To absolutely no one’s surprise, Ginger Hitler immediately set about monetizing his Fulton County mug shot, because, hey, lawyers don’t work for free, unless you stiff ’em, which he does, which is why he has to (a) keep hiring new ones and (2) find some way to monetize things the rest of us might prefer to forget, like mug shots.
But that’s not the funny part.
The funny part is, according to Intelligencer, that one of the underfed cells in his brain trust, Chris LaCivita, fired off an aggro and illiterate warning on social media to anyone else hoping to turn a buck off The Face That Launched a Thousand Shits without having received “prior permission,” to wit, the copious wetting of a voracious orange beak.
“If you are a campaign, PAC, scammer and you try raising money off the mugshot … WE ARE COMING AFTER YOU. …”
This is strictly the hee, and also the haw. As law prof Betsy Rosenblatt told Spectrum News Cleveland, it’s likely that the Fulton County Sheriff’s Department — not the famously litigious Moue That Roared — holds the copyright as the creator of the image.
Also, according to Reuters, the Fulton County court distributed the mug shot to media outlets, which are always — especially in these dark days — eager to accept a handout, even one as fugly as this.
Adds Intelligencer:
Team Trump loves threatening to sue people, but its follow-through rate is pretty low. Plus right now Trump has far bigger fish to fry than the person selling Trump-mug-shot toilet paper on Etsy.
Hey, you never know. So many lawyers, so little money. …
Mad Blog Media 
“I and only I have the right to grift!”
And what do you want to bet the T-shirts are made overseas?
Remember those good ol’ days, when Dick “Sock It To Me?” Nixon was as grotesque as we thought it could ever get?
Nothing compares to this sick chocolate starfish. It’s like watching a slow motion train wreck. The arraignment in Georgia will probably take him into an uncharted psychosis, and he won’t even realize when the cuffs are on.
I’m trying not to obsess over it, because there’s nothing I can do about it outside the voting booth.
But still, damn. Stupidity should be painful, but can we please confine the pain to the stupid?
I wonder whether Trump will periodically fire lawyers as a strategy to delay his trials indefinitely? How do the courts put a rein on that?
Man, I have no idea. You’d think that at some point he’d run out of money and lawyers — you pretty much need the former for the latter — but the dummies keep chipping in and the law schools keep cranking out fresh meat.
I had to look something up because I had forgotten who produced it, but I should have known it would again be the boys of the Circus across the pond who were responsible. The something I was looking into was the movie short about a disgusting, rude fat slob that walks into a restaurant, sits down and devours mountains of food. (I had forgotten that a large portion of the skit involves vomiting between meal courses, and includes the classic line “Bring me a bucket’. The name of the skit is “Mr. Creosote” and was part of “Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life”). As the slob finishes his meal, the maitre d’ (played eloquently with a hint of accent d’France by John Cleese) entices the slob with something like “Monsieur, may I offer you just one more wafer thin mint?” After accepting the mint, the maitre d’ scrambles for cover realizing that mayhem is about to erupt, and after a moment of inflation, the glutinous diner explodes blowing wads of undigested food and vomit all over the restaurant. Yes, it is quite gross.
The “Mr. Creosote” Python skit reminds me of the legal perils that Sir Lawyers-a-Lot in confronting. He continues to pile up legal troubles, vomiting threats, insults and lies all over the place until finally, one small, harmless little legal pitfall will suddenly ignite the smoldering powder and all that will be left will be bits of blackish goo and orange hair stuck to the skirts and ties of his legal aides. Those who have supported him are as the other diners portrayed in the skit, now suddenly made physically aware of the problem, and begin vomiting in disgust themselves. Throughout the skit, the maitre d’, who could be considered a representation of the prosecutors bringing cases against the orange buffoon, maintains decorum and in the end, presents the restaurant check to the blown apart diner. There is an understandable impression, that Sir Lawyers-a-Lot will be unable to cover the cost of the mess that he has, is and will be creating.
One can only hope you are right.
In the interests of other people’s sensitivities, I won’t post the link to Mr. Creosote, which is quite amazing.
The Monsieur Creosote bit from “Meaning of Life” was actually rejected at first, only to be resurrected by John Cleese, because the waiter (his part, naturally) was the funniest bit.
Another wafer-thin morsel: Terry Jones pissed away most of the film’s budget on the “Every Sperm Is Sacred” production number. It and Eric Idle’s “The Galaxy Song” bit were my faves.
As a geoscientist, I approve that Eric Idle piece. Not that anyone gives a flying fuck….
That’s something I’ve never had the pleasure of. At least relative to a terrestrial location. From a celestial perspective I believe that all such events could be considered as flying. It’s interesting though that in what might be considered a normal circumstance, a person receives as much as a person gives if one has the pleasure of said event.
Anyway, what was that you were saying?
As an oddball with a fascination for words, I always liked the phrase “take a flying fuck at a rolling donut.” Imagine the agility and timing required. As a sport it might make the Olympics interesting again, though I expect it might be a tough sell for the folks at NBC.
“Go pack / pound sand up your ass” is one of my favorites. No pleasant way to visualize it. When I worked in the die casting department of Johnson Outboards in the late 60s, co-worked told me it was a saying from the sand casting days where sand was compacted with small, hand operated, pneumatic hammers.
Haw. I’ve always wondered where that one came from. Makes sense.
I wonder if this sort of linguistic amusement is going the way of the passenger pigeon now that everyone communicates in pictograms and secret code.
My co-workers had been there a long time. This was in the day when a union factory job could be a career. I took them at their word, plus that was the first time in my 18 years of life that I heard someone say “go pack some sand up your ass.”
Who knows how these things spread?
Speaking of pounding sand, a judge has suggested that Rudy the Mook do exactly that.
So, another saying springs to mind. Speak of the devil! Rudy, go pack some sand up yo ass and pay the ladies $130k now, and more later. He deserves it. Asshole needs to be living in a van down on the Hudson.
And, Biggs got a bigly 17 years. Tarrio better party hardy, ‘cause ain’t no parties where he is going.
You know how in movies or books the local cops and the Feds never work together and pinch and bite over who is “running this case”? Well here in the Mitten State it seems the Feds have been very willing to share intel and info on the Jan 6 traitors who bulled their way into the Capitol. It appears that this info was sent down the lines so that if you are one of the miscreants, your local John Law is now “woke” and totally aware of you and your proclivities and is looking to see what other crimes and perversions you have committed. That way, the Feds have more to go with when they arraign your ass and they just keep coming. Slooowly but surely those Jan 6 assholes (see Vonnegut drawing) are paying dearly for their little frat party.
Good on ’em. Many hands make light work, especially when they’re clicking bracelets on scumbags.
How about that Dominic? “Please, please your honor I didn’t mean to do it.” “Well Mr. Pezzola you’re a big boy and know how to face the consequences of your actions, so Nope. It’s off to the big house for you.” “Well your honor, TRUMP WON!”.
Some idiots just like to try to push the boundaries of stupidity.