) IT'S NEVER RIGHT
        TO IMPRISON
           CHILDREN

 This is the reminder for today:

While politicians bid and buy
And Donald sleeps
The children still in prisons lie
And Jesus weeps

Sorrowfully

Fiorella wrote this a year ago, and it bears repeating:

I thought that I would never see

A president as dumb as he

Putin's hand in his hand, Putin's ring in his nose--

He shall have riots wherever he goes

Call to Action

When ignorance and stupidity reign
And ethics are flushed down the sewage drain
We must unite
And fight the good fight
To make our country whole again

What's Goin' on with Fiorella

Just when you think the late-night comedians have run out of fodder, Baby Donnie demands a pull-toy parade for his widdle self. He wants to stand up in the review box and have everyone salute his almightyness. The only good thing about this idea is that (1) it takes Nunes off the radar, and (2) Colbert's going to have a field day. But maybe Donnie should think about what happened to Caligula when his in-house miltary squad had had enough.
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The last chapter of Fio's book kept running through her mind as she was driving (in Husband's car) to the optometrist's office. It was sweet--a wedding, which is an unsuprising  ending in a romance--but it was feeing more like an epilogue when Fiorella wanted the story to end with a big bang. A big bang--that was it! She'd end it with a big bang! You know the kind (wink).
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Fio starts the morning by turning off the house alarm, feeding the dog and letting her out and in, pulling up the shades, and , bringing in the newspaper and skimming it. Then she checks out her email, Google News, her blog, and Facebook, after which she brushes her teeth, washes her face, lift weights, dresses, fixes her hair, and pushes hoop earrings through her lobes (because she is human), and comes downstairs again to play the piano and eat breakfast. At this time of year, she also works on the Christmas clean-up and hauls brush and forewood in for the fireplace. Along the way, she must work on her long-delayed book, get in a little Spanish practice, and keep up with her friends. Right now she has the added responsibility of getting the IRS information together and handling a legal situation involving a family business. The other legal thing, a student-loan situation will be settled next week. In between times, Fiorella pretends to be human.

Cheers for Alabama!

Only one thing I can say

That Alabama led the way

To the light of a brand new day

Hip-hip hooray, hip-hip hooray! 

Qestions, Questions, Questions

Fiorella's been Christmasing all day, starting from early morning, when in between reading the newspaper, she she couldn't stop staring at the picture of Baby, the one she'd hung from the mantel over the fireplace. What about making use of some of those gold chocolate bar wrappers she'd been collecting for a couple of years?  How about paving the front edge of the mantel to give Baby a background worthy of her? How about putting charming Christmas cards on either side of her picture? 
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Fiorella is still struggling with the tree, the one she thought she'd have to spend just a couple of hours on. And her other decorations aren't as far along as she had hoped they'd be. And she didn't put much time in on her book today. And her left foot orthotic isn't working like it's supposed to. And where are house elves and magic wands when you need them?
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Fiorella is sick and tired of slimy politics. Everything is so venal now, so lowest-common-denominator, and Fio is afraid for herself and for everybody else. How can we survive as a nation and how can we survive as people?

Random Observations

Fio saw her first roadside Christmas tree of the season road today. She also saw cloud formations that looked like hundreds of sheep grazing in a blue meadow.  Autumn has hardly began, and winter is upon us.
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Politics are getting boring--and repetitive. How many corrupt politicians, how many godless pastors, how many clueless plutocrats have to be exposed for America to come to its senses?
*
'Tis the winter of our discontent, but discontent is the mother of action. Fio is still in the game. Are you?

Read Straight Down, Left

Waddell
Hicks
Andrew McCabe
Tillerson

HuckAbee Sanders

McMaster
StEve Bannon
Scaramucci
Spicer

Poetry, Politics, Pens, Pisces, Program, and Pacing

Why is there nobody out there who's tried to cross political pens with Fiorella? Can it be there's no one on the right who can rhyme, set a beat, or count accented syllables?
*
Fio doesn't understand why people advertise on pens, but then, she's not the type to be influenced by the name emblazoned on her ballpoint.
*
Ah, salmon and fries for dinner--nothing better. Fio is replete.
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Fio's nightly telenovela has been running two hours this past week, which is daunting. Fio can only take so much elevated drama at a time. Por favor, kill off Danilo and Morgana, give Leticia's family a happy ending, and let Ryan and Laura live happily ever after.
*
As Fio said back when Flynn got canned, Trump Tower is crumbling, brick by brick. Quite a few bricks have fallen since then, and the pace seems to be accelerating.

Trump Opera

I've been thinking about my Trump tragi-comedy opera. It should start on election day, I think, and Donald should be pacing and singing about the campaign and how wonderful he is, and all the nasty things he's going to say when Hillary wins. ("When Hillary Cheats Her Way Into the White House") Of course, he pauses from time to time to post venomous tweets. (Note to self--use actual tweets---which rhymes with "cheats" and "beats") The results start coming in, but he refuses to watch them, singing about what a winner he is. "I'm winning if I say I am!" When he finally faces the board and sees that he's won, He turns to the audience with shock on his face and says. "What do I do now?"

Fast forward to Inauguration Day, the poor turn-out, and his insistence of the opposite. ("Opposite" aria?) The Women's March, the protests, etc. Arrogance grows, more and more in la-la land. Staff comes and goes. Russians, (Russian chorus?).  Melania floats in and out, a mystery figure. The Trump family is a constant chorus. Maybe the White House (Mar-a-Lago?) is stormed. Not a pretty ending.

And that is as far as Fio's gottten. Is Rossini still available?

Bras, Kardashians, Estela Carrillo, Trump, Afterlife

How do men survive without bras? Fio stores her glasses, credit card, car keys, lipstick, and a couple of Kleenexes in her bra while she's out gadding about. Good thing she doesn't have go through any metal detectors.
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Fiorella is tired of the stupid Trump family. She wants everything back to normal--you know, with the Kardashians being the dopiest family on television.
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Fio will admit she herself has been around long enough to know it's true that what goes around comes around, like names, fashion, politics, and philosophies. Nothing new under the sun, as they say. Hey--maybe that will apply to people too. See you in your next life!
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La Doble Vida de Estela Carrillo is drawing to its inevitable close, but it's still spitting out screwball drama. Danilo knocked out Estela with an anesthetic for horses so he could rape her, but she doesn't know it yet because she was--well--knocked out. That boy's getting more and more vicious--remember that he strangled Tommy to death last week--and there's not much further he can go, though it might be a good idea if, on his way out, he took down Mr. Green, the evil Americano politician who held Estela and her daughter captive for a week or so.
*
What if Trump once upon a time had a brain of his own which was replaced by a Russian model installed by Putin and is operated by Melania?

Perplexing Situation

Fiorella doesn't understand:

An old man leaks top-secret information to the Russian ambassador and he's still riding high, wide, and handsome. A young woman leaks top-secret information to the American public, and she's put in shackles.

Something's wrong with this picture.

Lacking

Where are the poets from the other side,
The voices of whimsy, of hope, of despair?
Where do they hide?
Or are they not there?

Coward in the White House

Trump doesn't have the right stuff--
When the going at home gets tough
He flees
Overseas
So despite the bluster, despite the bellow
Our orange julius is just plain yellow

Fiorella Ponders

If all goes well, Fiorella is getting a workable GPS today. Minnesota Son gave her one for Christmas last year, but there was no  way to install it in her Miata, so when Son visited recently, he arranged for a friend of his to look the situation over. Scott Williams is making a whole new fitting to be able to to affix the mechanism to Fio's dashboard, which would mean means she could zoom down to the southern boondocks to visit her grandbaby any time she wants.
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The Georgetown post office didn't have any postcards in stock when the barrage of Paul Ryan's home address was scheduled so Fio had to drive down to Austin to pick some up--two weeks late. Hmmm... Why is that Georgetown is always out of postcards? Maybe because they've become the Resistance's weapons of choice, and Gtown bleeds red?
*
To my children; Ever since the three of you were born, you have been the most important people in my life, but as you grew up, I became less and less important to you, which is how it should be. And when the time comes that I no longer recognize you, please love yourselves enough to  abandon me. I do not want to be a burden.
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The final thing Fio ponders is why she tries to write late at night. She's embarrassed at how much morning-after editing she's had to do on this post to make it readable. Apologies.

Trump Triad

This is so interesting. Trump, who has been pressing his staff to discover who is leaking info about his regime to the American press, is now leaking classified info to the Russians. He knows who his friends are.
*
Donald's basest base doesn't care about anything but drinking beer and yelling "Lock her up" at post-election rallies. Congressional Republicans don't care about anything but keeping a tight hold on their football.
*
The presidential staff seems to be playing "Go in and out the window," like in kindergarten. Come to think of it, their boss is acting like a kindergartner too.

KICK THEM ALL OUT!

Sean Spicer sold his soul
To the devil with orange hair
To  buy himself a seat
In the press secretary's chair
He settled into place
Totally  unaware
That sooner rather than later
He'll be out of there

DUMP TRUMP!