If you listened closely, you could hear them:
As flies to wanton boys were we to Donald Trump;
He killed us for his sport.
If you listened closely, you could hear them:
As flies to wanton boys were we to Donald Trump;
He killed us for his sport.
It’s the only chance you’ll ever have to see a word in any way similar to “virtue” next to Trump’s name.
By setting himself against masks, largely on aesthetic grounds, Trump … opened himself up to charges that he doesn’t take the virus seriously.
… sounds as though it has claimed its … thirty-fifth? … victim. And this one is said to be in the hospital in grave condition: Crede Bailey, head of the WH security office (!).
The hebephrenic-in-chief’s latest announcement reminds UD of one of her favorite essays, Gore Vidal’s 1978 “How to Find God and Make Money.” Gore already knew all about the long-popular fundamentalist Christian claim that getting a dread disease is the very best thing that can happen to you.
Thank God I Have Cancer! by Clifford Oden has best seller written all over it. Arlington House tells us that “When Rev. Oden learned he had cancer eight years ago he turned to God in prayer. He asked God to show him how to cope. Now he is living proof that cancer can be controlled by natural means – without surgery, without radiation or chemotherapy.”
… to mark yet another name change since The Balcony Moment:
Evita.