https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=6IUG-9jZD-g
Because she is my girl.
Beauty is beauty.
So Trump spilled the beans ahead of time with George Stephanopoulos. Told him he tries his best to pay no taxes. Betting money says he’s succeeded at this. Spectacularly. Maybe he can tell us how to do this too.
Second gun. Steve Martin is like Monty Python. Women tend not to get it. They go WTF. Here was his debut on the Tonight Show. Guys wet their pants. Women went WTF.
Trump’s taxes? Who cares. Jennifer Rubin cares. WTF.
There are times when you need to take out two at a time. Trump did that during the debates. Did it again this morning when George Stephanopoulos tried to pin him to the wall about tax returns. Gun 1: None of your business what my tax rate is. I try to pay no taxes because the government wastes our money on nonsense. Gun 2: and why are you pretending to be an objective journalist when everyone in the whole country knows you’re a bought and paid for employee of Hillary Clinton.
Gotcha George? Gotcha twice.
And before you start making your Lone Ranger jokes, please remember there was an authentic two gun gunslinger named Wild Bill Hickock.
He died, yeah. Aces over eights. But remember he got shot in the back. NeverBill.
No longer. Old white men can’t jump.
We mostly show you pictures of Raebert sleeping, which he’s very good at. He sleeps through the times when the others go out. But then, like an alarm signal, it occurs to him that HE has to go out. Then he becomes very active indeed. Very in your face. Very very.
It’s time.
Harvard Final Clubs. Not this crap.
Not fraternities.
Rather, cathedrals of pretension and escape from current events. Scotch and Champagne also involved.
Fly Club. Situated on the abundant front lawn of Lowell House. Site of the annual Fly Club garden party. Also, the club of FDR, who revisited while president and caused the mayor of Boston to get clocked by the Fly steward as he was trying to follow FDR in.
The Delphic. Also known as The Gas. Because J. P. Morgan built it after he couldn’t get into a final club and sat there all alone, with gaslights burning, to make it seem that people were having a great time inside. Subsequently, generations did. A block away from Mt. Auburn Street.
Spee Club on Mt. Auburn. Where a garrulous steward reported he frequently found Jack and Bobby dressed to the nines in tuxedoes from the waist up and nothing from the waist down.
Phoenix SK Club. You don’t belong if you don’t know what SK stands for. Half a block from the Fly. A world away from Zuckerberg, who couldn’t get in and made it up out of whole cloth for his silly movie.
Owl Club. Home of Grottlesex jocks and the best turkey sandwiches ever. Also Teddy. Who had to abjure his membership.
Fox Club. All done. Some sort of sex scandal. Never actually knew a member. But I did break in, as I did most of the others.
The AD Club. Invisible on Commonwealth Ave. many millions of dollars behind them. Harvard doesn’t want a fight with them. Or the even larger financial interests they command.
Porcellian Club. Opposite the Porcellian Gate of Harvard Yard. So rich and powerful they can bring the university to its knees if they choose. Let’s see how they choose. And they will remain invisible throughout. Broke into their fifth floor on an Easter Sunday. They’ve been shadowing me ever since. Just saying.
Hope?
Final clubs do lunch. The Hasty Pudding does dinner. Been Co-Ed for 40 years. Also transgender. Male rockettes have been a staple for a hundred years. I have seen there Gloria Steinem, Jack Lemmon, Julia Child, Jimmy Stewart, and WTF. They will survive.
Genuine Masonic Ring.
Freemason ring, diamond inset, worn by a WWI 33rd Degree veteran of the Rainbow Division who made the pilgrimage to Rosslyn Chapel. Never knew how much he knew. But he left the ring to me. One of a kind. I can’t figure out what it means. All he told me was something about Rennes le Chateau. Where he passed by after leaving the western front. The diamond did something. Creeped him out. It’s done something like to me from time to time. Don’t want it. Don’t like the Freemason stuff. Buy it and get it out of my life.
Comes with extraordinary provenance. Three handwritten letters from the western front in 1918, the American offensive of the Rainbow Division. Take it or leave it. The captain was a lifelong mason. Still have his sword and plumes.
Beginning at £300.
Do you think some feminist old biddy will be able to defeat hundreds of years of Harvard tradition? We’ll see.
This pic is of the Porcellian Gate at Harvard Yard. The Porcellian Club has an ancient history, a huge endowment of its own, and members worth hundreds of millions of dollars. The President of Harvard is this person:
Excuse me. President Faust. Only at Harvard would Lucifer confront Veritas directly.
I read Goethe’s Faust and Marlowe’s Dr. Faustus. At Harvard btw. As an English major. When they had those. Both creatures who sold their souls to the devil and were snatched away to eternal damnation.
I can’t stop laughing. Final clubs will take losses. When I called my own I got a female on voicemail. So be it. But there are a few clubs who have the legal and financial muscle to make Faust wish he hadn’t started this fight.
For example, the Porcellian has already registered its first ever female member. Dr. Piggy Faust.
She made it through initiation in high style. Knock and ye shall enter. If you have the breeding.
Still to be heard from, the financial and legal powerhouses behind the AD, the Delphic (founded by J.P. Morgan himself), and, well, some others. Anybody at Holyoke Center hear a fly buzz? I hear demons don’t like flies.
Get used to it. The clubs have power beyond power in the alumni realm. They will see to it that this president goes away.
She chose poorly.
Encouragements for Nyjinksi, er, Nylonski, um, Nyqvist, the dumb one in Wallander.
Offered up by the fastest four-leggeds in the racing world. With all good wishes.
Why do you thing we run so much faster than you? Because we can visualize so much better what we are chasing. And we’re faster.
Are you ready?
We are.
Are you sure?
Ready, Set…
Go!!!
They’re they go!!!
Like our asses, Nyborg?
Or are they too small to see in the distance?
They call us The Breeze, ’cause we just keep blowin’ down the road.
We win. What we do.
Oh well. Want to try again?
The horses always say that. Roach time.
Go Nylonov! Roachin’ for ya
Into the barracks at 13. New York Military Academy.
Trump is an ignorant, know nothing, unqualified, undisciplined, vulgar, pampered rich boy idiot?
That’s the story isn’t it? Isn’t it?
Pass this post on to your NeverTrump know-it-all friends.
I know something about Wharton. They and my Cornell Business School, maybe alone in the Ivies, departed from the Harvard Business School model of bullshitting about case studies to learn the math and the formal disciplines of economics, statistical methods, accounting (I, II, III, and IV), and operations methods (Oh yeah. Real math.)
Here’s a list of notable Wharton Alumni. Note who’s pictured as an outstanding member of that unique Ivy League crew.
Before that he attended Fordham Prep/Fordham University, from which he transferred to Wharton. Here’s the background on an incredibly prestigious and historic Jesuit institution.
And here are their famous alumni.
Geraldine Ferraro, the first female Vice Presidential candidate of a major political party in the United States, attended Fordham, as did three current members of the United States House of Representatives and numerous past members of Congress, including at least two United States Senators. Current New York State Governor, Andrew Cuomo, is an alumnus. A number of Fordham graduates have served at the highest levels of the U.S. Executive Branch, including John E. Potter, former Postmaster General of the United States; William J. Casey, Director of U.S. Central Intelligence from 1981 to 1987; John N. Mitchell, former U.S. Attorney General; and Bernard M. Shanley, Deputy Chief of Staff and White House Counsel to President Dwight D. Eisenhower, and John O. Brennan, current Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Fordham claims a number of distinguished military honorees, including three Medal of Honor recipients and a number of notable generals, including General John “Jack” Keane, retired four-star general and former Vice Chief of Staff for the United States Army, and Major General Martin Thomas McMahon, decorated American Civil War officer. Fordham has produced college and university presidents for at least 10 institutions around the United States, including two for Georgetown University and one each for Columbia University and New York University. Francis Cardinal Spellman, the late Archbishop of the Metropolitan See of New York, was also a Fordham graduate. Fordham alumnus James B. Donovan, who defended Rudolph Abel in his spy trial and later negotiated the release of Francis Gary Powers is the subject of Steven Spielberg’s, Oscar-nominated film, “Bridge of Spies.”[124]
Business and finance magnates that have attended Fordham include Anne M. Mulcahy, retired Chairman and CEO of Xerox and named one of the “50 Most Powerful Women in Business” in 2006 by Fortune Magazine; Rose Marie Bravo, Vice Chairman and former CEO of Burberry and named one of the “50 Most Powerful Women in Business Outside the United States” in 2004 and 2005 by Fortune Magazine; E. Gerald Corrigan, former President of the Federal Reserve Bank of New York; Maria Elena Lagomasino, CEO of JP Morgan Private Bank from 2001 to 2005 and currently on the board of directors of Coca-Cola; Joe Moglia, Chairman and former CEO of TD Ameritrade; John Leahy, Chief Operating Officer of Airbus; Stephen J. Hemsley, CEO of UnitedHealth Group; Wellington Mara, former owner of the New York Giants; John D. Finnegan, Chairman, President, and CEO of Chubb Corporation; Mario Gabelli, billionaire and founder and CEO of GAMCO Investors; Lorenzo Mendoza, billionaire and CEO of Empresas Polar; Eugene Shvidler, billionaire and international oil tycoon; and billionaire Donald Trump, who attended the university, but left with no degree. (Because he transferred to Wharton.)
Before Fordham was New York Military Academy, where Trump’s oh so indulgent father sent him when he was 13. I know something about this. I went away to school when I was 13, too, and my school played multiple military academies in sports. The difference between their quality of life and ours was night and day. We had white tablecloths, commercial silver utensils, cloth napkins and napkin rings, and masters who tolerated ties at half mast and routine hijinks. The military school kids had linoleum tables in their dining room with diner paper napkin dispensers. Their food was awful. They were indeed living a military life with marching drills and discipline none of you Grotties and Choaties have ever experienced unless you joined the armed forces. We had discipline too, but ours was marching around chairs in a parking lot on Saturday afternoons for two hours if we’d gotten into a fight. Theirs was daily drill and abuse from student drill sergeants who never countenanced a fight.
Hitlerian, right? Mussolini at least. Ask Stephen Sondheim and Francis Ford Coppola how they felt sitting there.
Here’s their history, now completed. Since discipline at an early age is no longer tolerable.
And here are their illustrious alumni.
Including this one, the guy who isn’t fit to be in the same room with Ted Cruz, Jeb Bush, Lindsey Graham, Paul Ryan or the Dark Lord Kevin Williamson. In short, anyone Jennifer Rubin would be willing to have sex with. After all, the only piddling school she ever went to was Berkeley.
What a mediocrity, eh?
As I said, pass it on to all your elite Ivy and prep school friends. And then wait for their usual howls of vulgarity, lowness, and meanness. And mediocrity. Which for them is an uncomfortable glance in the mirror.
Thing is. There’s a certain combination that strikes out on its own. It marches, not off to war, but to a new sense of things.
Shammadamma.
The Greatest Show on Earth will begin with Trump’s arrival in Cleveland, which used to be a city in northern Ohio. Before five decades of Democrat administrations reduced it to an antiquarian hulk and The Cuyahoga River caught fire and burned everything to a cinder.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=VtW8RkI3-c4
Well, moving on…
Why the Convention was planned to be held in what remains of Cleveland’s Union Station. Cruz had a big evangelical religious speech planned. He chose poorly.
With no infrastructure left, it wasn’t feasible for Trump to arrive by train or camel. Instead, he arranged to come to town in a humble Lake Erie boat.
Not his real yacht, mind, just a sort of launch he keeps for side trips from his Niagara estate.
Meanwhile, the locals were practicing to give him a big welcome.
But you know how it goes. Big is bigger than cute. The locals are brushed aside by the new arrival in town. The Trump campaign has arranged for Buckye Stadium to be moved to Cleveland and prepared for the real greeting the Republican nominee deserves. So, from the port of Cleveland he helicopters into the new convention site just in time for an appropriate landing.
I’m Calleigh. I’m a CSI. I can get a fingerprint from the cartridge box that loaded the pistol that fired the shot. And if I can’t, I’m also a White House staffer. For President Jedediah Joshua Josiah Sheen. And you know what that means. Ratings gold.
I’m Dakota Montana, NY CSI. I can get DNA from a breath print left on the window of a Manhattan office building. Sure I can. When I’m not pregnant.
I’m Kathleen Willows. I can get DNA from a dollar bill imprint on a dance pole at the strip club where I learned my trade, uh, profession.
Or I could just shoot you dead where you stand.
I just got yelled at in a comment thread by a guy who assured me Trump would lose disastrously to Hillary. I thought of this song, about the long long looooong line of people who have been predicting disaster for Trump since he declared his candidacy.
Raise your hand if you’ve ever been part of this line.
I see you, Scott. There you are. In the corner. In the spotlight. Trying to keep up…
Then tell me why I should believe you now.
He used to be Bernard, a mouse at the Plaza Hotel. Now he’s Al.
He almost got into college. He thinks cheese is good. He is smart enough to make Donald Trump look good. At some point he is going to take a junior college major in architectural drafting. Or, maybe, just drafting.
He has a Chevy II Nova. And a girlfriend who works hard at the Tiffany Diner in Northeast Philly. They’ve not actually met yet, but everyone is looking forward to it.
He has also heard of Israel. How many people can say that?
Ever been there? Suspect not. Gliding across grass and nothing else.
Nearly killed us. But lots of things nearly killed us. I nearly killed us on an on-ramp to Rte. 55 in South Jersey. The curve was tighter than the steering angle. Looked over at Will and saw we might not make it. But the great wooden steering wheel came through.
Did this too but way faster. XK-140 convertible. Took the tarp off and put the hammer down. Unbelievable. 80 in third. Hundred in fourth. Then we stopped talking about it.
But it was faster and bumpier than this. We hit 60 knots in the Sea Isle City bay. We did. Life was something.
Thing is, ours was much more spectacular. We flipped in midair and crossed about 200 foot of freshly plowed turf. But this is as close as we can get to what it looked like.
Out to Ship John Light in a 12 foot boat. We were crazy. It was fun.
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