November 1, 2025: Where Fashion Shits, “Puttin On The Ritz”, Isn't It Rich?

 

“Now, if you're blue

and you don't know where to go to

why don't you go 

And see where fashion shits

Puttin' on the Ritz.

----Parody of Irving Berlin's “Puttin' on the Ritz”

It is quite fitting to resurrect Irving Berlin at a time like this. Our erstwhile Caesar, Disgustus the Malignant, celebrated Halloween at his garish estate in Florida, hosting at Mar-a-Lardo a disgusting assemblage of scumbags which included his two sons, Grift and Graft, and their families. The Fete was billed as a celebration of The Great Gatsby, a novel I'm sure none of the attendees have ever read. So it is among the classless inheritors of wealth; men and women totally unaware of irony.

F. Scott Fitzgerald excoriated the pompousness, the entitlement, of the well-heeled in his magnum opus. But never mind. He comes down to the Rumps as a celebration of excess, and so the party. Billed as the “No One Ever Starved Because of a Party” extravaganza, was it Grift or was it Graft, that dressed his kids up in 100 dollar costumes. Oh yes, that was Junior, the most embarrassing of the two.

“No one ever starved because of a party” indeed. As SNAP funds are about to withheld, cutting food assistance to the most economically hard pressed in this country, some 40 million of our fellow citizens, as USAID has been eliminated and food destroyed at the docks instead of being sent to famine ravaged Africa, these scum celebrate their status on their faux totem, their noses high in the air, their snobbery on full-blown display.

“Different types who wear a daycoat

pants and stripes and cut away coat

perfect shits

puttin' on the Ritz

Come, lets mix where Rockefellers

Walk with sticks or umbrellas

in their mitts

puttin' on the Ritz”

Isn't it rich? Isn't it rich indeed. Here one beholds the Maggots, stewed in deep resentments of the 'elite', worshiping a toad now openly mocking them by conducting a public display of such garish ostentation as to humble the scions of the Guilded Age. Here before them stands, or rather shits, their Golden Idol, ensconced on his Guilded throne in a 'Palace” resembling a pimped-out Motel 6; a cheap and tawdry burlesque of real wealth and class.

This, Maggots, is your bobby prize.

“an bre're Putin, he jus' laugh and laugh”

Impeach and Imprison the Bastartd