Readers demand Trump abuse

Bread and butter journalism removes choice from many of the stories freelance scribes are destined to write. Hungry writers get used to it.

Conversely, a few rare places encourage self expression, a free flag fluttering in the unsettling winds of controversy. The Shinbone Star is such a place.

It is my good fortune that I was offered the opportunity to partake in this enterprise. Thusly inspired, I decided I was going to do two things upon embarking on this adventure:

  1. Never inject “I” into any narrative.
  2. Polish my current crop of invectives describing Mr. Trump to things less course.

Both rules are remnants of newspaper operant conditioning, inflicted by sharp-eyed editors intent on erasing any notion of self from a story. Then came the dumbing down of journalism that some believe led to the emergence of the Crown Prince of Politwits and others of his ilk.

After years of writing things few read and less remembered, diction failed me. Before this opportunity to climb back to high cotton I might have written, “I think Cheeto Twitler is a brainless asshole,” or, “Trump is an ass hat.” Ass hat is one of my favorites when on the fly. What a burn, or so I thought!

My colleague Fred Bunch inspired me to greater heights of disparagement by posting on his Facebook page a picture of Fuckface Von Clownstick with a used Depends on his head. I believe Fred thinks it’s a straight jacket. No matter.

Most discerning readers already realize Comrade Cheetolino has somehow been deprived of the ability to reason clearly. Saying it in print is another matter. In the old days, three sources would have to say the talking yam in the White House is a Papaya-Flavored Putin Pawn and voilà, it was news. Very Old School.

With that in mind, I have written seven articles here, all of which were penned with the aforementioned Rules 1 and 2 in control. In each story about the Mango Mussolini  I endeavored to raise my level of dialogue from utter disdain and disrespect to accepting the utterances of the orange shithead with as much grace as I could muster. Demeaning the last of the mango Mohicans was not coming from me.

Each article is progressively less appreciated. My friends say I have sold out to Draft Dodger Don. The Shinbone Star’s readers voted with their disregard.

Therefore I have decided to embark on a new path, unlike the polarized, inside-the-beltway talking heads who are chained to their desks on a 24-hour news cycle. The subtle taming of the vicious early coverage while describing the corpulent cheese dick with little hands suggests the networks have accepted that the bumbling, bumptious orange buffoon inhabiting the White House isn’t going anywhere soon.

Check it out! They are hedging their bets! On CNN, Pudgy McTrumpcake is now “the president,” and a new sexual abuser is all the rage. The pandering, pussy grabbing, orange trash bag leading our country is off the hook. Big change, hugely subtle.

With the overt Nazis now gone from the White House, and the blundering surrogates reduced to Trump turds, it is hard for the big dogs to stay on message when every message says the great white dope is a fucking moron. The need to spread wings and seek new hunting grounds is no doubt almost overwhelming, but the comb-over con artist won’t let them stray. The world of news is ALL about the human tanning bed. I am no longer susceptible. I refuse to be the Lone DeRanger’s Tonto.

If this missive offends, I am marginally sorry. My effort is not aimed at deniers. They will know soon enough. In the meantime dear friends, I promise I will never again try to raise the level of verbosity about the Fanta Fascist to civilized terms as long as Rancid Velveeta is running our country into the ground.


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