1984 Revisited — Doubleplusscary

orwell-1984-propaganda

Last year, I taught 1984 for the first time in decades, and when I finished, I slapped together a blog post to provide inexperienced teachers with an overarching plan to teach the novel.  I figured that this post would receive scant attention, given its small target audience: however, it has received 1,378 “views” since May.  Many more than far more brilliant posts like “Kafkaesque Security Questions,” (93) “Why I Ain’t Inviting Jesus to My Fantasy Dinner,” (101) and “What Kind of STD Are You?” (58)

How come?

Because, believe it or not, Orwell’s 68-year-old novel is now a very hot commodity.  It hit number #1 on the bestsellers’ list on January 25th, and today, April 4th, several art movie houses around the country are re-screening the 1985 film adaptation starring John Hurt and Richard Burton.[1]

Fake News Outlet CNN attributes the sudden spike in sales to Kellyanne Conway’s coinage of the phrase “alternative facts” when aiding and abetting Sean Spicer’s contention that the Trump Inauguration crowd was larger than Obama’s.  Indeed, both “alternative facts” and “fake news” embody the Orwellian concept of doublethink.

Doublethink is essentially paradox, a mental action in which inherent contradictions in a concept cast equal doubt on the antithetical alternatives that make up the concept. Here’s a description of the protagonist, Winston Smith, thinking about how to begin his diary.

His mind hovered for a moment round the doubtful date on the page, and then fetched up with a bump against the Newspeak word doublethink. For the first time the magnitude of what he had undertaken came home to him.  How could you communicate with the future?  It was of its nature impossible.  Either the future would resemble the present, in which case it would not listen to him, or it would be different from it, and his predicament would be meaningless.

Essentially doublethink results in confusion, if not paralysis.  Doubt is cast upon who and/or what to believe.

For example, the propagandist Trump organ Fox News, whose Orwellian tagline is “fair and balanced,” provides the President with “alternative facts” so that he declares any story with which he disagrees to be be “Fake News.”  Truth = lies, and lies = truth.

In other words, “Ignorance Is Strength.”

Meanwhile, Russian bots assume avatars on social media claiming to be Christian patriots who in turn disseminate “information” on Twitter and Facebook that Hillary Clinton is abducting, then cannibalizing, unvaccinated babies.

Vaccinations Are Doubly Deadly.

President Trump awards his Appalachian voters by allowing coal mining companies to dump slag in their streams.

Pollution Is Healthy.

An Intelligence Committee chair investigating the White House sneaks into the White House and receives classified information and returns to the White House the next day to share that information with the White House.

What Goes Around Comes Around/Treason Is Patriotic.

It’s doubleplusscary!


[1] Both, alas, now exiled to “that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns.”  By the way, 4 April 1984 is the day Wilson Smith begins his diary.

The First Sixty or So Days: A Speed Freaky Presidency

Too bad Donald Trump’s not bipolar — and I mean that for his own sake and for all of our sakes. No shit!

If he were bipolar, his manic jags would be offset by subterranean descents into despair that would inevitably slow him down. He’d retreat into his gold-plated cocoon and contemplate something besides the immediate, something weightier than big deals and the day-to-day. Who knows, maybe he would ponder the cycle of birth and death, the universality of suffering, or the arc of history rather than the latest Nielsen ratings of The Apprentice.

Here’s something we all can agree on, Democrats and Republicans alike, the POTUS needs to chill.

Let’s face it: the first sixty-six days of his presidency have been fraught with way too much hyperactivity, way too much drama. Not to put too fine of a point on it, so far the Trump Administration has been sort of like a quick cut episode of Sesame Street co-directed by John Walters and David Lynch.

The mere number of newsworthy incidents is overwhelming, exhausting. In early February, John Marshall put it best when he wrote about “the third week of [Trump’s] decades long presidency.”

If you think I’m exaggerating, here’s an abbreviated timeline.

20 January 2017

Looking out over the mall during the oath of office, Trump sees people as far as the eye can see. “Wow, this crowd is tremendous,” he thinks, “it’s got to be the biggest inauguration crowd in history.” After the ceremony, checking Twitter for rave revues of the ceremony, he runs across AP’s aerial photographic comparison of crowd sizes of his versus Obama’s 2008 inauguration. He claims subterfuge, the photos were doctored, etc. A tweet storm ensues.

In other news, flanked by lots of older white people, he signs a flurry of retrogressive executive orders.

He lies about the weather.

Looks as if 1017 could use a combover (image source Fortune magazine)

21 January 2017

Sean Spicer, press secretary, debuts as a spineless disseminator of demonstratively false statements, reviving the role of Baghdad Bob for a reluctant Washington press corps.

Speaking of crowds, 4, 000,000 people worldwide, including 500, 000 in DC, march in protest of the President of the United States. Bad!

Meanwhile, Trump travels to CIA headquarters and delivers a brazen political speech in front of a memorial for fallen CIA heroes, which, not surprisingly, fails to endear him to those same folks he had earlier in the campaign called Nazis.

23 January 2017

Makes delusional claim of thousands illegally voting to rob him of the popular vote victory. In a rare instance of bipartisanship, both Democratic and Republican leaders debunk the claim.

24 January 2017

Signs executive orders restarting construction of the Dakota pipeline and mandating that only domestic steel be used in its construction.

25 January 2017

Issues an executive order to begin construction of a wall on the US/ Mexican border. Doesn’t answer my tweet suggesting we create signage for the wall that states, ‘Malos hombres y hombrettes no son bienvenidos.”

27 January 2017

At the Pentagon signs the Bannon/Miller “crafted” executive order[1] suspending the Refugee Admissions Program for seven predominantly Muslim countries with whom he doesn’t do business.

29 January 2017

Authorizes the Yakla raid in Yemen that results in the deaths of Navy Seal Ryan Owens, fourteen members of Al-Qaeda, and “between 16-59 Yemeni or other nationality civilian casualties.”[2] Trump explains away the less than ideal outcome: “[The generals] came to me, they explained what they wanted to do ― the generals ― who are very respected, my generals are the most respected that we’ve had in many decades, I believe. And they lost Ryan.”[3]

30 January 2017

Fires acting Attorney General Sally Yates for not enforcing the “Muslim refugee ban.”

31 January 2017

Nominates Neal Gorsuch to replace Merrick Garland Antonin Scalia. Trump doesn’t make an ass out of himself, and his behavior is declared “Presidential” by Fake News outlet CNN.

1 February 2017

Discusses refugee policy with Australian PM Malcolm Turnbill.[4] It’s not clear who slammed the phone down on whom. At any rate, Un-Fake News site Wikipedia refers to the call as “truncated.”

2 February 2017

At the National Prayer Breakfast facetiously asks attendees to beseech the Lord to help Arnold Schwarzenegger’s sagging ratings of The Apprentice. The joke goes over like a delivery of catered ham sandwiches to a Bar Mitzvah reception.

3 February 2017

Judge James Robart of the Ninth Circuit Court blocks Trump’s “Muslim Ban” order. Trump rails against judiciary. Supreme Court nominee Gorsusch calls the outburst “troubling.”

9 February 2017

Federal appeals panel unanimously rejects Trump appeal to reinstate the travel ban from those seven predominately countries with whom he doesn’t do business. Although the ban’s hasty implementation had been predicated on national security, the Administration decides to take a couple of extra weeks to get the damned thing right.

11 February 2017

Plays golf at the Winter, Southern Every Weekend White House (aka Mar-a-Lago) with Japanese PM Shinzo Abe where they discuss (in descending order) the “future of the world, the future of the region, the future of Japan, and the future of the United States.”

During a luncheon in the public dining area of the resort, Trump learns that North Korea has test-launched a missile.

According to Fake-News source CNN:

As Mar-a-Lago’s wealthy members looked on from their tables, and with a keyboard player crooning[5] in the background, Trump and Abe’s evening meal quickly morphed into a strategy session, the decision-making on full view to fellow diners, who described it in detail to CNN.

13 February 2017

Absent-minded “Lock-Her-Up” cheerleader General Michael Flynn resigns after forgetting to mention that he did after all have contact with Russian ambassador Sergey Kislvak even though he had VP Mike Pence swear up and down to the American people that he hadn’t. Later it would also come out that the absent-minded general also forgot to mention he had registered as a foreign agent for Turkey.

15 February 2017

Reince Priebus asks FBI Deputy Director Andrew McCabe to put the kibosh the story that Trump associates have “been in regular communication with Russian agents.”

16 February 2017

In marathon news conference Trump brands the media as “the enemy,” disavows any contact of his people with Russian agents, and declares that the official colors of the American flag are red, white, and tangerine. Repeatedly uses the term “fake news.”[6]

18 February 2017

Holds a “campaign style” rube rally in Melbourne, Florida, to raise his testosterone levels.

28 February 2017

Buzz Feed releases British intelligence agent Christopher Steele’s dossier on Trump, which contains titillating tidbits like Trump paid a prostitute to urinate on a bed Obama and Michelle had slept in, but also claims that Trump’s associates had “regular contact with Russian agents.”

Trump gives his first state of the union address, a speech lauded as “presidential” by Washington Post Fake News critic Chris Cilllizza.

In that speech, Trump suggests that dead Navy Seal Ryan Owens is “happy” because bringing his widow out during the address got Trump the longest ovation of the evening.

1 March 2017

DOJ confirms that Attorney General Jeff Sessions twice met with Russian Ambassador Sergey Kislyak during the campaign.

What, me worry?

2 March 2017

White House confirms that powerful don-in-law[7] Jared Kushner also met with – guess who — Russian Ambassador Sergey Kislyak.

4 March 2017

Unsupervised at the Every Weekend White House, Trump accuses “sick” President Obama of wiretapping his campaign.

8 March 2017

Paul Ryan, who has been dreaming off punishing poor people since drinking out of a keg at U of Miami, Ohio, begins drafting a replacement bill for Obamacare.

10 March 2017

Trump intimate Roger Stone admits he’s had contact with nefarious Russian hacker Grucifer 2.0.

13 March 2017

White House asks for delay in providing evidence for claim that Obama wiretapped Trump Tower. 

14 March 2017

Chairman of the House Judiciary Committee Rep. Deven Nunes reports no evidence of Trump Tower wiretapping.

15 March 2017

Rube rally in Nashville to raise testosterone levels.

16 March 2017

Baghdad Bob sound-alike Sean Spicer accuses the British Spy agency of colluding with Obama to spy on Trump.

British upper lips not all that stiff upon hearing the accusation. 

17 March 2017

Trump celebrates St. Paddy’s day by refusing to shake German Chancellor Angela Merkel’s hand.

18 March 2018

Golf at the Every Weekend White House.

20 March 2017

At House Intelligence Committee Hearing FBI Director Comey debunks Obama wiretap accusation; NSA Adm. Mike Rogers debunks charge that US asked British intelligence to spy on Trump. Comey spills the beans that indeed there is a criminal investigation of possible collusion between Russia and the Trump campaign to undermine the US election.

Sean Spicer says the Committee Hearing has established there has been no coordination between the Russians and the Trump campaign. Stands by wiretapping allegation.

* * *

Okay, I’m done. Just let me add that in two months time, the Trump Presidency has is already embroiled in a scandal that makes Teapot Dome look like a parking infraction.

I say, let’s get the POTUS a scrip for some downers.

 

[1] The shoddiness of the document brings to mind my least favorite teacher comment ever on my writing: “Obviously a rush job and not a particularly clever one at that.” George Geckle, PhD. Ouch!

[2] Wikipedia (the lazy bloggers go-to info source)

[3] Note they, not we.

[4] Not to be confused with the PG Wodehouse character of the same name.

[5] I’m dying to know what he was crooning. “Feelings?” “I Gotta Be Me?” “Horst-Wessel-Lied?”

[6] By the way, I slipped some real fake news in that paragraph. Can you find it?

[7] Not a typo

Lord Buckley Seance

lord-buckley-seance

Et Tu, Breitbart

 

Milo,

Simon Sez,

You gotta go.

 

See you at CPAC.

Uh-oh!

The ol’ heave-ho?

 

Canned?

Banned?

Spited?

Disinvited?

 

First Amendment

Infringement?

 

I don’t think so.

There’s some danger

in being an asshole.

Fine-Tuned Machine

Fine-tuned machine

My ass!

Administration

sputtering

like a

tubercular

lawnmower,

hacking away

day after day

loud as a

vodka-fueled

leaf blower

as well-oiled as this here

mixed metaphor.

Deplorable!

Talking EPA Blues

Poison the atmosphere,

Poison the sea,

Soon you gonna be poisoning

Little ol’ me.

 

The Finale of Seem

 

trump-mao

Dig this tweet:

In less “pressing” news, PBS is on the budgetary chopping block. No more subversive Big Bird, no more Cassandra-shrill Nature/Nova predictions of planetary catastrophe, no more analytical News Hour, no more Masterpiece Theater, no more Ken Burns.

Let’s sing, all together now, “Don’t Take Me Out to the Ballpark.”

And how much will we save by eliminating PBS? $1.50 per taxpayer. Pennywise, for sure!

Meanwhile, well-compensated Secret Service agents guard Trump’s fine-lacquered sons as they open a “world class golfing resort” this weekend in Dubai.   Back home in the USA, the Treasury is forking out a half-a-million a day to guard a high profile plagiarist in a glittering tower. One of the enemies-of-the-people who works at the Washington Post estimates that these Winter Southern White House Mar-a-Lago weekends run about 3 million dollars. Money well spent, for sure.!

I’m beginning to think electing a pussy-grabbing president starved for adulation who shares more in common with Kim Jong-Un than he does with Jeb Bush wasn’t a very good idea. It’s month now, and we don’t have a National Security Advisor.

As Bob Dylan once crooned, “Wow-we, pretty scary.”

Oops, wait. My muse, Euphonia Laquacia Doggerel, has a delivery. I’ll be right back.

The Emperor of Tangerine

Watch the prevaricator,

The tangerine-tinted one,

Gesticulating upon the stage

Whipping up whoppers

For his white supremacist base.

“The lying Press is Public-Enemy #1!”

Rave on, Dear Leader, rave on

You gonna end up like Al Capone.

Let be be finale of seem

The only emperor is the Emperor of Tangerine.

 

I had a professor, Dr. Ashley Brown, who knew Ezra Pound, who knew Wallace Stevens, and Dr. Brown once told me I was no Wallace Stevens.

Be that as it may, Trump ain’t exactly original with his press=enemy-of-the-people-proclamation.

Dig these blasts from the past:

trump-mao

stalin_trump

hitler-trump

By the way, there’s a special election in the 6th District of Georgia this April.  Here’s something we can do to help undo: http://www.dailykos.com/story/2017/1/28/1626607/-Want-to-do-something-right-now-Then-donate-to-this-Democrat-running-in-a-House-special-election

The Physiognomy of Trump’s Inner Circle

looking_wrong_way_900x506

Over her lifetime, my mother, bless her soul, accumulated an abundance of spurious wisdom based on a combination of unscientific observation and intuition. Sometimes she’d have forebodings and forbid me from doing rather pedestrian things like riding my bike home from the gas station where a flat tire had been patched. “No, I just have this awful, awful feeling,” she’d say. “Something’s bad’s going to happen if you ride that bike.” In other words, I was doomed to be flattened by an 18-wheeler or smack into a tree and spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair. So we’d cram the bike in the back seat and drive on home.

Undoubtedly, her sense of doom has contributed to my rather pessimistic view of the world. You know, irrational thoughts like thinking your team’s going to lose the Super Bowl even though they’ve racked up in the third quarter an insurmountable lead the likes of which has never been overcome in a half-century of Super Bowls.

Sometimes, though, I think Mama did hit the mark with her unscientific conclusions — for example, her contention that time etches people’s ultimate personalities onto their faces by their habitually assuming certain telltale expressions, e.g., the angry, scowling malcontent’s mouth carving a perpetual frown, the bland sweet matron’s pleasant expression blanking away wrinkles —  the equivalent of the warning I received as a young child that my “face was going to stick like that” if I kept making grotesque faces.

[Warning: Neck-breaking Segue]

Just for the hell of it let’s take my mother’s theory and apply it to President Trump’s closest advisors.

Ladies, first. Kellyanne Conway.

Okay, I know I’m pulling a Trump here, criticizing a woman’s looks, but I’m not saying Kellyanne’s unattractive, just that she looks mean.  She’s a brittle-looking 49 to me, and no doubt being the target of so much ridicule will only harden her more, turning sinister those ersatz smiles aimed at the cameras of MSNBC.  Perhaps once she possessed a “sunny disposition” but something has soured it.  Working for Trump can’t be good for your soul.

To me she looks like she could be the illegitimate daughter of Phyllis Diller, though without Diller’s self-deprecating wit – a commodity that seems to be lacking across the board among Trump and his staff.

phyllis-conway

I’d cast Kellyanne as the wicked stepmother in the Snow Whites of New Jersey.

As far as looks go, I think Steve Bannon comes off as the coolest.  I like the way his abundant whipped-back hair sometimes falls in his eyes.  He’d, make a great character in a Tennessee Williams play, the rugged terrain of his face blotted with gin-blossoms, his eyes puffy, his spinal fluid pumping white supremacy.

 

CLEVELAND, OH - JULY 20: Stephen K. Bannon looks at his computer to see who will be the next caller he will talk to while hosting Brietbart News Daily on SiriusXM Patriot at Quicken Loans Arena on July 20, 2016 in Cleveland, Ohio. (Photo by Kirk Irwin/Getty Images for SiriusXM)

Banner’s the absolute opposite of Mitt Romney – disheveled, disorganized, paunchy, atheistic, hungover.*  Sure, he’s evil, but if I had to have 10 beers with one of these dark apostles, he’s be the one I’d choose.

nosferatu-1922-003-max-schreck-00m-kgk

Would definitely choose him over Steven Miller.  I don’t know a thing about Steven Miller, who supposedly works hand on hand with Bannon, but certainly he and Nosterafu share a common ancestor.  His vulture-like demeanor precludes the possibility of empathy.

miller

Then there’s Reince Preibus.

Reince Priebus

I predict he’ll age in warp speed like Abe Lincoln.  Like, I say, working for Trump’s toxic.


*Full disclosure:  *Psychologically it could be that I’m projecting my own self-description on Bannon the way that Trump kept calling Hillary crooked.

Why Paul Ryan Should Read Flannery O’Connor

book-cover

“As far as I am concerned,” she said and glared at him fiercely, Christ was just another D.P.”

Mrs. May to Father Flynn in Flannery O’Connor’s “The Displaced Person”

 

The most heartbreaking of all Flannery O’Connor’s stories, “The Displaced Person,” seems particularly poignant given the ban on Muslim refugees instated last weekend.[1] Set right after WW2, the story dramatizes the attempted assimilation of a Polish refugee into bigoted backwoods Georgia.

As David Griffith points out in his excellent essay on the story in The Paris Review:

O’Connor takes her title from the Displaced Persons Act, which, between 1948 and 1952, permitted the immigration of some four hundred thousand European refugees into the United States. President Truman signed the bill with “very great reluctance” for what he saw as its discriminatory policy toward Jews and Catholics: the Act stipulated that, in order to be eligible, one must have entered Germany, Italy, or Austria before December 22, 1945, which, according to Truman, ruled out 90 percent of the remaining Jewish people displaced by the war. Similarly excluded were the many Catholics who’d fled their largely Communist countries after the December 22 deadline.

“The bad points of the bill are numerous,” Truman wrote. “Together they form a pattern of discrimination and intolerance wholly inconsistent with the American sense of justice.” He called the decision to enforce the December 1945 deadline “inexplicable, except upon the abhorrent ground of intolerance.”

In the story, O’Connor’s displaced person’s work ethic so far exceeds that of the slothful, under-compensated blacks and whites who work on Mrs. May’s farm that he threatens their livelihoods. Worse than that, he violates Southern taboo of racial purity when tries to contract a marriage between a black field hand and his young Polish cousin languishing in a camp back home.

When an outraged Mrs. May confronts Mr. Guizac about the proposed interracial marriage — “You would bring [that] poor innocent child over here and try to marry her to a half-witted thieving black stinking nigger” — he says quite sensibly, “She no care black [. . .] She in camp three year.”

In the end, xenophobia and bigotry triumph over charity as the displaced person – the one good man to be found in that collection called A Good Man Is Hard to Find – is done away with.

She had felt her eyes and Mr. Shortley’s eyes and the Negro’s eyes come together in one look that froze in collusion forever, and she heard the little noise the Pole made as the tractor wheel broke his backbone.

* * *

Obviously, refugees rank as some of the planet’s most vulnerable souls, driven from their homelands — from their familiar cultures — into alien worlds of gibberish, incomprehensible mores, and worse.

The refugees turned away this weekend had undergone as much as 48 months of vetting from several agencies and pose virtually no terrorism threat whatsoever. No one from the banned countries has ever committed a terrorist attack on US soil – unlike citizens from Saudi Arabia, Lebanon, and Pakistan, who weren’t included in the ban, people from countries where Trump has business interests.

Imagine the refugees’ heartache after so much suffering, boarding a plane headed for their dreamed of destination, only to be turned away and sent on a long, long flight back to perdition.

Of course, it’s not surprising that the sadist Trump would shatter the hopes of the dispossessed to score political points. After all, as many have pointed out, he’s cruel, hosted a reality TV show in which he lovingly embraced the chance to humiliate people with the words “you’re fired.” No one would expect him to take refugees’ plights to heart.

On the other hand, you might think Paul Ryan, who embraces his Catholicism the way Steve Bannon does his booze, would take Jesus’s words more to heart. But Ryan has come out fully supporting the ban.

I’ll let Jesus – the ultimate Displaced Person – have the last say:

Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven. (Matthew 5:3)
Blessed are those who mourn: for they will be comforted. (5:4)
Blessed are the meek: for they will inherit the earth. (5:5)
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness: for they will be filled. (5:6)
Blessed are the merciful: for they will be shown mercy. (5:7)
Blessed are the pure in heart: for they will see God. (5:8)
Blessed are the peacemakers: for they will be called children of God. (5:9)
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. (5:10)
Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven is great, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you. .5:11-12

Oh, by the way, what was the percentage of evangelists’ votes Trump garnered?


[1] The Trump’s claim that it’s not a ban on Muslims rings hollow when the administration offers exemptions to Christians and Jews.

tissot-the-lords-prayer

Free Melania

patti-trump

I had never heard of Melania Trump before her husband ran for president.  When I saw her descending that fateful escalator the night he announced his candidacy, I dismissed her as a gold-digger willing to exchange booty for fabulous wealth.  However, now after the first few days of this administration, I see her in a different, more sympathetic light, as someone brow-beaten into marrying that brutish, boorish buffoon.[1]

What a wretched life she must lead.  Imagine sharing a bed with Trump. His snoring, I bet, could provide a convincingly horrid soundtrack for Dante’s Inferno.[2]  Let’s face it, sleeping with Donald Trump, eating breakfast with Donald Trump, listening day in and day out to Donald Trump bloviating about how fucking wonderful he is has got to get really old really fast.

I’d rather be sentenced to 20 years riding on Disney’s “It’s a Small World.”

small-world-copy

Melania’s Wiki bio makes it sound as if she had a stage mom, given that the future First Lady’s modeling career began at age five. Having a stage mom is bad enough, but having one in the former Yugoslavia certainly must have made it worse. Imagine coming home after an exhausting shoot to a dingy self-contained living unit in a soulless Soviet era high-rise lined up like a domino along the diesel stench of a poorly maintained highway. Plus, her old man was a Marxist-Lenin fanatic, which is probably just as bad (or worse) than being reared by a fanatical Christian evangelist.

If beauty were her ticket out, who dare blame her? Sure, she could have stayed in Milan and married a calcio[3] star, but certainly the lure of New York would be hard to resist.

* * *

Wiki claims she met the future president at a Fashion Week party where she refused to give the lout her phone number because he had another date (or perhaps because he resembled a mutated, bulbous tangerine sporting a hairstyle that a Teddy Boy might find outrageous).

 

 

Teddy Boy

Teddy Boy

Eventually, she gave in – imagine the relentless badgering she must have endured – and for a while she had the good sense to break off the relationship after it had started. But let’s face it, Donald always gets what he wants — if you don’t count the respect of Hollywood or the intelligentsia or at the present moment, 55% of the US population.

No doubt you’ve witnessed her daily humiliations, and if you haven’t, allow me to share two telltale images.

gracious husband

gracious husband

happy couple

happy couple

Not surprisingly, #FreeMelanie is now a meme on Facebook and Twitter, and I think her escape from the White House could make a killer pulp thriller if you changed the names and set it in the future. You could have her fall in love with a secret service agent or kidnapped like Patty Hurst and go rogue by helping her abductors knock off unqualified cabinet members.

Or how about a Greek tragedy with a CNN panel serving as a chorus?

Certainly, there’s a budding Dostoyevsky out there who could capture her feline Slavic beauty and concoct some redemption for her suffering in a 600-page novel.

I personally don’t know – and I’m serious – any sane woman who would trade places with her.


[1] I realize the too-too muchness of that relentless B-alliteration, its amateurish boom boom, but, people, I’m trying to echo Trump’s own crudity and amateurishness, so give me a break!

[2] For the sake of your and my own sanity, I’ll spare us a description of what I envision the “ol’ in-out, in-out” with Donald Trump might be like.

[3] I.e., soccer