Thursday, May 26, 2016

I begin another decade of my life today. It’s sunny to partly cloudy.

I’ve been thinking  about the Frump – Hildabeast.

For thirty years or more she has slobbered and schemed and sneaked about to be the biggest toad in the pond.

She’s been first this and first that and when the man she is married to  ran out of places to be elected she got more ambitious.

She evidently hasn’t made all that many  friends and has accumulated some enemies. Namely dra-mama. Which means she has accumulated a whole network of friends of friends of her enemies.

So. Suppose the worse punishment possible would be to fail, again, to reach a goal.


I have one more, more dastardly thought about that. Suppose you stepped on your hands climbing the stairs. Bad stepped on your hands. Suppose, as an enemy, posing as a friend, you were told to press on, you’re back was covered.

And she did.

And drip, drip, facts of the transgression come out, and there is an investigation and the back guarding person sat and watched, knowing there were others in the wings chomping at the bit, wanting what you were after,, but secretly making deals, with more  friends than she has, and just as she claims victory —

The FBI is turned loose, the US Attorney General is instructed to prosecute, and the nomination is taken away. And she faces trial.

I mean at the last minute possible.

And that secret person, posing as a neutral person is put forward in her place, forwarding the progressive movement, never having to run, exposing her to the examination of the public, but as the alternative to the parties need to displace Bernie Baby. Never having to spend the money the Clintons have, by-passing the DNC chairwoman and her blather.

Would that be sweet revenge for dra-mama over an election eight years past? Wouldn’t just. There wouldn’t be a tearful eye in the whole of the Democratic Party, I don’t think. They’d all jump on board the new woman’s cart and pass through check out, post haste.

Why else would a Congress woman attack Trump, if for no other reason than to test chops.


From the Reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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