Carter's tenure as competent Nuclear Submarine Captain, and as the first Georgia Governor to not disparage, nor lynch blacks, (perhaps) lead to a cursed presidency. As fate would have it, The Iranian Ayatollah captured a bunch of Americans, on President Carter's watch --  And by refusing to give them back, Iran made his presidency appear ineffective.  Carter Inherited a shit-pot of Republican induced diplomatic, and domestic issues, including massive post-war machine inflation... Sound familiar? He tossed the keys to an actor, and went about improving the world for everyone; But in particular the disadvantaged, and the homeless.
After retiring from a shit job in the White House, Jimmy Carter, became one of America's most effective  and well regarded statesmen. He was a post presidential world leader,  and a revered international negotiator.  J.C. literally used his hands and likeability to build homes for the needy, through Habitat for Humanity.  Always the first one on the jobsite, and the last to sweep-up at the end of the day, Jimmy Carter was a relentless do-gooder. Carter's foundation created opportunities for legions of disadvantaged Americans. No Mystery that he shared Monogramed polo shirts with Jesus Christ.
​Carter stated flatly that "Trump did not win the 2016 election", but that Russia put him in that chair because they needed a patsy.  Carter helped to negotiate peace deals with several enemies of the U.S. and he brokered sustained peace between Israel and Egypt.  Later Clinton and Bush would blow up some of his finer accomplishments, as they towed the plow of Southern Governors come President.  Posthumously, Carter is perhaps most noteworthy as the first President NOT having cheated on his wife.  Carter told Playboy Magazine that he (perhaps with the help of the Miss January centerfold) "...May have cheated in his thoughts several times", "but remained true to his wife in his real life."
Carter made friends easily, even with sworn enemies of the state, like Fidel Castro.  Carter could hang out with celebrities, fascists, and the homeless as though their company, their points of view, and their contributions were equivalences.
Most noteworthy for Carter, is to be regarded as someone who anyone could see themselves having a beer with, even Willie Nelson.
Carter was a stand-up dude. He was the selfless, considerate, genuine, and effective human being we should aspire to be. He will be well regarded for improving our Republic over the last century. Carter left the world a better place than he'd found it, ...but made sure to time his exit, just before the place truly went to shit.       Adieu Jimmy.
Jimmy Carter is the Hero, and the ineffective president that America needs right now...
 -- Sadly, the Russian's and millions of unworthy Americans have again placed their dolt upon it's trashy throne.
Farewell Jimmy Carter.
Happy New Year Stupid America.

Every American boy is sovereign over Pissing freely nearly everywhere. This is the singular most noteworthy super-power which distinguished my youth from that of my sister's, and their friends. It's fair to say that before a child is conscious of their psychological manipulation -- "Going to the bathroom" becomes method to lord power over  parents.  Parenting a puppy or a toddler begins with this initial battle of will; "Just how long will it take for the little one to learn where and when to poop and pee properly?" -- The incantation is steeped in myth, will, psychology, and compromise. Both kids and puppies appear "cute as hell" to human adults as a protection against retaliation, for this challenge alone. All a Parent wants for Xmas, their Birthday, and their Anniversary, is for the 'wee one' to learn this singular procedure. To Comply with social norms over "The Business".... As some never do,  Others will carry trauma over lost battles into their adult politics.

Whilst, it would appear that many babies exercise some unconscious negotiation skills, e.g. dragging the fight out far longer than is reasonable -- Others succumb promptly. Carpets, Beds, Clothes, Hardwood, Sofas, Tile, Car Seats, Trains, Planes, Desk Chairs, Laps, Picnics, Church Pews, even Beach-blankets, all spoiled in a seemingly un-winnable stand-off.  
Men's-room stigmata moves mysteriously from
​"Do Not Doo-Doo EVER!" to "Why not, Sure Set a Spell..."

Until -- Alas something shifts slightly... (An acknowledgement perhaps), over who is actually running shit now. The Parent concedes to several unspoken demands, and the child concedes to "do it" properly.  There will still be the occasional "Mistake", with perhaps a parent holding an empty latte, or fountain drink cup while a kid steers urgent pee-pee on the back seat.  Pulling over on a snowy road,  then pushing a kid out the passenger side to piss upon a gravel shoulder, separates the willing from those who will forever hold it too long. Those precious flowers  become Marjorie's, and Donald's -- Those who hold it, are sad, dark, dour, insufferable Karen's who tell on you for cheating, chewing gum, smoking, and skateboarding in the hallway.  The so called civilized world divides upon the topic of public pooping and peeing, and perhaps politically as well.  My sisters, liberal ladies themselves -- also learned to pee nearly anywhere. Hence, compromise & negotiation,  forearm like flash-cards, using Poop and Pee-Pee as text.  What comes later is something so dark, and unrelentingly dogmatic that no conjurer, no shaman, and no wicken have an incantation to break it's curse. The Boy's Stall is way fucking off limits.  In fact the boy's toilet in any elementary school is literally the cleanest surface of my youth. A Boy will not go in there, and as such these hallowed spaces can be converted into confessionals, urinals, or vending machines. It comes as no surprise that the bathroom stall and the bathroom at large would become a primal adolescent cave, in which angry hunters strategize conquest, through expressive painting, and symbology. But for men, (like so many other developmental dystrophies), the bathroom stall would not become a canvas until post Middle-school.  The ancient art of cave painting began with humankind doing the math on how to prey upon their predators. Without this first step... And to become comfortable with these expressive  confines -- a Human is stunted. The cave-wall calculus to imagine oneself taking charge of one's full faculties, Overcomes their disadvantage of fear. Illustrations in turn hashed out how and when to get the upper hand.  Those without a fundamental construct of expression likely become repressed politicians. These are the ones who break the stall door, trying to cover and bar it against infiltration.  Shy Poopers will become destructive fascists.

I'm always surprised just how difficult it seems for male carnivores in airports to get their business done. At the risk of missing a departure, it is literally impossible to find a men's stall unoccupied in any airport, and when they are "available" they are so untenable as to be the seventh circle of hell.  The evolutionary shift from learning to manipulate one's parents, to learning to poop, and then the wholesale avoidance of the bathroom stall -- Seems to have led to regressive stage-fright for making it happen.  Men's room stigmata moves mysteriously from "Do Not Doo-Doo EVER!" to a creative flourish with a sharpie and a joint... to "Why Sure, Of Course Set a Spell..."

​For a young boy to Poop in school, or even step into that stall is (as every boy comes to learn) completely taboo.  It simply is not done.  No Way, No How, Never! Boys are not allowed to poop in school. This is where the second social order is learned.  A secret society which preaches many alternatives, even perhaps behind a gravestone on the walk home from school, but NEVER in the stall.  Perhaps, stopping in the back of the Piggly Wiggly?, Perhaps dropping trow beside a bank, or beside a bakery, but a boy cannot be caught dead or alive in the bathroom stall.  So it follows... that the "Girls Room" has lurid graffiti on the stall wall, yet the men would not begin to learn cave painting until they'd learned to smoke, drink, or do drugs in the stall.   The singular acceptable activity for the men's bathroom stall in a high-school is illicit activity., ...but never a poop.

Those who distrust in "the process" invent bad policies, and bad politics. In short, they become Republicans...  
I've shared a stall for a smoke, a joint, and to help children and the elderly do the business, I've written poems, and scrawled bad graffiti, I've had the occasional romantic tryst in the undesirable luxury stall of a notorious punk bar, and It is remarkable the shifting respect even ambivalence I've held toward the sanctuary of a bathroom stall.  Whatever business one conducts in the stall, it is fair not to understate it's evolutive conditioning in development of both our culture, and our politics. Those afraid to discuss the sanctity of the stall are forever stunted by  it's taboo, whereas those who were raised with a single bathroom quickly learn to share.
​At a friends home yesterday there was cheering from the powder room, as celebrants praised his 4 year old for proper pooping.  Not because he was not already adept at using the throne, but because he'd not done so for 7 days straight.  I was amazed and astonished, but not embarrassed.  Everyone poops, and for most it should be a minor celebration, but for those who find it tough to talk about, well they become conservatives.  The same ones who fabricated the social stigma preventing kids from using the stall.  Whether religious dogma, social taboo, or simple conservative puritanism, Those who distrust in "the process" invent bad policies, and bad politics. In short, they become Republicans...  And when was the last time anyone paid to watch a conservative republican stand-up comedian, talk about doing his business?

There are no Conservative Republican Comedians except perhaps, Colin Jost.

​

This Watch has, (as the picture states)... "NO JEWELS" whatsoever. It's battery electrifies a quartz rock (a crystal silicon dioxide oscillator) which bends naturally when voltage is applied, creating a very precise resonance which pings at precisely 32 768hz.  As quartz oscillation can be used to sync perfect time, It's amazing natural simplicity enjoys universal renowned in time-keeping. Similarly, quartz as a stylus on your Turntable can generate delicate voltage as the needle bounces through a gravelly groove to produce Music.  The Quartz watch, out-performs a mechanical movement, but it'll never be as cool as an Omega Sea Master, or a Colnago Steelnovo.  If you are a loser like me you own neither.
​Nobody who owns a mechanical chronograph uses it to time an event such as a bike race, or a Nascar lap. Nobody watches their chrono second-hand sweep by at 120 hertz to time anything, except in movies where smart scientists, such as Oppenheimer calculate megatonnage.
Watch owners likely press that chronograph button but a few times when the watch arrives new, and soon jam-up the escapement. After getting it fixed (again), they leave it alone forever.  A 21 jewel mechanical watch is a lovely and revered piece of hand craft, which like a bicycle enjoys veneration as an elegant, if "Way-Cool" analog gizmo. But for most, analog has been eclipsed by more efficient motorized/digital technologies.  I have one. (...A mechanical watch that is) -- But I have many more bicycles, and I love them all more or less equally. Within the gestalt of a beautiful thing, does the aesthetic matter much to it's long term appeal?, or does veneration bond at birth?

Cycling, In spite of Netflix's docuseries-veneration, remains an unpopular sport in the U.S..  Bicycling is perhaps never going to edge out golf nor nascar on your watch-list.  Although in fairness, the famed Madison Square Garden was purpose built as a Bicycle race track, and for The Bicycle Circus -- true story.
Americans are more likely to watch soccer (eew!), than they are to binge-watch the Tour de France.  There are literally tens of thousands of bike races which will never be seen, filmed, nor televised.  The "Grand Tours" get marginalized air play on "The Ocho", Or some other obscure "Outside Channel", if at all. (And in fairness, this is not because they are boring events, nor because they lack the je ne sais quoi of nascar).  Cyclists can turn right and turn left too... in the same race! -- And cyclists..., (they) shift their gears all by themselves, even today. They ride margins of centimeters, not feet or yards.  Their slip-stream is way cool to witness, actually, terrifying!


A J. Laverack's Aston Martin Bike is just as frightening, because it is elitist, gorgeous, and a poser icon, like a functional Guido-chain.. Something to be seen with, and not ridden.
Bicycles are now basically Collector's Items, with insane prices, and complications which defy logic.  The fact that they commemorate anything but a birthday, is every bit as bizarre as what brands align with them for street cred..
​
BUT, as far as momentum in sports-washing goes -- The Arabs are doing a bang-up job of authenticating themselves using cyclists, and cycling brands, in addition to stupid expensive wristwatches.  As disinterested fossil predation desecrates the graves of cycling legend, deep pockets exhume cycling's hard fought and sweaty authenticity to fill garage museums.

Flipping through Esquire's Thirty-some pages of mechanical watch ads this weekend -- A habit best beset upon a toilet -- Many Haut Horologers stroke ancient bejeweled  movements, deployment clasps, and beguiling skeletal case-backs over 18 pages of iconic watch ad's. Today's wealthy near-thirty-somethings try to crack their cliche-waspy exclusivity by dumping 20-30k on a tiny mechanical heartbeat for their wrist.  This bejeweled VIP wrist-band is proudly flaunted during the work week, and happy-hour -- A counterpoint to the rolled up sleeve flashing "full-sleeve" at Sunday Brunch.  Along the work-a-week's velvet ropes, roll a few stainless Submariners, e.g. The preferred wristband for club entry.
In Esquire, and often Vanity Fair,  (If you can still find a human written article wedged in the margins; Beside Tacky Cologne, Sleep Gadgets, Ab-flexors & $1200. Jeans), you may yet find the advice to become a man -- Provided you can follow instructions.  Readers will occasionally discover The tangential applique of iconic objets d' arte, in Horology to ignite nostalgic credibility.
In our fakest of  worlds, notable analog junk shapes our fleeting self-worth. Just as borrowing a brand's cult appeal makes blasé' homogeneity appear interesting, (if authentic) -- Wearing a tacky chronograph has become authenticity de rigeur.  Pretty periodicals promise droves of $Pateks.,  $Brietlings., occasional $Deus'., even a $VintageScout., to qualify in societal-man-scape. It is always lovely to possess a touch of cool-ass shit. Every fare of cool analog'ish stuff, could perhaps help one grope the braille of our fake world.  You can be sure an authentic Rolex will ink the litmus for Wasp-i-ness.  This began eons ago, and will continue ashes to ashes.
As it turns out, authenticity is fewer and farther between, than expected; And many will in fact need to pay for theirs. 
​
So it's no surprise, that You can now acquire an Aston Martin, Ferrari, Lamborghini or Porsche branded Bicycle, far cheaper than the Automobile.  This is nothing new.  [ I'll wait for the estate sale. By that time the value, and the cost will have tumbled.] ...So it is curious though, that within the same quarter, competing periodicals would witness a fervent up-tick in bicycle sports-washing.  Presently the J. Laverack Aston Martin Bicycle, leads the cost race,  followed by the Colnago Anniversary bike... But their new ad copy,  didn't directly try to sell me anything; just a logo, and a man posing with his bike.  This got me thinking about the 42 watch ads in one magazine, and what was wrong with me for not owning any of them. Like Bubble-gum flavored Juul vape pens... any iconic brand needs to work a touch harder, and earlier, tossing candy at "the cool kids". Any trust-funder who didn't dilate an ivy-league cervix, can leverage a bike or a wristwatch to get their name on the board.  The same kids will need to pony big-time dinero to purchase a Colnago Steelnovo Ltd. at roughly $22,000.  Considering the Ninety Year Old Iconoclast (Ernesto) built bikes for 70 plus years, and alas sold his company in 2020, without selling his soul -- Nearly anything he has touched, or bearing his name is now Gold.

As it turns out, authenticity is fewer and farther between, than expected. And many will in fact need to buy theirs.  3D Printed Stainless steel lugs smoothly seamed with custom drawn Columbus Stainless tubes can only come in a limited batch of 70, to celebrate the retirement of the Italian Master's Bicycle Co.  With an Arab's injection of frivolous cash, Colnago can now, (perhaps) outspend capitalist American's, and expand innovative reach.  Reborn, (as it would appear), upon the fossil'd backs of fuel sales -- An Iconic bicycle is born to celebrate the elegant clean burning human endeavor of mastering the Two-Wheeler. ​

Ernesto Colnago, a man so authentic that he opted NOT to follow his family into farming, but to wrench bikes on 15 Paris to Roubaix races. He'd built hundreds of wheels for the pros, and eventually built an empire of beautiful bicycles. To chase a dream well into ones nineties, without a fancy watch, is the stuff of legend. Sweater-clad Ernesto has no jewels per se', no tacky status timepiece, and no gaudy gold chain. Ernesto Colnago made an occasional gem, and even a few bikes of gold, but most importantly, he made whatever he'd dreamt of.

Colnago bikes would effect a revolution in European Bike making, pushing ever deeper into unique methods, wacky paint-jobs, and elaborate pantographs. Ernesto pioneered Carbon frame-building, disc-brakes. And many more examples came to life as exotic chrome lugged elaborations, with silly decals, and hand painted pin-striping. The Italian Masters (largely driven by Colnago) would force American bicycle makers in the 70's to match their innovation, or to push back with affordable, quiet "Ford-Like" ordinariness.

​As such, Trek Bicycle was born in a barn to deliver essentially the new lightweight, yet boring Schwinn. The counterpoint to flamboyant Italians, but a notch above Schwinn's sputtering out, against Murray, AMF, and Huffy (AKA, Cheap-Shit), Trek peddled plain colored, simple, and somewhat lightweight ten-speeds. And forty years hence, perhaps jumped the shark.

More often tacky Italian steel bicycles became synonymous with Colnago.  But  for his entire adult life, Ernesto brought Milan runway models down the paths, and cols of Europe and America.  Interestingly Colnago never stopped making bikes exactly the same way -- With passion.  By adhering tubes into cast lugs, Ernesto, a craftsman, and a huge proponent of cycling equity, won the Tour De France yet again, under the ridership of Tadej Pogacar.  Arguably the finest modern cyclist, Tadej handed Ernesto more than one major race before Ernesto chose to sell his namesake to Chimera Investments, from the UAE.  As the sun sets over the rolling hills of Cambiago, near Milan, Ernesto Colnago becomes a contented 90+ retiree, and also perhaps the most authentic and impassioned practitioner of modern bicycle craft ever.  Within Colnago's original factory beats the heart of perhaps the most renowned and dedicated advocate for Cycling.    So it is not surprising that when an Fossil meets a fossil-fuel Driven Arab firm, they are buying into brilliant moxie. Chimera had to act fast, and raise the ante, to beat out French fashion Agglomerate LVMH [Louis Vuitton Moet Hennessy SA] from pocketing another exceptional brand. What will remain to be discovered is IF the Arab firms choose to keep up the good work, or rather Trek-ify a "Rolex" brand built upon dreams, integrity, and grit -- to spin it off as vanilla Ford-ish quartz-driven throttle-bikes.

Before he sold his company mid-pandemic, Ernesto shared colorful comments about the big three 'Poser' Bicycle brands, noting their lack of substance, and (of course) "earnestness". "That California Brand", he'd accuse of chasing dollars, betraying buyers with misleading marketing, and cheap Asian products which fail.  He'd admired authenticity more than any character trait. Ernesto admired Tough and honest riders like Sagan. Sentimentally, and perhaps because Ernesto Colnago could smell bullshit clear across the ocean, He maintained as much control over his brand until, as patriarch, he alas let his baby go. The same year of the sale, Ernesto  watched Tadej Pogacar win the Tour De France aboard a Colnago. He repeated that this year. Today, (as in right now) a consumer can still buy Colnago's most venerated and perhaps iconic bicycle exactly as it has existed since the early 80's.  It is the Colnago Master, it is authentic, it is brand-spanking-new, It is retro, it is made of Italian steel.
If ridden properly, the Colnago Master says more about a man than any Rolex ever will...
​But then again... a Rolex Submariner is still rather cool,  (except perhaps not at brunch).

'Decivility' is what you get when you remove the curbs which demand so-called normalcy.
In Bowling (when the gutter is sealed off), you can roll the ball down the alley any way you wish, and hit some pins.  On the highway the rumble strip reminds drivers to put the phone down, just before rolling a half ton of sheet-metal into a ditch.  In restaurants and libraries, other citizens used to police civility, tranquility, manners, and decorum.
We No Longer Do That.
In the 1984 film "Ghost Busters", the surface streets move selfish and angry hustle & bustle atop the crust of terrestrial "normalcy" -- Beneath it...,  an underworld of suppressed slimy evil. A subterranean soup of mean, and nasty ghosts. Born from the sewers of this comedy, we'd learn about a 'Gatekeeper' of evil, (Sigourney Weaver) a 'Key-Master' (Rick Moranis) and some sodom-like underworld called Gozer, where a battery of evil seeps into our Laissez-faire life. Sigourney Weaver (sexy and demonic counterpoint to stereotypical red-devil evil), gyrates seductively above feeble humanity, poised to usher through a portal, humanity's ruin. Why?  because of humanity's mismanaged hubris. 
Anyway, Don't bother with the plotless sequels, because they are embarrassing and stupid.  This Original and campy talisman is an accurate prognostication of our modern decay. It is important to credit science-fiction for some, if not all of our most inventive plots, and modern creations, from the flip-phone, (Star Trek) to the personal watercraft & Jetpack, (James Bond) and from the iPad, A.I., & face-time, (2001 a Space Odyssey) -- Alas robots, Laser-beams, and vaccinations.  It is  also possible that quantum leaps in thinking, such as theories on relativity, and black holes, shape the path of many subsequent movements and revelations, and stagnate other processes ...Meaning that once we invent a magnificent thing... [Kurusawa] everyone jumps on that, to knock it off. [Thanks Quentin Tarantino]. Down this path we get newer and better versions, of the same old thing; but also dead-ends, and writers block. In the aura of refining something super cool, we often stop inventing new shit.
In Film, we stop writing new screenplays, preferring to make shitty sequels.  We become complacently, smugly content with our surety that we have done it all, occluded by just how cool that one gadget/film was.   It is likely that people's path (if linear) makes huge strides on the heels of momentous seemingly creative explosions, and then gets stumped a bit by glow of hubris.
If Idle Hands are The Devil's Workshop,        then why not print a ghost gun.

Beware of boredom, because: [boredom + the internet = bad outcomes]  A bad outfit, or wrong size shoe is the least of your concerns, especially when you can order a 3D printed firearm,  a bump-stock, or Bomb kit online.

As a system of thought, laissez-faire rests on the following axioms: "the individual is the basic unit in society, i.e., the standard of measurement in the social calculus; the individual has a natural right to freedom, if constant contentment; and the physical order of nature is a harmonious and self-regulating system, ad infinitum. If this sounds like the southern confederacy, well...White privilege was their thang.   I would argue that our chaotic timeline, which seems to ignore the present (as if the past will never exist) without us special individuals, is similar smugness. Hubris blinds us to consideration of how we may be regarded by the paths we choose, and just how we are steering history off the roadway. 

As all great fictions go, by the time the present catches up with the characters, its too fucking late.

Historians make terrible prophets, while some sporadic inventors may change our evolutionary path. As that goes -- With the exception of dictators, and criminals... People are fondly regarded in death, but barely (often badly) regarded in life. Throughout history, people at large simply didn't regard themselves quite as highly as they do today.  Presently, (certainly Americans) regard themselves as "Trust-Funders" ...sovereign  inheritors of the earth. Laissez-faire: "The standard of measurement in the social calculus; the individual has a natural right to freedom, if constant contentment"
In Ghost Busters, once the evil was un-sealed, it's own rage, and grotesque machinations bred more and more of the same slimy fuckers. That is..., the lesson here shows how leaving something to fester breeds broader infection, even a darker colored ooze.  And of course as all great fictions go, by the time the present catches up with the characters, its too fucking late. Individualism, unchecked by social mores becomes a hot mess rather rapidly.
Nothing occurs for a sleepy century, and then a century devolves in days.  Ghosts and ghouls come out of the wood-work, and they become normalized whilst we descend into darkness.  The Nazi's have their scape-goats, and American's have theirs.  Despicable, Dark, and Orange.

By this measure it would seem that just as sci-fi, invents all sorts of creative gadgets, and tools which become the tapestry of  modern convenience, from the Microwave to Airconditioning to a 3-D Printer... Catalyzing events like the death of an Arch Duke,  a Temple bombing, or the Death of a healthcare Exec., can and do change people, and thereby change our history. A dark-age set-back, in spite of our brilliant inventions often begins with clever boredom, feeling stuck,  and bad news.  Action, good or bad feels progressive. Curiously, during war-time lavish war inventions spike creativity -- Sadly most of these are destructive, with little pause afforded as antidote to our unwinding creative surge. Sounds like chaos? Or, simply because we are so wrapped up in moving our SUV's through time,  we don't consider it all occurring. The train we ride goes unnoticed beneath us as it passes through the smoldering landscape,  churning relative to the self merely as a lesson in quantum mechanics. Historically, a singular event which breaks the seal on congenial human social order such as a knee on a neck,  school shootings, assassinations, plagues, wars, invasions, and mass exile, had been few and far enough between as to be digestible.  Now these rush at us like a fourth season, 3-D,  dumb-shit cop show. Sequel after sequel of numbing horror. And when that's beaten to death, we birth a prequel. Tragedy, and disasters bend space-time of social order, so we get numb and dumb, rather than outraged.  In fact, so fucking many of these shitty events occur nowadays that we always under-react, when the next catastrophe hits.  Meanwhile beneath the surface of America's buildings & roads, a bubbling ooze warms the earth's crust, slime pressing upwards through grates to infect everyone.  This is the tipping point -- Our inflection point; and throughout history, fascinating writers and orators have told the same story while it unfolded.  While religions double down in orthodoxy. Not sage, nor seer, but practical theological observers, and social scientists, flag what is happening today as if skirting the back-side of some sleazy strip club... on the way to temple. Past this slippery slope, bumping down the back steps, sexy awfulness gains allegiants, without a way back. On the backside, taking any action feels good. The ride feels faster, freer, and easier, because we are unbound by anxiety, obligation, and peer pressure to conform. Everything is going to be just fine, right?

It used to be that removing the stones from parks and roads in and around the Gaza border, suppressed the temptation to toss one, escalating putative retaliation. Yet, ever inventive, and unbridled -- (we clever monkeys), can simply order some more rocks online.
Or perhaps 3D print some... Now Gaza is a wasteland.

Today's mail delivered pause to more than one CEO, or power broker for  imminent policy changes, and egregious profit taking. And so it comes to this.
​
There is no fiscal calculus which forgives Trump voters from voting for him. (Although they may claim messianic surety, The Dolt as protector from the "Deep State") The actual singular enrichment one can receive from a vulgar Narcissist nit-wit is to wallow in their shade, like a supplicant dog. Regardless of what has been said of revenge politics, here will come the imminent pile-on of regretful voters. ("Don't blame me I voted for X") They've only picked Mr. Despicable to normalize the privilege of behaving badly.  Soon these clever supplicants will lose their Healthcare, Disability, V.A. hospitals, Mental health care, Medicare, Medicaid, Vitamin Fortified Sugared cereal, Vaccinations, Hot-Pockets, Insulin, Baby Formula, Safe Drugs, Organics, Clean water, Breathable air, and Cheap Gas... All in exchange for being able to treat each-other like shit without civilized people holding them to account.  The ONLY reason anyone really voted for Trump is to grant themselves impunity -- The license to be base without someone 'Woke' calling them out.
What then happens when the wimpy ones seek revenge against their bully? A fundamental part of that script is writ where bad guys look like bad guys, adorned with all sorts of belligerent affect, the smell, the chewed fingernails, and even the hardened gizz of a serial 'criminal'.  ... But what to make of the quiet ones; The clean-cut killers?

At Thanksgiving, my smug-fuck legal clerk nephew murmured under his paralytic bourbon stupor that, "Trump Only won because (stupid) Democrats persecuted him..." "...They should have left him alone; He'd have gone away", he mumbled.  This trope resuscitated since (well) forever about and by every single privileged angry white-man-baby, every school shooter, every Capital Storm-trooper, every Rifle-toting Militia member, every racist temple shooter, every lunatic bomber,  wannabe gubernatorial kidnapper, and every secessionist back & before Harrison left office -- is bogus. Media does this fictive gift wrap to invent understanding of american sociopaths, and lunatics who act very very badly, because we need to fit some Hollywood mold, while some (nay most) secretly envy their freedom.
​America's 'construct' packages 'crazy' as if everything had some educated if reasonable cause. The nature of psychotherapy seeks to "understand" by packaging every behavioral outcome. And... as David Brooks would have you understand Insecure LAME-ASS threatened white privilege has been crowded out by happy free-love confident 'woke' young people, without body shame, or shame whatsoever... who conveniently don't vote en-masse. Most angry white males, and nearly as many bitter females super-duper resent those without an axe to grind.  Today, if you cannot name someone ("fucking Obama") who'd prevented you from stardom, then you are definitely one of "them Liberals".
Two Months ago, at the Denver airport, a clutch of Confederates from Charlotte were awaiting their oversized golf clubs at the Carousel.  One of them in boisterous oratory, blaming Obama for how long they'd have to wait for their bags.  For real..., and two more golfers chimed in with assertions about how he was (still) running the current administration.  Yeesh!
Swimming upstream against inebriated rosy Man-taliation, comes the wimpy kid, in a sea of apathetic blue dots. In a fair-wage liberalism where everyone who wants a job has one, and everyone gets a medal for showing up; Where slackers get a 25% tip whether they perform or not; because their bosses want them off the books. We have squandered social mores (s'mores) and broken our shameless republic by outsourcing it to authoritarians'.  When the expectation to behave is gone -- Beware the silent minority who get fed up. 

"This week, all the innerwebs were ablaze with women celebrating just, "... how handsome that one new shooter guy is."  "I know right?" ...Well, it's not your grandfather's postal shooter -- If the Post office even survives government cuts. The archetype of going postal these days is the same despicable act, but (well) also handsome? (and buff). A cyclist with a strong jawline who'd exacted vengeance upon yet another greedy twat tyrant.
   If "Going Postal" now means handsome young liberal cyclists, exacting revenge against the One percenters... then we have piqued. This too is what they voted for.  The revolution began with the first blundered shot, and Trump won just because someone missed his head, then hold steady liberal america. If today the Kids rollin' around on e-bikes are practiced shots out for blood, Then we are going to truly take the gloves off well through 2030. Whoever the unremarkable suspect to take the rap for this and whatever boring manner they are apprehended -- there will be far stranger (if telling) remarks which frame him as noteworthy; "He ruined his whole life", "He Fulfilled his destiny", "He got his man", "Thank you", "He's Awful", "Despicable", "He is my hero", "This is what he wanted to do." The shooter simply wanted him dead, and likely regrets "having to take care of that", for everyone else, "...Your welcome".
To die for something, or in the least to spend one's natural life in prison, for such a cause is noteworthy in the vacuum of social apathy today. Everyone piles on after the event occurs, but very few work to change it's trajectory.  Anyway, with or without internet fans, the die is now struck for many more so called handsome assassin's to skulk out of the shadows, and settle a grievance with a corrupt collapsing system -- And this one,  is also not Obama's fault.