I have refrained from writing about Trump in the past. I have many friends I am crazy about, they love guns, they also love Trump.

Trump didn’t exactly bring out the best in my family still in and around Taylor either. Oh, hell no.

Three years ago this week our son died and the people I grew up with and loved just let that slide by without even a card or word on Facebook. Not even a sad emoji saying they had no words. Nope. Nothing. Which was actually fine with me until I had them post on my email page, or write me a personal email telling me that Donald Trump would go down in History as the best ever.

Buzz kill alarm.

I wrote back on their FACEBOOK, which I don’t do, and asked them how they could write me about Trump and nothing about my only son.

So one “x’s” them out, well, hell, can’t talk to Cousin Thomas anymore, can’t talk to Lyndon, can’t talk to Father Bob either.

The years go by and out of my three cousins who wrote me about Trump, two are dead, and I’m not and that surely wasn’t the way we all thought it would go when we were kids seeing eachother every day at Catholic school and seeing eachother every single day for years. We all figured we would be there for one another as our parents were, but that was not the case and Trump just somehow infected their brains enough for them to write to me, and put this out there. Right? I could run faster, make better grades, be taller, smarter, braver, than all my boy cousins put together, I was a tomboy, and for them to try to exert some familial power over me in Medicare age, was just not done.

What Trump and whatever lost power he represents for old men is something I refuse to even ponder anymore. With Trump and living here with Par and Char and rampant corruption, well, weed and gardening make more sense and I’m hanging out waiting for Tetens. Thank you.

Today I see Trump with Kanye West, and the White Supremacist guy. It’s everywhere, “Ye’ is up there saying he likes Adolph Hitler wearing some kind of knit cap with a zipper that hides his face. Dude, if you’re so proud of what you’re saying, let’s see your face. WTF?

What next? What should be next is that Trump gets indicted and they slap him and his lawyers with a gag order because his need for attention is making him slip into saying just about anything to anyone. Everyone has an Uncle like that, the old guy that the family should have put into the SPJST Nursing Hone in Granger, but, no, he has money so they just let him wander around and be nasty or stupid or in this case Hitler loving and Jew hating.

I don’t get this antique Hitler thing. Hitler was nuts, methed up, and if he hadn’t had a photographer follow him everywhere and film every second of his existence we wouldn’t be going through this.

Trump is old, come on here. Kanye doesn’t even believe what he’s saying, and the White Supremacist guy is embarrassing.

The very last Thanksgiving I had, which was the Superbowl of cooking in Southern life was around 1994, I invited my Uncle Louie because I loved him and wanted him to have all the wonderful dishes the aunts, plus his own deceased wife, Aunt Leona, made. By the time they got there Father Bob, Louie’s son and my cousin, and Louie were pretty much drunk. Uncle Louie was on all manner of medicines and mood elevators, which he drank on and that seemed to be okay with his son.

We sat there together and passed mashed potatoes spiked with Phily Cream cheese, green bean casserole with the toasty onions on top, homemade bread, and Indian pudding which takes hours to bake using unsulphured molasses.

Uncle Louie recognized each dish and cried through the entire meal while blubbering on and on about the same thing until the last dish was taken to the kitchen.

As he blubbered, we all sat there and pretended it wasn’t happening. Fr. Bob, who wound up crazy for Trump, was used to it while Vic, Greg, and I were pretty much traumatized enough to never, have Thanksgiving with the family again.


Jared, Don Jr., Ivanka, and the rest of them know that it’s time to do something with Papa but he’s rich and still sparking crazies all over the place, like Ye, who’s just off his meds entirely.

This leaves the old person with crazies and ass kissers which doesn’t go well and Trump, who is stuck in the “watch me, watch me, mommy” phase of infantile development is just going to get worse until it all falls apart which it will, and soon.

Locally too, somewhere in her Powerful Par is going to ask Tetens to bend the bar a bit and at which time Josh Tetens, who is too young to be anywhere as corrupt as these old men we have here, is going to say “no”, and Par will show his true colors.

Kinda makes the “Hanoi Jane” stuff of my youth look pale.


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