Tom Monihan once owned the Detroit Tigers. The founder of Dominoes Pizza had become, by the late eighties, rich enough to buy the franchise from John Fetzer an aging local media mogul who began to sense that his time was up. Like any new ownership, Monihan came in with all the bluster about a new sheriff in town claiming, as they always do, that a new broom sweeps clean. Gone was Jim Campbell who, as general manager, had piloted the franchise to two World Championships, one in 1968 and one in 1984. Gone too was Ernie Harwell, the voice of the Tigers who had been broadcasting Tiger Baseball for what seemed like forever. Harwell, a native Georgian, held the distinction of being the only man in the booth to be acquired through trade. Early in his career he was traded by the Atlanta Crackers to the New York Giants in exchange for some minor league player and a player to be named later. There may have also been some cash involved. In any case he was on the radio broadcasting the game that featured the Thompson's 'shot-heard-round-the-world' as the Giants clinched the National League Pennant but isn't featured today because thinking radio the dominant media he eschewed the television broadcast now universally remembered. Harwell would never leave the radio booth.
But I digress.
Campbell and Harwell were gone, replaced by the University of Michigan's football coach Bo Schembeckler and a couple of young voices known for their faux excitement and ability to raise their voices up to the level of a prepubescent choir soprano. Gone too was any standard of baseball excellence. Bo may have known football, but he sucked at baseball and the Tigers soon found themselves declining in the standings, declining radio audiences and declining revenues. To make matters worse, if they could be worse, Monihan was found to have been raiding the team's revenues in order to prop up his other enterprises with The American League contemplating taking over the team until the franchise could be sold.
When asked what Monihan was about to do, one executive working for him replied under conditions of anonymity, “what you got to understand about my boss is that when confronted with any crisis his answer is always to put more pepperoni on it”.
This is the mentality of our very own Caesar Disgustus. To Wit: the answer to any crisis is More TRUMP. This leads us to the novel invention of the Mid-Term ReSCUMlickan Convention.
The quadrennial American Political Convention goes back to Andrew Jackson and soon adopted by the Whigs and then the Republicans. It features delegations chosen through party proceedings, such as state conventions or state caucus, or through primary elections. Party platforms are drawn up; speeches are given; the faithful are called to action. Everyone knew that this would be nothing more than a ceremony in glorification of the Supreme Leader. And, indeed it was. There were no real delegations. There was no platform. It was simply an orgy of faux enthusiasm tailored to deify the GREAT ONE. A place where the Maggots could gather and worship the GOLDEN SWINE.
The place chosen was Dallas, Texas. Dallas was selected in order to bolster the faltering campaign of one Ken Paxton, State Attorney General now candidate for the United States Senate. Disgustus had endorsed Paxton against Texas Senator Cornin because the incumbent Senator was insufferably 'independent'. The scandal-ridden Paxton, however, reeked so badly that he had been impeached by the overwhelmingly ReSCUMlickan Texas State Legislature, but narrowly acquitted by the Senate. Disgustus, still in possession of at least a minimal sense of smell, found immediate favor with Paxton who, recognizing the pungency, endorsed his candidacy. Paxton won the primary but has fallen behind his Democratic opponent in blood-red Texas.
The solution to this and the hiding that awaits the trip to the electoral 'woodshed' come November tRUMP deemed to be MORE tRUMP.
So, here we are.
It proved the disaster everyone knew it would be.
First there was the 'selection' process for participation. The event was not to be a gathering of chosen delegates, but instead one of elected officials, party big-whigs, and the monied class. Attendance required a minimum 25 thousand dollars in contribution for two tickets to this orgy of stupidity and incompetence. Ticket prices went up from there to well over a hundred thousand dollars for the 'privilege' of getting within reach of the Orange Turd himself, assuming one could stand the stench.
Forty percent of the ReSCUMlickan Congressional Caucus suddenly found more pressing matters on their agendas. One member of the House cited the need to tend his garden, another to spend more quality family time. One was said to be hiding in a closet, location unknown.
So here was Disgustus on the podium, both nights, before a half-filled auditorium, leading the assembled in a “Pledge of Allegiance” not to the Republic but to himself, “the greatest American President”, asking them to commit voter fraud if necessary to win this election. Then, he stunned the nation by promising five thousand dollars to every adult in the country if his party prevails in November; a blatantly illegal act.
Yeah, sure, Donald. We're still waiting on that tariff rebate check that you gave to the corporations. We're still waiting on the check you said you'd send when you cut off our ObamaCare subsidies.
We're still waiting on that DOGE dividend. We will believe you when Big Ed's check from Publisher's Clearinghouse arrives and clears the bank.
Dallas was an act of desperation by a desperate little man feeling his influence on the wane. It did nothing to stem the hemorrhage of political support. Disgustus, finding himself the most unpopular 'president' in the history of polling, with support now falling in some polls to the high twenties, is terrified of what comes next. He knows that the walls are closing in. His nights are filled with terror as he dreams of congressional investigations where every underling, every relative, every business associate, every record be it financial, medical or political will be requisitioned.
He is a cornered rat, and a cornered rat is dangerous.
An' Bre'er Putin, he jus' laugh and laugh
Impeach, Convict, Imprison
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