I tried to look away when The Mooch was appointed White House Communications Director. Fortunately he held the title for only ten days. But now a new one has been appointed, and she is 28 years old, a former model, very pretty and stylish, and with no experience in anything political unless you count being Trump's campaign press secretary as experience. Naturally the citizenry is aghast and agog. Tongues are wagging, rumors flying: "She's his mistress!" "He likes 'em young!" "Lookout Melania, here comes wife number 4!"
This news arrived on the same day an ordinary young woman standing in the wrong place at the wrong time was anointed as a saint, with hundreds of people in attendance at her televised (on all major news channels!) memorial service, some wearing purple because that was her favorite color and the only thing many of the mourners knew about her. Still, "she stood up for what she believed," said her mother, and next thing you know she's Joan of Arc.
Don't get me wrong: it's very, very sad that she died, run over by the car that rammed the crowd of protesters protesting the protesters in Charlottesville last weekend. But not as sad as some other deaths of true saints that went unnoticed because they served no political purpose. For example Mitch Snyder, champion of the homeless in Washington, D.C. and a personal hero of mine, committed suicide in 1990 after "saving literally thousands of lives," according to Robert Hayes, founder of the National Coalition for the Homeless and a close associate of his at the time. No big televised funeral, however.
So please, somebody, stop this ride, I wanna get off. I'll get back on when Trump is gone, unless the next POTUS turns out to be even worse, which would not surprise me one bit.
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