It’s interesting how little empathy we expect of people in general, maybe, but especially elected officials. It’s interesting how an ordinary wanker like D. Trump, a fat imbecile nourished for his entire life on corporate welfare, isn’t excoriated, if not to say tar-and-feathered, for proposing that more senior citizens and children should starve in the United States.
The meager federal benefits available to truly needy people, despite being neoliberally curtailed under previous administrations, are once again under attack, this time by a man whose family should reap billions of dollars in tax benefits from the same budget he proposes. Is that a problem?
Should this budget be passed, Ivanka Trump will literally able to afford more mink toilet paper that she will have paid for by not giving some poor kids some vegetables (as the U.S. throws away 40% of the food we produce). Is that OK?
Tell me: how do these monsters sleep at night, really? Is it really heavy pharmaceuticals or something? Because I’d be bothered. But I don’t see any evidence that the lack of empathy isn’t because everyone in the Trump family isn’t simply like, IQ 50-71. As I understand Occam’s Razor, that’s probably the explanation. I’m surprised how few people in the press have caught on, but the press hasn’t been very smart recently either.
“The Budget also proposes to re-balance the Federal/State partnership in SNAP benefits
to low-income households by gradually establishing a State match for benefit costs, phasing in from a national average of 10 percent in 2020 to 25 percent, on average by 2023″
That’s what’s known as abdication; failure to fulfill a responsibility or duty. That means, within a decade, in spite of a growing population, the Federal Government gives $191,000,000,000 less in food support to needy individuals. Maybe the States will feed some of those people instead. Who knows? Probably not.
The budget will also consider “new flexibilities to allow States to establish locally appropriate benefit levels.” That sentence is a small car full of clowns, right there.
Here’s a second winning proposition: Do you own a grocery store? Would you like to accept SNAP, so that low-income people have a way to purchase your products? The proposed budget will charge businesses a periodic SNAP acceptance “authorization/reauthorization fee…ranging from $250 for the smallest firms, such as small convenience stores, to as much as $20,000 for the largest retailers, such as super-centers and large supermarket chains. Retailers would pay the fee each time they are authorized or reauthorized.”
Nice! That’s a special fee on just those businesses that serve poor people.
OK, one more thing. He’d also like to cap food benefits regardless of family size. You ended up with eight kids after your sister & husband died and your abusive spouse left his exes’ kids with you? You can have the same amount of food as a family of six.
Sure, this is just the proposed budget. These are bargaining chips, this is just a threat, these are just the dreams of a pig, and a nightmare for his favorite targets: defenseless people, abandoned by the country they built, hard-working people who simply can’t afford the price of government advocates in this stinkin’ plutocracy.
Did I mention that the budget has a $52,800,000,000 increase in defense spending for 2018? Priorities: Luxuries for the loaded, not produce for the poor. Endless bombs, no bread.
You were naked, wet, primeval, beautiful by jungle pool
And I offered what I’d made with crudely fashioned tools
Strange nights by that strange new fire
As the crescent moon rose higher
Golden were your oiled shoulders under the Egyptian sun
I served you hauling boulders and was crushed when bearing one
Peaceful in in the sand infernal
For your glory was eternal
Once, in silks, you waved farewell as I rode to the crusades
And I screamed your name and charged on unbeliever’s blades
I was true to you, by hell:
I’m not that kind of infidel
I recall you were resplendent when they tried you as a witch
And I loved you, independent of your philters in my dish
I could not break the stockade’s bond
To save you from the ducking pond
I remember at Versailles, in that bergère chair
Your powdered wigs & perfumes, and all that underwear
The worst thing was we never wed
We simply went and lost our heads
On ancient evenings, in ancient times
I would have wooed you with silvered rhymes
I would have sung you this ancient song
Our days are precious, the night is long
Kukla, Frankenstein and Olives? The olives aren’t obvious, but that might have been where my subconscious was going.
1. Not “I-75.” It’s the CHRYSLER FREEWAY if you’re motorvatin’ between Downtown Detroit and Pontiac, or the FISHER FWY from Downtown Detroit on Downriver
2. Ain’t “I-94″ that goes East to Port Huron and West to Chicago. It’s the EDSEL FORD FWY
3. It’s not “I-96 ” that comes out of Downtown and heads for Brighton, Lansing and points West, It’s the JEFFRIES (alternately known as the ROSA PARKS for the 3 miles between Ford Rd. and the Fisher Freeway, more recently)
4. It’s not “I-696″ running parallel to 11 Mile Road between I-275 and the Edsel Ford, It’s the WALTER P. REUTHER FWY.
5. It’s not “M-10.” It’s the JOHN C. LODGE
6. It’s not “M-8.” It’s the DAVISON
7. It’s not “M-39.” It’s the SOUTHFIELD FWY
…if you refer to TELEGRAPH as US-24, Le Nain Rouge will bite off your kneecaps
Pretty dark for sunbathing, isn’t it? Lost in the 1950’s collage-style forest, nude but for a red book (Jungian reference). Great Cardinal logo, too.
I wish they hadn’t kneecapped her with the byline.
Sample simile: “He had a size 20 neck, fists like large beef roasts, and arms like legs.”
Shell Scott, L.A. P.I., sure gets beat up a lot, acts like an haplessly oversexed Bichon Frise around beautiful Hollywood Starlets and engages in some Spillane-Level messy violence, but he’s a delightful cut-up:
Doctor Clark said, smiling, “Oh, you’re a doctor?”
“Not exactly.” I grinned. “Sometimes I patch up problems. But my operations are usually, well, sort of unusual. You might call me one of the unorthodocs.”
I haven’t yet come to the scene where the 70’s girl in the bikini perches on the coffin with a machine gun, but I am looking forward to it. That kind of iconic scene is what sells 40 million books
Not a TERRIBLE Mike Shayne Mystery, although, spoiler, evil abortionists.
Mike Shayne, Miami P.I., has red hair and is therefore short-tempered, and he drinks cognac, which gives you differentiation in the bar scene. The broad depicted on the cover is described inside as having blonde ringlets, so it’s not a PERFECT representation for this book, but a pretty perfect cover for something.
Sample simile: “Hands the size of picnic hams” -bothers me because of ham/hand is slant-homonymous, but I appreciate how it doesn’t overshoot to Dinner-Ham-Sized Hands, which would be ridiculous.
Two highball glasses? This is what happens when you fall down the 12 steps.