Putin got a red carpet and a red Trump 28 hat last week. I'm afraid he picked up a yacht, too.
So the deal's off. The check's in the mail. You know who you are.
The good news coming out of Alaska is his Puppy didn't deed it over to him. That's because Donald thought he was in Canada.
As soon as he makes Canada a state, Don Jon's giving Daddy Vlad Alaska back. That won't make Lisa Murkowski happy.
But first, he's going to make him a deal for half of Ukraine. The script right here says the European Union and Zelinsky are already on board.
Meanwhile in the lower 48, states who have cities with far higher crime rates are sending national guard troops to Washington, D.C. because a DOGE stooge got carjacked trying to buy crack. They're out in force and taking prisoners. Unfortunately, running over tourists doesn't do much for tourism at the National Mall. I guess it's the price you've got to pay for order.
Trump's toadies are ransacking the Smithsonian removing all the woke slavery and genocide are bad exhibits so our history will be whitewashed and happy for the 250th birthday celebration. The native American museum will be adding a wing dedicated to Trump's favorite stereotypical sports mascots, for example.
There's probably a basement somewhere Stephen Miller is gleefully smashing artifacts and burning tiny crosses with his little friends.
I've got to be honest. I'm not nearly as afraid of the cancer in me as the one that's taking our country. It's possible 250 years is all the country we grew up in is going to get.
Since I brought it up, it's been a little over a year since I jumped on the roller coaster cancer puts you on. I've been catscanned, petscanned, x-rayed and mri'ed. I've had chemotherapy, radiation therapy and immunotherapy. I've lost all my hair, all my teeth, and I will set off a geiger counter. My hair grew back, but not my teeth. I still glow in the dark.
None of it is fun, but the one most people have the easiest time with, immunotherapy, hammered me. A Keytruda commercial will give me PTSD. I keep the remote close when watching certain channels.
The good news is the therapies did what they were intended to do and took care of the cancer and tumor in my throat and the lone spot on the vertebra. The bad news is other spots have shown up on bone elsewhere and I began chemo again this week.
Turns out it's not the roller coaster, I'm in the arcade playing wakamole. All I've got to do is keep swinging the mallet till the moles are all gone before time runs out.
Hard as I try, I have no clever allusion between the cancer in me and the cancer in us. The cancer in me is very real and easy to target. The cancer in our country is born of illusion, lies and hate, very elusive targets. It's a lot harder to convince the misinformed than the uninformed.
Wakamole is not going to work on that.