http://thenewstalkers.com/feed/group_discuss Mon, 09 Nov 2026 14:58:50 -0500 http://thenewstalkers.com/j70141/group_discuss/17100/republicans-at-all-levels-are-set-on-one-principle-for-2023-obstruction http://thenewstalkers.com/eat-the-press-do-not-read-it/group_discuss/17100

We are a country controlled by Right-Wing Conservative Billionaires' dirty, disgusting, filthy MONEY Whore, that most of us slobber over! Vast amounts of filth!

The problem, in my limited-by-the-years, stupid, simple-minded views, is that the Republican Party sucks at that fountain of swell for their daily substance.

They are such blatant WHORES!

Is there one "freaking fracking" Re-Puritan that is not hooked on billionaires' shit, I ass you? 

I know not one!

Not even Roman Noodle Romney. Those Mormons' "Magic Underwear" fails, falls to the ground in a most embarrassing way, when it comes to corruption. They shout out, "Oh, Hell, yes! Jump right in". 

Into the veil of SIN, suckers! Muther Fuc-Gardos!

Oh, yes there are others; Independents and Democrats that indulge, too, but not as much as the demented, short witted Right Wing Republican Nit Wits that loved to rob the Poor and keep the change.

Oh, what deadly deeds they sail upon! BASTARDOS!

But lately, these slow, limp-wristed learners have been cut off except for Senators Sinema and Manchin, notorious "Turn Coats" enthralled in a tawdry affair, or so I have been told by one of my "tawdry sauces".

(She shall be nameless [MTG, a hussy, herself, is rumored to have done him first in the notorious cloakroom, where Bill Clinton got it on with Monica Lebowski, two to three times per day, but never had sex]. If you can believe it.)

I BELIEVE IT!

 
In my view, squinted and colorized by 8 decades of decadence, I have witnessed our nation change at the grassroots level, not always for good.

I was born during FDR's last three years. I have been told by Right Wing Re-Puritans, who look down on kids who chew gum.

Although I preferred to be born during the JFK administration, my mother, an impatient woman, said she couldn't wait that long.

"You are coming out of there, now," she screamed! And, so it was on January 18, 1942, I slid out. I was the only offspring born in a hospital, St. Elizabeth, in Dayton, Ohio (in case someone wants to place a bronze placard commemorating the event, I won't object).

My five sisters and one brother were born in cardboard boxes up in Minnesota, which was the custom, I am told, in the 1930s during those wonderful days of "The Great Depression", where people got to ride on trains for FREE!

I grew (sort of) into an adolescent under the Truman Administration, and instantly became a juvenile delinquent, that was the fad after WWII, or so I was TOLD by Right-Wing Conservative Republicans who wanted to take over the world, and look down their noses at boys who chew gum.

I was a High School graduate when Eisenhower stepped down and warned everyone about the "Military-Industrial Complex. Apparently, not too many were. It was the 1950s, and everyone wanted to make money, play Rock N Roll, smoke "Lucky Strikes," and watch Ed Sullivan's Show.

As a college student and a fan of JFK in the early 60s, I became a Civil Rights activist and joined the local NAACP branch of our college. I was one of the six students in the group, and the only white one.

I joined because, since it was a predominantly black university, I figured that I might win some "brownie points" with my professors, who were favorites of skin tones, and several who were white, or tripped over those freshly painted white picket fences, popular in the day.

So naturally, after a year and a half, my roommate and I dropped out, and we felt that we had mastered college and wanted to get into the real world. You know the cold, hungry real world of hopes and dreams and hitchhiking, reading books, writing poetry, and looking for pussy.

So, I followed my idol, Timothy Leary's mantra, during the Summer of Love , "Drop Out - Turned On," thereupon, set upon a decade-long journey from Ohio to Texas, to New York City, New Jersey, Canada, the Greenwich Village, to backpacking throughout Europe, always searching for something... but I never knew what.

I was somewhat relieved when I got sober, and a little optimistic when Gerald Ford (R. Mi.) ascended to the crown; hopeful that perhaps there was an opportunity for my country, and me, to move forward, only to be set back by Carter's naivete! I would never play poker with that man.

I was impressed with Carter's intentions, deeply saddened by his dependence on his old back-hills, back-woods, Evangelical, bible-thumping, "Talkin-In-Tongues, Evil is all Around Us", especially if you are not one of their theologies.

"Jimmy" was known as a micro-manager who worked his peanut farm in Georgia very successfully. Once he entered politics, it created problems when he became governor and a disaster as President! So, once again, I said, "To hell with Jimmy," and dropped out again. All my life, I have been a dropout.

Like so many of my Lesbian/Gay, Beatnik/Hippie-Drop Out- Delusional-Young-Americans, in their early 20s, just beginning to feel their "oats", I plunged into despair, driven, I assumed, by all of the internal and external mess bombarding the world, and horrified, stunned by Carter's disastrous rescue attempt in Iran.

Little did it occur to me that the alcohol, drugs, coke, "Mary-Jane", LSD, wanton, wild-sex episodes had anything to do with my profound depression.

It was first diagnosed in the Army by a psychiatric aide who tended to rub my thigh as he spoke to me.

I thought it was some kind of New Wave, Hippie Medical Treatment. But, when he wanted to stick his dick in my mouth, I was compelled to tell him, "I am not gay, but thanks for the offer."

He gave me a prescription for a mild medicine that seemed to calm me down, cease the endless mind ramblings, and constant thoughts of sex.

I tore off the part of the prescription that had his name, address, and phone number and tossed it in the trash can, as I filled the prescription in town, at an "uptown pharmacy".

"Oh, I see, you are one of Jimmy John's patients," I heard a sexy female voice say.

Stunned, I turned around, miffed. There was no way in Hades that I wanted anyone to associate me with Jimmy John.

She was reading the part that I tore off.

"I beg your pardon," I said, about to give her a piece of my mind, which was starting to simmer. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw her "rack", incredible, delicious, big bust and long, long cleavage, hypnotized me.

"He's a 'Hoot'! I just love that guy. I am Amanda. You must be in the Army, Fort Sam Houston", she smiled mischievously.

"Yeah, quite a Hoot", I replied, having no idea what a "hoot" meant in Texas. She leaned in towards me and whispered in my ear, "I'm a gay lesbian that likes men, too."

She winked and smiled, giving me a full view of those luscious tits.

She explained that she was an active member of the San Antonio Little Theater, an attractive "bon vivant", and knew every exclusive gay/swinger's bar/club in town.

I was impressed, erect, and on fire.

She was more than "Hot", sizzling. My mind stopped; only my body was conscious.

I was going wherever she went from that moment on, regardless of the cost.
"It was fun, exciting, and adventurous, especially since I had just received orders to deploy to Vietnam in one month.

For the first six months in 'Nam, all I could think about was our month-long, nightly dives into debauchery. Weekends soaking up sensuality, group sex, orgies, parties, booze, and drugs, lost in a haze of unending pleasure.

"Thank you, GOD", I said to myself. "If I am killed in Vietnam, I won't regret a moment of it." 

"There must be a Divine Being!" I thought as I drooled over the creamy white, tantalizing paradise staring up at me with a smile, a wink, an allure that I had never endured before.

She was my fantasy, and I bumped into her in a Pharmacy while I filled my prescription, and instantaneously canvassed every shelf in the store like a super ceiling magnifier sweeping the place in an instant.

My mind finally clicked "On", cataloging the available protections, medicines, and anything necessary for a once-in-a-lifetime, "Walk Through the Wild-Wildside of... Tex-Ass "!

I was schooled that's what the swinging, under-30, gay-straight, sensual bohemian, lascivious, lustful, voluptuous theater crowd preferred to call their "Up Tight, Conservative, Right-Wing state."

They could have called it "HELL, Purgatory, Satan's Liar." I was ready for debauchery. In fact, I had been studying it all through my teens and early 20s.

"Where is that damn place?" I often mused.

I was going, regardless of the consequences. It sounded like "Paradise", to me, a young, horny man! 

"I'm from Virginia, named after the 'Virgin Queen'," she rubbed my forearm, rushed me out of the store, and jumped into my "ride". I was about to take one of the most sensational rides of my life.

"Some parts of Texas", she said, as I watched her creamy white breasts rise and fall with each word she uttered.

"Tex-Ass can be a cold, cold-hearted A-hole bore, dripping with over-ripe, no-nonsense, senseless, angry, twisted, mean Texan Confederates decked out in cowboy garb, cowboy hats, blue jeans, and, of course, the mandatory cowboy boots and the required brass buckle to hold all the bull shit in place.

 At about that time, the bestseller, "The Joy of Sex," was selling like hotcakes. Sexy books like "Lolita", "Summer of Love", by Anne Jones, and Leary's "The Psychedelic Experience "tantalized young minds.

Sex, freedom, rock & roll, and heavy doses of hedonism replaced the vision of "a white picket fence, a decent job, family values, church on Sundays!"

It became "Roman-styled Dionysian Frenzy"; dance and music, the removal of all inhibitions, and social restraints, a celebration of the solstices with wine, lust, and a return to nature.

A devilish, delightful send-off to Vietnam in 1965.


In Vietnam, after work, a group of us gathered to regale each other with our "sexual conquests, since we were isolated, locked in, many of my cohorts worked underground in an air-conditioned structure, as large as a football field, undetected from the ground level, and bomb proof.

We were assigned to the 8th RRU. Underground, it looked like a super-secret intelligence in the Pentagon. Teletyped clicking 24/7/365. Geeks huddled over their cubicles, focused, silent, and involved in a myriad of tasks that provided Intel to the commanders in the field and to the General in Washington, Langley, the Pentagon, and the White House.

On the other hand, I was stationed above ground in the Colonel's HQ office, typing, filing, and retyping (I was a bad typist) from 8-5 pm. 

It was an interesting place, a safe place to work. We were surrounded by a company of marines as our first line of defense, a forty-foot-wide minefield that encircled the compound, machine turrets, and concrete bunkers in every corner. 

Tanks, Rangers, and the Australians were only 12 clicks, or so away. Air defense could be called in quickly if needed. No one was going to breach the perimeter unless they came through the front gate, which they did.

Our unit, the 8th RRU, Phu Bai, near the old capital, Hue, was a cushy assignment, not much different than being back home in the States, at a large military complex. 

The French had occupied this compound before the US, and we inherited several brick, stucco buildings as well as some of their luxuries.  Local Vietnamese peasant/workers tasked to make the beds, clean the barracks, sweep the walkway, trim the vegetation, shine officers' boots, press their starched camouflaged uniforms, put clothing away in their closets, cut their hair, but not their throats, as one attempted to do before being subdued. That closed the barbershop.

I mentioned to our commander that I had noticed that the wrinkled, old peasants who cleaned the officers' quarters seemed to be getting younger, cleaner, and more professional.

They were too well-dressed, clean-cut, and attentive, more like North Vietnamese officers or saboteurs.

I walked by them on my way to HQ, looked to my left, and got an eerie feeling as I stared at the workers who were outside of the officer's quarters; one looked up at me. He seemed to be the leader, stared back, then smiled and waved, as if to say, "Hello".

A worrisome cloud hung over me, like that cloud in comic books with the doom and rain cloud over the poor sap's head. 

After lunch, I got up the courage to tell the Colonel what I saw, and the feeling that I had that they were not here to do house cleaning.

I like the colonel. I respected him. He joined the Army during WWII and was a high school dropout. After the war, he stayed in the army, got his GED, went on to get his Bachelor's Degree, completed Officer's Training School, and went on to get a Master's and a Ph.D.

He was bright, likable, easy to get along with, and someone I would have followed willingly into combat. I had a special relationship with him and was privileged to walk into his office if it was needed.

He got me a part-time job in the officer's bar in the evening because I could make his drink, the way he likes it, and no one else, for some odd reason, could. 

By then, I had completed two years of college at Central State College, a predominantly Black/Negro institution of higher education, located in Wilberforce, Ohio. I was recruited because I was white and got a partial scholarship, with a work-study position that put a little cash in me (Welsh) pockets. It was fantastic, at times, unnerving to others, and certainly eye-opening, educational, and inspiring, with great opportunities laid out ahead of me. 

I, like the base commander, dropped out of college to join the service. Once I got my permanent assignment, I took classes at St. Mary's and San Antonio College.

We had that link in common.
At sunset that night, the PFC set up the film screen, projector, and about 40 folding chairs on the paved entrance road adjacent to the officers' quarters.

It was "Lawrence of Arabia", a statewide hit in color, starring Peter O'Toole. He was "Hoot," too, I surmised as the film played. I was lost in it, the costumes, acting, location, and story. I was enthralled 45 minutes into the screening when a large blast exploded in the officers' quarters. Fortunately, not many were hurt. Most were at the officer's club drinking and watching porn.

Instantly, everyone seated in front of me jumped up and vanished.

I asked the last straggler, "What happened?"

"Someone set off a C-4 explosion in the officer's trailers," he said nonchalantly, walking in that direction. The smoke was rising, but nothing was burning, so I sat back down and finished the film.

I did my part, I told the base commander what I had seen and felt.

The commander listened patiently, then said, "I'll look into it."

There were no gunshots. I looked at my watch and knew where he was at that precise moment. I could have cared where the rest of the pricks and nerds were, sat back, and enjoyed the rest of the film.

Oddly, I was caught up in the film, and when the first reel wrapped around itself, I calmly walked toward the barracks nodding my head and thinking: "Yep, Peter is a 'Hoot'. He sure as Hell is a good actor, though."

Let me get back to my narrative:

Although an avowed Humanist, Atheist, and Civil Rights Advocate, I thought "Jimmy" should have bombed the swelling, chanting "Death to Americans", the armed crowd of pro-violence thugs, as they stormed the American Embassy in Tehran.

Jimmy Carter had good intentions, but poor instincts, in my view, twisted by the decades-long uproars (JFK, MLK, BOBBIE KENNEDY assassinations, Mafia Dons as popular as R & R stars). I, still to this day, do not think that Carter was a good choice for America. But then, so many others were not, as well.

The country was boiling over in chaos, with a resurgence of the KKK in the South, Civil Rights Marches, the assassination of our president, Black Panthers, Black Muslims, Radicalized Lefties, Chaos, Drugs, "Hippies, Yippies, and Yuppies".

There was little to celebrate. I lost my faith in my country. It was owned by the Military-Industrial Complex, powerful Conservative billionaires, ruled by greedy interests, and prostitution flourished on US soil as blatantly and obscenely as it had in Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, and Taiwan during the era of the "Vietnamese War," when a small country drove the most powerful militarized country in the world out of their country.

Our nation, indeed, the world suffered through that bloody, dirty War, the government lying, LBJ lying, the CIA under suspicion, J. Edgar Hoover's dresses, the Napalm bombings of children, and families burned to death on foreign soil by American pilots.

Hundreds of thousands of us returned home sickened, confused, and mangled emotionally and physically, not as heroes, but as victims cast off by a robust economy.

50,000+ Americans were estimated to have been killed, 300,000 were wounded, 3 million Vietnamese were killed, and many countries in Indonesia were laid to waste.

For what?

To prevent Communist China from swallowing up Indonesia, grabbing its resources, and squeezing the West out?

When Carter, the White, Nuclear Physicist, a former governor of Georgia, the man who reported seeing a UFO as he campaigned in Ga., a decent, well-mannered, handsome man with a very cold, ugly wife, a crazed, drunken brother, and enough religious Bull Shit to blow up the Universe.

 Yet, I, too, believed in solar panels, as Jimmy Carter did, and federal funds for education (after all, I attended college on the GI Bill). He seemed better than anyone in the corrupted, criminalized, growing Republican party, so I voted for him.

I recognized the need for the Environment Movement, saving our planet (warnings by the author of Silent Springs), Civil Rights, Equal Rights, Women's Rights, Gay Rights, Free Speech, and a better, safer, attainable world, not, just a more prosperous, saner, nicer America with less division, peaceful protests, longhair, and a live free hippy lifestyle of "Peace & Love", "Woodstock," smoking pot, peyote, recreational drugs, Yoga, communal living, "Free Love", sandals, flashing peace signs, seeking changes thorough alternative books, music, poetry, action and, searching, searching, seeking, seeking.

When Ronald Reagan ran for public office as governor, I was living in California at the time and was offended at the blistering attacks from "Right-Wing, Angry, Violent Democrats" working stiffs who denigrated Reagan as a "B Movie Star", a "Fraud", "Empty-Headed", former actor. They wanted Goldwater, a kick-ass, right-wing, former Air Force pilot.

I graduated with an English Literature Degree with a Minor in Theater, participated in college, community, and street theater productions, formed my own comedy team, Three Minus One , and wrote comedy, one-act plays, monologues, and radio & TV ads.

It was always a struggle, filled with unimaginable good-leafed doors. 

I opened a few, mingled for a moment, then mysteriously they slammed in my face, broken heater, with my tail between my legs, my soul sold to the Devil, who does not hold up his end of the deal...completed defeated, penniless, lost.

When Reagan hit the scene, I threw away my sandals, cut my hair, ditched my wardrobe, forgot about performing, the starving artist routine, and jumped headfirst into politics at the neighborhood, local, city, state, and federal levels.

The Democrat Party, at that time, and shortly before it was corrupted by Hoffa, The Teamsters, the corrupted Unions, Southern Democrats, and a rising thong of the "Average Man, Women Working Folks", who openly spread racism, hated professionals, beatniks, hippies, East Coast Liberal, Peace/Environmentalists, Anti-Union folks with a bloodlust, similar to today's MAGAS, but not as dumb!

It had been simmering from the late 50s, simmering for decades in backrooms, bars, unions, and factories, workers' scuttlebutt, disguised as Conservativism led by some of the richest men in the nation, serious about a change in government by any means necessary. Sound familiar? 

It was near or during this time that I started my own business, married, understood what I wanted, and found what I had been looking for:  Love, a Home, a Family, and my own business...doing what I loved, what I was good at, what I knew, and it was then that I switched from Independent to Republican.

It was then that I realized that all three political organizations, and perhaps, from the very beginning of time, politics has always been tainted, and strained noble causes with their lust, greed, and endless quest for POWER.

They organized political organizations, and people, too, have at times been guilty of putting greed ahead of the country, party over morals, and even corruption, money, fame, or power over their nations, families, and even their own best interests

I have been drawn to all three, at one time or another in my life, and that is how I became aware that cheating, lying, double-dealing, wholesale corruption, deception, and greed are not restricted to one party. The pendulum swings in both directions.

For the past decades, since Nixon, I have observed and sensed that the Republican Party, which has fewer members than the Democrats, has modified the "Rules of the Game" to benefit itself.

Money, especially millions and billions of tainted dollars, can make or break a politician at any level of government.  Who amongst us has never been tempted?

The issue we are currently facing in 2023 is the wholesale addition to a handful of Right-Wing Conservative Republicans in control of the largest political pot of money aimed at influencing elected officials!

The power that Right-Wing billionaires, like Charles Koch, and Rupert Murdoch, foreign governments, such as our dear friends, Russia, and the Saudis, own, or have a very heavy hand on almost all of our news outlets (Cable, Networks, Newspapers, Podcasts, Social Media (Twitter, Facebook, etc.) and, they control with ironclad purse strings, a vital asset that career politicians are dependent upon to get elected; an inordinate influence of not all, but, arguably, the most media in the United State, and elsewhere.

There is an allure to being in politics. Power, glamor, money, name recognition, and esteem are made available to those who get elected to public office, by "hook or crook," at any level of government.

The difference is only in the amount of laundered money one has access to and the amount of unfettered power.

We, as a nation, are far from a "perfect nation"! Are we not distant from the Constitution? 

Politicians love to "saw" on that age-old refrain, "We are a Nation of Laws" (except for the ones they find necessary to twist, bend, and even, in some instances, break!

"Money Talks", Honey! Bull Chips fall from compromised politicians like mana from Billionaire's Heaven.

2023 is the year of OBSTRUCTION, according to my "sauce" Steve Bunions (unbathed, and on both feet) explained to me one morning when I was chained to my bed by the Drudge Report, that the "Movers & Shakers" have declared 2023 as the year of a "full-on, press-court year of OBSTRUCTION"! 

"There will be a penalty for not Playing Alone, too," he added as he guzzled down glass after glass of expensive whiskey.

Man, oh man, do I hate that smell. All I can see is the alcoholic face of my drunken father as he beat my mother while I froze, unable to move, call out, or help for fear.

like it was with the Tax Break for Billionaires & a smidgen of a tax break for the middle class, and working poor!

How else, their consultants advised, are the voters to applaud the Tax Cut Bill proposed by Trump's Republicans in the Senate and Congress and signed by the self-proclaimed "billionaire, Number 45.

"If registered voters don't get a 'taste' of the 30 trillion DOLLAR tax cut for billionaires, they are not going to support the bill and may even complain to their elected officials to oppose it," stated his "money changers".

And, so it was done...$30+ trillion was given to billionaires that they might create more jobs for Americans. Did that happen?

Or did our billionaires and millionaires use it to buy back their stock shares so that they might grow richer, with a little help from "da guv'mint" ?

"Billionaires breathe MONEY, Honey, not air! That sap is for the common folks, those explained my trusted friend and alter-ego, "Doctored" Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, CEO & FLOUNDER of the "Less Than Prestigious", "Bird Dropping Institute" (a Think Tank for Idiots, no, Idiots, please!)

2023 will not be about policy, Biden's age, the broken border, Ukraine, China, North Korea, Iran, or any global crisis.

It will, as it has been, since Nixon, about which party will gather the most MONEY to control the media, and bend the will of good people to the needs of multi-billionaires.

Have you noticed the quality of elected officials in the Republican Party?

Do you think it is uncanny how the GOP has morphed from brilliant, highly skilled politicians, with dedication, experience, and an understanding of public office to folks like Marjorie Taylor Geene, Lauren Boebert, Paul Gasar, Kevin McCarthy, Ted Cruz, Donald Trump, De Santes, Clarence Thomas, Right-Wing Conservatives Groups, Christians Organizations determined to have their version of religious dogmas inserted in every school, organization, and person in America?

To this observer, here, at the very seldom read blog, "Eat the Press - Do Not Read It," there is a depressing peril that hangs over our heads, but, not as yet, about our necks:

"The proliferation of Extreme Right-Wing Militias, added to the "Angry, Hate-Filled Voters" sympathetic to the January 6th insurrectionists," salted with the 35 million indoctrinated MAGA Republicans (exposed 24/7365 to FAKE NEWS, Misinformation, Religious Hypocrisy, Lying, Corruption, and the increasing billions of dollars continuously funneled into politics at every level, unabated) may have a NEGATIVE impact on voters leading up to the 2024 Presidential election?

(Or, as Herschel Walker, another hand-picked candidate for Senate by Trump, calls it "The Erection" of 2024?"

Fellow NewsTalkers.com, obstruction is not a thoughtful plank in any political party, except, perhaps, Hitler's, Putin's, and every "wannabe dick-ta-tor's platform".

The tactic of seating elected officials with the "prime objective" to obstruct every damn proposal, put forward by a sitting president, and approved by the Senate, plays into the callous, cruel hands of a few, aging, super-rich Conservative Republican "Herods" , whose sole purpose seems to be to rule at any cost!

One might surmise that "obstruction" played a pivotal role in the death of over 1,300,000 American Citizens, who perished from COVID-19.

Who knows the extent of the death toll? 

Did you have friends, family members, or loved ones who died from COVID-19? Obstruction was a factor in that calamity.

Obstruction of one's country by its citizens, elected officials, and greedy billionaires is much more destructive than a pandemic. It weakens our nation in the eyes of our allies and emboldens our ENEMIES.

On January 18th,2023, I turn 81. What do you see for 2023?


]]> Fri, 30 Dec 2022 12:16:58 -0500 http://thenewstalkers.com/j70141/group_discuss/12164/the-second-impeachment-trial-of-donald-j-trump-live-comments http://thenewstalkers.com/jbb/group_discuss/12164 Tue, 09 Feb 2021 14:06:45 -0500 http://thenewstalkers.com/j70141/group_discuss/9703/trump-blames-his-crappiness-on-a-bad-case-of-crabs http://thenewstalkers.com/eat-the-press-do-not-read-it/group_discuss/9703
DISCLAIMER:    If you are disappointed with REALITY, live in an insulated TRUMP BUBBLE, you might be more comfortable with one of the numerous Right-Wing Screetishs posted by Reverend Jim Bakker, scattered about TheNewsTalkers.comunist liberal pages.

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AUDIO OPERATOR :  "How would you know that?"

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FLOORMAN: ("But, I was enjoying it so much! OK, I will!")

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RUBY :  "Ooops,  there they go, again! (Laughs) I am so big, I am always bustin' out.

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"If you are tired of pretending - Broke Back Mountain, Sweetie, is the perfect place to get relief from those loud, squeaky spring mattresses, common, in seedy, pest-infested motels."


"Visitors may choose accommodations ranging from the luxurious Mitch (The Bitch ) McConnell's palatial suite, next to the Jeffrey Epstein's Rooftop Penthouse.

"Or, those cheapskates, on a tight budget, may want to hunker 'down & low' below, in the squalor of the low-down, low-rent Lind-Seed Graham's basement dungeons, where there are 'no lights, not even Night Lights."

"Great for those private get-aways with unattractive, disgusting people, that you don't know well, or, just picked up!

"Remember, Twisted Sisters, NO photographers allowed! Or, straight people, either. 

"All cameras and recording devices will be confiscated. We do our own videotaping via specially installed keyholes in every room, including the bathrooms!

"Our motto is: 'Discrete Services for the Indiscrete at Outrageous Prices!"

ANNOUNCER :

"And, now, back to Breaking News with Walter Bronchitis!" 

WALTER CONCRETE:  

"Hey, Wobbler, it's Walter CONCRETE, you, Maroon!  My name is Walter Concrete!"

WALTER CONCRETE (Clears his throat, spats out a gooey, oozy,  loogie directly at the announcer, continuing his news-cast update, uninterrupted.  

"Shots were fired outside the White House, but, no one gives a Rat's Patootie about that Crap--O--La!

"Sorry, folks...wait a moment...I have just been informed that our regular reporter, Steve Bunions is out with COVID19! 



"It seems that Mister Bunions is a rather unkempt, unlikeable, and decidedly disgusting individual with stinky feet. So, revolting, our sauces report, that he can't get a date...even if he pays for one."

"Apparently, the President's former 'right-hand man' is not the Little Girlie Man magnet, he claims!  The only thing he picks up is COVID19!

"That a Secret Service Code Name for local floozy.  Bunions, a divorced man, often resort to 'Floozy,' (a well-known street walker) to conceal his 'sexual orientation' leanings!"

"Agh...our producer..."Sweet Lips...is advising me, that the sashaying, hip-swinging Bunions (always the theatrical one) has sashayed out of our D.C.'s studio, flippin' the bird at studio executives and 'has left the building,' but, not with Elvis!"

WALTER :

"That's...agh...unfortunate, folks for you viewers out there in Whack-Whack Land...and, those of us stuck in the studio with Filthy...ugh...we...are...ugh...forced to turn to our lesser trained, half-wit, nitwit, stand-in dirtbag reporter..."

DIRECTOR :  "Walter...careful..."

WALTER CONCRETE: (Pulling himself together, puts his tits back in his button-down shirt, sheepishly! Walter blushed, then continued:

"...er...I mean that lovable, lying, SOB, Filthy McNasty!"

ANNOUNCER:  

"Viewer discretion is advised! Please, wear your COVID19 mask when viewing this broadcast!

"Filthy McNast is literally and figuratively 'filthy', in every imaginable way!

"Parental Guidance is recommended. Send your children and grandparents to bed. But, not, together! We do not want any more lawsuits!"

DIRECTOR:   "Cut to Walter...and, don't cut him, this time, Moron!"

WALTER:   "Thank you, Wobbler! You may return to your coffin...face down. Be sure, to use your hand sanitizer on your tongue. We don't want to infect our viewers! Ha! Ha!

(Walter, ever the consummate professional, continued his monotone-monologue that is guaranteed to Make Americans Teeth Grate, Again! And, again, and again...until someone in the family is homicide!

WALTER:  "But, first, a little background, on our replacement reporter, Filthy McNasty Disbarred-Barr, the former Attorney General to the You're Fire, Commander-In-Shat, Donald J. Trump-Dump!


"McNasty is a hard-hitting, down and dirty reporter, who doesn't mind getting in the swamp. He lives in it, when not drunk, or soliciting underage boys. 

"McNasty is known for asking the hard questions, as seen in this clip:

Mc NASTY:   "President Dump-Trump-Now , you seem down in your dumps of late, what's wrong, Little Buddy? Pelosi got your panties twisted in a knot, again?"

TRUMP:   "No, way, Jose," replied Trump, angrily!

Mc NASTY:   "My name is not, Jose," responded Mc Nasty. "It's Filthy Mc Nasty with a capital F - U!"

TRUMP:   "Your name is whatever I say it is!"

The fake POTUS, real POS in the WH Pressroom shot back, just narrowly missing Filthy with the gold plated pistol that the NRA had given him to settle down reporters at Press Conferences, whenever rude reporters ask real questions.

TRUMP (Shouting):  "Nothing those damn, slime-ball, NRA bums gives me ever works! Cheap JERKS! I hope they all go bankrupt, more times than I have!

"Who do they think they are? Those gun-toting twits! They refused to donate money to my re-election campaign, just because the STUPID, RIFLE SUCKING DOPES are flat broke from their graft.

"They can all go to hell," shouted, The Commander-In-Depends! 

Whereupon, to emphasize his point, the orange-faced, orange-haired, former, Circus Clown threw the two-shot revolver at Mc Nasty's fat head.

"Bang! Bang!" The tiny gun, designed to fit Trump's tiny hand, went off, as it hit the wall, startling everyone.

The shots, according to our "sauces," alerted the Secret Service, who were sleeping in the alcove with a street urchin named "Snow White," although she was Black.

In a slow-burning flash, these highly-trained, "goon-bahs" bolted into the Press Room, like rabid bulldogs, viciously attacking everyone in sight. Banging reporters in the head, which they have been looking forward to for a very, very long time, and kicking and punching anyone one in their path.

It appears that when the Secret Service boys pull their guns out, many, if not all, of the Whitehouse staff members, WET THEIR PANTS .

TRUMP:   (Smiled gleefully):  "Don't you just LOVE the smell of fresh urine?"

Jared Kushner, who was not looking at Trump at the time was, instead, was ogling ("making eyes") at a male reporter from the Village Voice , who kept crossing and uncrossing his legs provocatively.

Jared, known in some circle, as, "Princess K," was startled so much so, that... she... er... I mean... he... bolted from the Press Room like a screeching Fairy from Fire Island during a hail storm.

As quickly as Secret Service agents came in, they departed with Trump in tow. Trump whispered to one of the agents, as they were leaving:

TRUMP (Whispering):  "Fear urine is the best!"

Trump's comment sent chills up and down onlookers' back's, and, cheers from the viewing audiences all across America, that were tuned into FOX Fake News! 

Trump returned ten minutes later, nonchalantly. The fake POTUS leaned on the podium, in his bent to one side, crooke d, f ake poise, and asked, "Where was I?"
McNasty immediately jumped to his feet, and asked his question, again:

McNASTY:   "Is your recent bout of crabbiness due to your meeting with Pelosi? 

TRUMP:   "No, you worthless ball of earwax. It's due to CRABS! CRABS, I got the crabs! "

(The orange-haired, orange-face, make-up wearing fake POTUS cried out in pain, and, whimpered loudly!)  

TRUMP:   "I've got the worst case of crabs in my life...even worse than the ones I was born with!  Those damn things were the size of Hitler's fist.

"These are the size of Melania's tits...humongous! And, they itch like crazy, just like her new implants!"

Trump went off on one of his favorite rants about hygiene:

"People are not as clean as they used to be," explained, the fake POTUS, feal POS in the White House, to the only three reporters still present. (Curly, Larry & Moe) who (like many Trumpers) are, too, stupid to run!

"In my day, people used to wash their hands as I do...one, two, maybe, three hundred times a day.

"Not today! No, Sir, Re-bar! If someone fools around with as many call-girls, as I did, GOD only knows what they might bring home to their family.

"Believe me, I got it all:  Syphilis, Gonorrhea, STD's, even, some stuff not known to Medical Science.

"Back in the day, those 'Old Greedy Days' of my father, Frederick Trump, (a man I greatly respected, but, rarely saw) everyone used a strong, anti-bacterial soap product, daily.

"One so strong that it burnt the first layer of your skin right off. Oh, how I loved the smell of burnt flesh!

"Now, that product was rich, manufactured by Shakespeare & Company, called, 'Out, Out Damn Spot,' a subsidiary of Macbeth's Soaps & Stinging Lotions,  direct from London.  Wonderful stuff.

"Yep, and there were no exceptions!  If you forgot to wash with the stringent because it hurt, you got your teeth knocked down your throat.

"And, your mother made you rinsed with bleach! To kill the infection on the inside!

"There was no COVID19, back then," asserted, the illegally installed president, as he guzzled down a shot of Clorox.

Walter Concrete broke in with his standard wrap-up phrase, noting that "We are running out of time due to Trump's long-winded, incomprehensible, disjointed RANTS. "

Walter concluded, with that nauseous tag-line, "And, now, you know the rest of the story, Maroons! Good Night, Si-a-Nar-i, and, Kiss My Pompeo Arse!"

Representative John Kennedy (R) (Mo), scheduled to be interviewed by Walter, on Meat The Press -Don't Beat It, shouted OUT obscenities from the Green Room.

"Poppy, fart, damn, Hell, Walter! I was scheduled to go on with you. But, you let that Idiots go on and on!" Screamed, the hysteric closet queen, Miss Johnnie Kenney, from Missouri!

Walter, ever the consummate host, calmed down the rabid, red-faced, recently OUT-TED Republican from a Red State, by explaining:

WALTER:   "Trump's incessant bloviating sucked all of the air out of the room, Representative Kennedy (not the real John Kenny His constant farting didn't help either."

The security guards had to drag the non-stop hollering hillbilly by his "shinny arse tukas," and toss him down the steps!

All the way down the stairs, the Congressman, a good Christian, and, a recently, out-ted Twisted Sister , spurted profanities at the top of his "girlie-man" lungs, as he tumbled, head over high-heels (Republicans, you know) down ten flights of stairs. "Ouch, ouch, ouch! Oh, silly me, that hurts."

PUBLISHER NOTE:

"If I have offended anyone with this post, then, I know I have done my job."

- Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, "Doctored," Publisher & Flounder of Eat The Press Do Not Read It! Do Not Read Anything. Ignorance Is Bliss. I should know, I am blissed.
 
Legal Disclaimer:
Our Journalistic Code, as spelled out on the inside of every stall in most Men's Restroom in 'Murika reads: 

"The public's right to know every damn thing about every damn person, right this damn minute; supersedes our right, to tell the truth, so we don't. We Just make SHAT up!

END OF BROADCAST! Aren't you glad?




]]> Mon, 10 Aug 2020 18:37:35 -0400 http://thenewstalkers.com/j70141/group_discuss/5286/trump-administration-plots-costly-private-care-expansion-for-veterans http://thenewstalkers.com/don-overton/group_discuss/5286
Last June, President Donald Trump signed a landmark law on veterans’ health care after months of tense negotiations. At the   ceremony   in the Rose Garden, Trump said the bill would deliver on his campaign promise to let veterans see private doctors instead of using the Department of Veterans Affairs’ government-run health service: “I’m going to sign legislation that will make veterans’ choice permanent,” he said.
Standing behind him, the leaders of major veterans groups   looked around uncomfortably . What Trump called “choice” these veterans groups called “privatization,” and they’d been   warning for years   that it would cost taxpayers more money and deliver worse care for veterans. The veterans groups had endorsed the bill, but T
]]> Fri, 16 Nov 2018 16:00:05 -0500 http://thenewstalkers.com/j70141/group_discuss/4385/introduce-yourself-post-a-greeting http://thenewstalkers.com/j70141/group_discuss/4385 Sun, 01 Oct 2017 21:08:34 -0400