The Pink Moon, not quite full, glares down through a skylight.

Things are dark enough around here on a Tuesday morning without a bloated fartsack with federal muscle jetting from Mar-a-Lago to Manhattan on Uncle Sammy’s dime to get a kid-gloves arraignment at New York taxpayers’ expense on charges of paying hush money to porn stars, cooking the books, and in general showing all the class of a Hells Angel on a rented electric scooter, or maybe Fredo Corleone in Vegas, before Mikey sent him fishing.

Does this mooch ever pick up a tab?

In a proper world, Your Numble Narrator would be allowed to stay curled up in his toasty puddle of blankets until Old Mister Sun peeps in through the gaps in the vertical blinds, murmuring, “Rise and shine like me! Time for bones creaking, weak thinking, and strong black coffee to set everything aright!”

Alas, no. Herself is a spry young thing who is still on the clock. She arises at dark-thirty most mornings to place her cute lil’ button nose squarely upon the grindstone, that we may have our bacon and beans.

Do not weep for Herself, however. She likes it. She enjoys working and earning and being known throughout The Organization as someone who does not lean on her shovel but rather buckles down and gets the job done.

And if that means getting up at an hour I once considered a reasonable bedtime, well … she’s your gal.

• • •

The air is thick enough to slice for sandwiches.

Some days there is not enough sunshine and strong black coffee in the world, and this is one of them.

I don’t want to pay attention to what’s going down in Manhattan. But I feel obliged to keep one jaundiced eye aimed in that direction, if only because not paying attention is what led us to this sordid back alley of jurisprudence ripe with decades of uncollected garbage.

It’s not fun. Not nearly as nice as sleeping late, sipping a fat mug of joe, and idly skimming the news for lively items about camera-wearing cats.

It’s not even as enjoyable as listening to the wind howling at 666 mph and blowing my nose every 30 seconds because I am among the 26 percent of Americans who suffer from seasonal — ahhhhh-CHOO!allergies.

And though Charles Pelkey and I could probably make a couple thou’ apiece by cranking up the old Live Update Guy machinery to chronicle this mess, we’ll give it a miss.

I mean, where’s the entertainment value? According to The New York Times:

While in custody, he will be fingerprinted, but special accommodations will be made for the former president: He is not expected to be placed in a holding cell and will spend only a short time in the office before his court appearance; he likely won’t be handcuffed or have a mug shot taken.

At the arraignment, Mr. Trump is expected to enter a not-guilty plea himself, rather than through his lawyers, as an act of defiance in keeping with his approach to the day, according to people with knowledge of his thinking. He is also weighing whether to address the cameras before the arraignment, another person familiar with the discussions said.

Just another rerun of “The Apprentice.” Looks like it’ll be a while before anyone gets around to taking out this old sack of trash.


11 Responses to “Mooned”

  1. Pat O’Brien Says:

    The first indictment is a slap, second a jab, but the third will be a uppercut he never saw coming. This seven year national nightmare might end in a year or two. Meanwhile, whistles shut up the devil from Georgia. Genius.

  2. khal spencer Says:

    I’m not losing any sleep over The Former Guy. To paraphrase the old expression (George Bernard Shaw?), don’t lose sleep over a bad guy. He just laughs and you get tired and grumpy. What will matter is whether the NYC DA or anyone else can pin the tail on the donkey. If they fail to convict, it reminds me of that admonition: “You come at the king, you best not miss.”

    If they miss, he will use that against the institutions in 2024 and that scares the living shit out of me.

    On another subject, I’m glad Herself has patience for The Dilbertian Institution. They just asked me to go back to work on a project. So then today, after agreeing, I get a form to fill out asking where I have been working for the last ten years as well as my academic record–from 40 years ago. I shit you not. They already have my academic record and my work record for the last 21 years where I worked, drum roll, at this very institution.

    It is amazing how stupid a bureaucracy can be.

    • Shawn Says:

      Khal, I believe the correct written response on the form is “ditto”. If that is not enough then your salary will need to be increased to pay for the minion that will be required to complete it for you. And don’t forget to mention your required NDA stipend should they require you to complete one.

    • Patrick O'Grady Says:

      Yeah, we will not be devoting a ton of energy to this season of “The Defendant.” I’m just hoping that indictments follow indictments like drops of water from a leaky faucet, court appearances start piling up like unpaid bills, and the ratoncitos start sniffing the direction the wind is coming from and start heading for the lifeboats.

      Meanwhile, K, the private sector pulls your pud like this too. You should’ve seen the boilerplate contract the Inside Outside Sideways Down knucklefuckers tried to lay on me. I’d been in The Game since 1989 and they came at me like I was some junior racer with an AA in Communications from Petticoat Junction Community College, champin’ at the bit to work like a rented mule for a box of energy bars past their sell-by date and the wrong-size company T-shirt.

  3. Herb from Michigan Says:

    Well Khal the following works for some guys. Simply write on the form “ I did nothing wrong” sign it and send it back in. That’s what I’m going to do from here on out when faced with any challenges, especially those pesky forms. Will leave me more time for golf and eating French fries.

    • Patrick O'Grady Says:

      I wonder how many Happy Meals they had to use to sedate The Very Stable Genius after the judge laid the STFU on him. Ain’t enough fries in the world.

    • Pat O’Brien Says:

      Well, the Tao says if you want to shrink something, you must first allow it to expand. After last night, I think the asshole is about to explode. Can’t happen soon enough.
      Contractors were chasing me when I retired and getting my clearance back would have been easy and quick. After 18 years, nobody is calling. Don’t knock french fries. I might have to scoop those and flip burgers if the the government defaults and my pension and SS checks bounce.

    • Patrick O'Grady Says:

      Nobody’s throwing elbows trying to be the first to knock on my door, that’s for sure.

      “Patrick who? Oh, that guy? Wasn’t his 15 minutes over back in 2008? Jesus, I’d rather have someone empty a sack of feral cats in the conference room.”

      Social Security ever winds up in the ditch, I’ll be right there with it, looking for cans and bottles to recycle.

      • Shawn Says:

        15 minutes? Hmmm. Well I was interviewed on television once. Nope, that’s not it. I had the CEO of a fortune 500 sing Happy Birthday to me once. Nope, not even close. I was french kissed by a super model once. Well that does count but it wasn’t long enough. The kiss, that is. But as long as I don’t think I had my 15 minutes, then well, I should get my 15 minutes in the future. Right? But I sure would be happy with another kiss.

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