SOP. It’s What’s For Dinner.

in Culture

After ten days of but blushing the political wires and a total blackout of topical cable news, I don’t feel even a hint of civic withdrawal. And better yet, my cynicism is still evergreen and remains deeply planted in no longer giving a damn. Sad?

I think not. Food for thought. Trump uses Twitter as a social media “Eat At Joe’s” sandwich board.

Trump short-order cooks his politics to a flavorless scalding and then goes heavy and ham handed on seasoning all with frustration and fear. And it’s damn near, always content calorie free.

But it’s not as if he’s not eating his own cooking. He’s been dining on trepidation and vexation for decades; which is how the willfully shallow usually sup.

But to too many, Trump is comfort food for those afraid of the complicated ingredients and recipes needed to nurture or neuter “late stage capitalism,” public square terrorism, and Rogue States flirting with fire and forget nuclear weapons.

And if you think all that unappetizing, imagine what Donald and his Supper Club supporters are cooking up for dessert.

(Truth be told, nothing at the end of the meal could be as bad as how I’ve rented mule this food for thought metaphor.)


I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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