"Salty Talk in the Shithouse Locker Room." Or, "Architectural Critique."

The breaking news is that Ubercomber Don did not say "shithole"–– he said "shithouse".

Is this an architectural critique of Haiti and Nigeria.

Or is the usage of "shithouse"intended here to mean a toilet.

As per the sentence, "The President is as crazy as a shithouse rat."

"The Prez is potty."

Is this more of that "salty talk" we have heard about.

Is this more "locker room" naughtiness.

Is there salt in the locker room.

Is the locker room we are referring to within the building known as the "shithouse".

"My father's shithouse has many locker rooms." –– BARRON TRUMP.

"Idea for a Quiz Show."

We were watching Real Housewives of Atlanta.

Sheree's son "Kairo" was on the screen making a cheeseburger. "Look at that. Two patties and a flitch of bacon," my wife purred. It made me think of the President who curls up in bed at 6:30 PM with a cheeseburger. Then very fluidly, very organically,  my mind moved to another dynamic idea.

I said, "They should have a quiz show where Sheree's son Kairo competes against Barron Trump. Who I wonder would win this contest of the minds."

My wife goes, "Don't be mean to Barron."

I said, "Who's being mean. I just said they should have him compete in a general knowledge quiz show against Sheree's son Kairo."

"Ain't no shade."
"I am not being sarcastic at all."

To get all this it obviously helps if you watch Real Housewives of Atlanta.

It might even be a prerequisite.

"Shithole Is The Word."

                          

Everybody in the news industry was taking the opportunity to swear flagrantly on teevee. It was a swear-fest. They loved to do it. They were collectively going at it like longshoremen. The word "shithole" was bandied around with secret glee, I suspect. They loved the chance to swear. Chris Cuomo's co-anchor in the morning, [INTERN: PLEASE FILL IN HER NAME HERE] was dignified and wouldn't do it, she devised a series of stately pirouettes around the word, she made a stand for decency. Chris Cuomo leant over, pinky raised, and hollered, "I believe the word you are looking for is SHITHOLE." She pulled a pollyannaish moue and squirmed in her seat.

"Thanks Chris."

(Update: my wife pointed out to me that it wasn't Chris Cuomo at all but the guy who stands in for him [INTERN: PLEASE FILL IN HIS NAME HERE]. Talk about your "fake news media.")

Some people were trying to bowdlerize the word by saying "S-hole" which is pointless, because it sounded like they were saying "ASSHOLE" which is almost as rude as "SHITHOLE".

They should have substituted "piehole" for the children, man.

Republicans who called Trump's earlier pro–rape remarks "locker room talk" gathered in a hubbub again and decided to designate this language by the epithet "salty". This atrophied schoolmarm Republican woman was claiming, "I use 'salty' language like that in my home too!"  I tried to picture it. Couldn't.

"Trumpworld" Republicans were trying to spread the message that "Stand-up blue-collar every-day Joe-Blow Americans everywhere use salty language like this in the privacy of their own living rooms." They were blaming it on the people, turning a disgusting picture of Trump on them and claiming it is a horrifying mirror. 

Don Lemon made a whole speech, a good speech, a noble speech, a St. Crispin Crispian speech, and he actually threw one of the fat bulbous-headed Trump proxies off the show. That made the news. What didn't make the news was that Don had the Trump proxy back on about five minutes later when fat bulbous-headed proxy rather insincerely apologised to Don ("You know I love you Don.").

Next Don had on that former CIA man who always gets riled. Phil Mudd. I like Phil, because he's on our "side", but I do wonder privately how successful such a hothead can have been at the CIA. He explodes and vents whenever a camera turns to him. Not a great poker face, Colonel.

This time he made the most of the current taste for profanity. He kept shouting "SHITHOLE" around the room. He said "I'm a vicious shitholer and I'll fight the man what sez I ain't." Then he called himself a "wop," and I said to my wife, "I respect his self-loathing, but 'Mudd' doesn't sound very much like an Italian name."
"Maybe his mother is Italian," my wife said helpfully.
"Maybe," I said. "Good point."

Meanwhile Phil Mudd was calling Don the "N word". He did it twice. The balls on this Italian-Irish-American! I'm surprised he didn't spazz utterly and start calling the other panelists profane epithets. "Hey fuckface." "Hey jizz-licker." et cetera.

SEARCH TERMS:

Mudd Lemon shithole,
Trump Philip Mudd shithole,
Trump shithole,
shit Muddhole,
Shitphil,
Muddphil,
Muddle,
Muddleshit,
Philshit,
Philhole,
Muddshitphilip,
Muddy Lemon.

I was half-expecting Don Lemon, who also had his dander up, to go "Nice segment, Muddle. And by the way, if you ever call me that name ever again I will cram my whole adult fist up yer PHILHOLE."

That would have been a clever and original way to close the segment.

I just looked at Phil Mudd's webpage to see what his actual military title is, if he has one (yes, I actually do cursory research for this page), and only hours later he is openly hawking t-shirts with the slogan "PROUD SHITHOLER" on them. He's trying to copyright it I think. He's making –– and the pun is fully intended –– lemonade out of lemons.

Where will it all end, I wonder? Will anchors now take to calling eachother "dickhead" casually on air? Will the cheery call "fuck you" become as popular on air as it is off?  Is "shit" no longer profane, in the era of the poop emoji?

Trump should have said "piehole" or "cakehole" and a inserted a winking emoji and maybe there wouldn't have been such an outcry. He should have said "poop hatch" and inserted the turd emoji that has become so associated with his presidency and he would have been applauded.

OTHER NEWS.

Thought: Trump is like a character from Judge Dredd.

"Donald Trump is the President? (II)."

Every so often I'm abstracted, sifting through the clouds, reading bad old numbers of Punisher War Zone by Chuck Dixon, rooting through the garbage for something to eat, watching back to back documentaries about the Manson Family or episodes of Real Housewives of Atlanta, and I'll think –– "What am I doing?" And I also forget momentarily that Donald Trump is the President.

Today I was washing up and reevaluating reality for the thousandth time this year. And I thought, "We take it as a given held self-evident that all those hicks and sourmash addled hayseeds in the Red Zones voted for Trump, but why would a bunch of Kentucky miners vote for a swaggering flabby privileged incompetent New York ( uh –– Queens County ––) rich kid businessman?

(Never mind calling a seventy-year-old man a "kid" –– he still has the natural bearing of a tubby school bully. He is indeed the locus classicus of the ubiquitous type.)

Who can credit the people people vote for?

I remember somebody saying a similar thing once many years ago in a book warehouse in Oval. "Who can explain the people people fall for, especially on the rebound?"

I was watching CNN idly last night and there was a piece about the kerfuffle in Peru. They showed the former Peruvian President, who had been arrested and charged with corruption, now in hospital. He was patently Japanese. Even his name was Japanese.

He has been pardoned by the current President of Peru. Camera cut to a shot of the current President, a white man with a bright red face. His surname is Kuczynski.

A good Peruvian name.

Peruvians seem to prefer to vote for people who are as unlike them as possible to rule over them.

Et cetera
Et cetera

"Trump Versus Tillerson Haircut Competition."

Trump versus Tillerson in a competition over which weirdo's hairdo looks more like a thin cobweb was draped across their shining bald pates.

Whose [sic] gonna win.

Ever walked through a cobweb in the early hours of the morning and looked at yourself in the mirror and you didn't know if you were Trump or Tillerson?

"I felt so lousy I didn't know if I was Trump Tillerson ot a ten tonne turd!"

Trump resents Tillerson because when they stand next to each other neither man looks exactly hirsute.

Tillerson resents Trump for bringing the very idea of hair into disrepute.

Tillerson resents Trump for bringing the very reality of hair into doubt.

Trump resents Tillerson because his hair lacks conviction. It lacks "gumption".

Trump resents Tillerson because he will not partake of the sunbed treatment that gives his hair its signature urine colour.

Think of the strange arachnids that wove the gossamer that was then deposited unceremoniously on these two politicians' heads and then crafted –– by cynical men –– into hollow pompadours.

Think of the number of tunnel spiders required to coat Donald Trump's head each night.

Who would win in a headbutt smackdown between Trump and Tillerson? Neither one –– they'd both be knocked unconscious by the sheer lack of cushioning afforded by their thin layers of hair.

These guys should be outiftted with compulsory cycling helmets to protest their heads, because those illusions of hair they have on now ain't going to cut it in a smackdown or a pile up.

Are these magical Icelandic chefs being paid exorbitant amounts to maintain a thin film of moss on Donald Trump's head?

Are the premiere video installation artists of New York's famed "Soho" zone being paid to craft holograms on top of Tillerson's bald bonce?

_________________________________

I was watching Don Lemon. Don had been trying once again to make the case that Trump is "shithouse batshit crazy". He seemed to hope that if he could say the words in the right order the whole country would finally realise tbis simple golden truth.

Heck, I believe it. But I'm not a shitkicker out of old Kaintuck. My vote doesn't count.

The Matt Lauer story had broken and nobody knew who was going to turn out to be a sex pest monster next. Correspondent Angela, a woman of colour, was complaining about how even on this show she had been interrupted mid-sentence by men and such unchivalrous behaviour had surely had its day. Don and the fat white Trump proxy both nodded soberly and clucked sympathetically.

Five minutes later she couldn't get a word in edgeways as Don and the fat Republican were yelling hoarsely at each other again. Angela was on the video screen but Don had his hand up to stop her from speaking while he bellowed at his adversary.

"Don Lemon gets really angry," I said pensively.

"I think one day he's going to just stop and say, 'That's it, I've had enough, I can't take it anymore'" said my wife.

"You know, Wash Cowie thinks Don Lemon is dumb," I said to my wife, wondering for the first time if Wash Cowie has a point.

Charlie Rose is gone and Don Lemon ain't doing so well.

"George Rastapopoulos."

Great day today. Bad day for Trump is a good day for me and I'll take whatever I can get boy yup.

People were raving with pleasure on CNN. They finally got to say: "No nothingburger, there's a there there."

People struggled with Papadopoulos's name. Wolf Blitzer came right out and called him "George Stephanopoulos." I laughed –– Wolf didn't.

I'm surprised he didn't spazz utterly and blame Tintin's arch enemy, Bob Rastapopoulos.

I said to my wife, "There's never been a precedent for Bob Mueller. Except Superman. He's like Superman. No he's Batman because he has no actual super powers. Half the country –– no half the world –– at least –– is counting on him. And we know nothing about him –– we never see him. He's like The Shadow. There hasn't been an enigmatic folk hero like this in hundreds of years."

Jeffrey Toobin was on every show, giddy with unabashed hope for the first time in months –– years.

On a personal note I was pleased because crusty Richard Quest was bumped so they could show Wolf Blitzer. I first became aware of Richard Quest the night of the Brexit. I was in LA watching CNN and the vote count coming in. I phoned up my mum and said, "Your team won."

English CNN is very strange. It's always talking about the markets in Dubai and Africa. It's always talking about ladies' golf.

"Nothing to Say About Nothing to Say (A Slight Slap At Mobocratic Snobbery)."

Or, "Cockney Ding Dong Don with the Former Clapper."

Don Lemon had Former Director Clapper on last night.
Clapper looks about how I feel.
Don goes, "Director Sir, whatcha got adzackly."
"Nothing," says Clapper. "I got nothing Don. I've officially run out of things to say about Trump."

Meanwhile there was a little sidebar box with a radar shot of the latest Hurricane ("Maria"). I thought it said "Hurricane Mania." It'd be an apt phrase –– everyone's gone hurricane mad!

Too much Hurricane Mania, certainly.
"Too botheration" as Doc Alimantado used to say.

Later on, I was upstairs, and heard the CNN man refer to Hurricane Irma.
I heard it as "Hurricane Enema".

I wish these hurricanes would stop. For the good of the people, of course, but also: What with all these hullaballoos the would-be Prez seems to have got scot-free out of "shtook" again, all on the back of this Hurricane Mania.

The fat shining bright orange nothingburger has sallied out astride the gusts,  like Aeolus, the god of winds, or Storm of the X-Men, that wind–rider, all the way to freedom and redemption. I know he's a black-belt master of expelling hot fetid air, it's been documented extensively –– wonder if the whole "Hurricane Mania" is another Trump 4-D chessmaster conspiracy!

Maybe he's got Russian planes seeding the clouds and nobody knows.

I DON'T KNOW.