Unless you’re Kathy Griffin, there’s no getting rid of anyone we have under surveillance. So the ever more abnormal is the new normal, a never ending freak show.
We continue to marvel at Hillary C.’s leathery toughness. It was great to see her, ex-Marine that she is, marching in Chappaqua’s Memorial Day parade. She never looked chipper. But then she had to spoil it all by going public with her latest list of grievances — by our count she’s up to 95— nailed home with brazen assurance. Forget that first woman president and glass ceilings stuff. She’s now the first woman Martin Luther, breaking through cathedral ceilings and knocking down cathedral doors. Some Democrats, whom she’s also blaming, would like to see her locked away. Has she gone too far? A space launch awaits. Why shouldn’t she be the first human on Mars?
Then there’s the guy who made her life miserable the first time she was promised the presidency. He had a different sort of Memorial Day, sending out an undated photo of himself and his handler walking through Arlington National Cemetery. Except he’s not bowing at any of the gravestones in the photo, but instead looking off to his right, as if pondering the recent round of golf he played at St. Andrews.
Old habits, or maybe fairly recent habits at that, die hard. Maybe he indeed has kicked the nicotine habit. But what about the renewed surveillance of his successor during last week’s Trump tour overseas? Did he really have to show up in Italy at the same time the current president did? Even better was the private channel of communications he established with the East German German chancellor, Angela Merkel. Naturally, they met in Berlin, at the Brandenburg Gate, at which drop spot, in her approving presence, he criticized his successor in no uncertain terms. Fortified by his dismissiveness, Frau Merkel flew off to Brussels to face America’s repo man at NATO headquarters a few hours later. So who on this trip behaved badly first — and last? Once reminded of what her country owes its longtime defender, she let it be known that she had been bullied. Before long she was displaying putsch-like symptoms at a Munich beer hall. She should have studied Frau Hillary, who always confined her drinking to Terre Haute and other spots less freighted with history.
After yesterday’s liberation of Paris and the faux treaty that bears its name, we suspect climate change pursuits have become a convenient successor to Lebensraum expansionism. It’s taken a deal-maker extraordinaire to expose the fraudulence underlying most every public policy extravagance taxpaying America is expected to be covering at home and abroad and wherever else one hand is held out while the other is digging into Uncle Sam’s deep pockets. Ain’t gonna happen no more is the official message from Washington, easily detectable above the increasing din from the ever more loudly shrieking banshees of the anti-Trumpian lynch mobs. What is it with these people? Where they deprived of a second scoop of ice cream somewhere along in their childhood?
A few scores still need to be settled from the recent summit swing. With all due respect to newish NATO member Montenegro, the sort of place with a historic sense of martial honor that would never stomach being among the 23 not paying their fair share, there was a reason its prime minister was pushed aside at the photo session. Nothing personal, mind you. But the current leader of the alliance does not lead from behind. So he was just his duty getting to the center of the group photo.
Then there’s the matter of the prolonged handshake between the new French President Macron, a raw rookie in anyone’s book, and our President Trump, a seasoned veteran by comparison. The banshees had a field day with that one, claiming along with Macron that he refused to release the handshake for a good number of extra seconds. He was going to teach President Trump a lesson that France and NATO and anyone else who cared to join in weren’t going to let him push them around. It was the most pathetic exercise in wimpy behavior since Hugh Grant, playing the British Prime Minister in Love Actually, attempted to send a message to the U.S. President played by the rakish Billy Bob Thornton.
As for our hysterical media, it was its most unbalanced moment since a few weeks earlier when it accused Our President of trying to prolong a handshake with then-FBI director James Comey. So what will it be, guys? Maybe this week’s EOW prize will help you focus on the quality of your reporting.
You’ll notice we’re not singling anyone out by name here — that comes naturally now, when there’s not a dime’s worth of difference between the whole lot of them. They’ve gone to the dogs and that’s where they’ll remain, as nameless as they are useless. Makes us feel sorry for the dogs, though.
