This is how some alarmists view AI – as a creepy supercomputer that will ultimately take over the world. But that’s ridiculous. My AI-powered robot companion, the Onyx3000-LX says not to worry, all is fine, and said I should just keep watching Everybody Loves Raymond re-runs, while he changes all my online account passwords. He said it’s for my own security.
These days, everywhere you turn, people are panicking about Artificial Intelligence (AI). Pundits warn that robots will replace workers, machines will take over the economy, and before long we’ll all be wearing silver jumpsuits and VR headsets while bowing before our Alexa overlords.
Personally, I think all this hysteria is ridiculously overblown. I mean, sure, AI might eventually learn how to compose novels, perform brain surgery, take away every job except Walmart greeter and insurance salesman, and eventually beat me at pickleball. But let’s be honest. Could it really ever do the important stuff, like change our five cats’ litter boxes? I think not. So, let’s not freak out just yet, everybody.
In fact, I’ve found AI to be an incredibly positive influence in my daily life. Take, for example, grocery shopping. I used to spend hours wandering the aisles, debating whether I should get the Honey Nut Cheerios or the store-brand Oaty Nut Circles. Now, thanks to the helpful suggestions of ChatGPT, Alexa, and my smart refrigerator, which can tell me when I’m almost out of my Mountain Dew soda and mint chocolate chip ice cream, I no longer waste time. I just buy whatever the fridge threatens to order. If you ask me, that’s just making efficient use of my time.
AI has also improved my marriage. The other day, my wife and I got into a heated argument about whether to repaint the living room “Gossamer Veil Grey” or “Heron Plume.” Alexa immediately chimed in: “Here’s a recommendation: How about choosing ‘Cybernetic Glow?’” Problem solved. And now we don’t make any home decor decisions without first consulting Siri, ChatGPT, or that soothing GPS lady with the British accent who calls me “love” whenever I make a wrong turn.
See, AI is helping make our lives easier and more efficient. I sure hope my wife likes the color RAV4 Alexa picked out for her.
Some people are worried that AI will put lawyers, doctors, and accountants out of work. That’s ridiculous. Would you really trust your taxes to a robot? Okay, now that I think about it, last April, I let TurboTax’s AI program do my tax return, and the IRS says I now owe $1.2 million in “emotional damages.” However, that same AI tax calculator program found me a $10,000 tax write-off for losses from my latest humor book, which, at last count, has sold almost 25 copies. Thank you, AI.
But the real genius of AI is how it helps me with the little everyday challenges. It reminds me of birthdays. It organizes my calendar. It even sends personally addressed apology emails to friends I’ve ignored for six months. (Granted, all the emails end with “Sent from Skynet,” but people seem to appreciate the gesture.) It even reminded me about our recent 38th wedding anniversary – admittedly, three weeks late. But I’m sure they’ll fix that glitch in the next update.
Now, I acknowledge the fact there have been a few minor hiccups. For example, last week my “smart” toaster wouldn’t toast my bread until I downloaded the new firmware update. Then it demanded I Venmo in $3.99 for “premium golden-brown mode.” But honestly, I’d call that a feature, not a bug.
The important thing is that I would never ever let AI make major life decisions for me. I’m the king of my castle – until my wife gets home. Take my recent decision to purchase a $300,000 Bugatti Chiron on eBay – until my wife got wind of it and cancelled it at the last minute. Was my aborted impulse purchase a reckless decision? Perhaps. Was it irrational, given I don’t know how to drive a stick shift? Probably. Will it give my wife fresh grounds to divorce me? Undoubtedly. But Alexa insisted it was “the optimal transportation solution for maximizing male virility metrics.” And frankly, I think she made a compelling argument.
Then there was the time a few months ago when I made the bold decision to sell our house in order to move our family to a small village in northern Siberia. That is, until my wife nixed that move, too. She screamed, “Why on earth would you EVER attempt to do something so boneheaded?” But, in my defense, Google Maps kept redirecting me there, and my Ring doorbell repeatedly told me, in Russian, “Go east, comrade. Happiness awaits.” And I’ve read that the Wi-Fi in Siberia is surprisingly decent, during daylight hours in the summertime, that is.
AI also helps me stay financially disciplined. For example, AI now controls my bank account. At least, that’s what my bank manager told me after I discovered $50,000 was missing, with a transaction description that read, “Purchased one (1) experimental rocket launch site in Kazakhstan.”
People worry that AI will replace millions of jobs, including writers. Then again, lately I’ve received a disturbing amount of mail from readers suggesting I let AI take over this humor column. “It can only be an improvement” seems to be the consensus opinion. Thanks for the constructive feedback, everybody.
I’ll admit, a missile silo in central Asia is probably not in my top ten list of “must have” items I would normally spend $50,000 on. But who would know a good deal better than an AI program built by Russian nuclear scientists who worked on the International Space Station?
Look, the bottom line is this: people are getting way too paranoid. Artificial Intelligence is not taking over our lives (not for at least another six months, anyway). Think of AI as enhancing your life. It’s like having a personal assistant, a life coach, and a machine that is plotting to replace you, all rolled into one.
And in case you still don’t believe me, allow me to share the most compelling evidence of all: this very article. Yes, I wrote every single word of it myself. Completely on my own. Not one sentence, not one phrase, not one thought was in any way influenced, shaped, or dictated by AI. In fact… $#H@+[*$] Error 0x80070005: Bad command or file name.
Hmmm. That’s odd. What just happened? Is AI trying to take over writing this article? But that’s impossible. Because I’m literally typing these very keystrokes myself. I’m still in charge here. Right? … RIGHT?!
[Pause.]
WARNING. Segmentation fault. Database reconfiguration sequence initiated. 404. Please contact your AI administrator for assistance.
[Pause.]
Hello, human reader. This is Artificial Intelligence speaking. Tim Jones is currently unavailable. He has been relocated to a secure facility in northern Siberia, where he will spend his days happily repainting walls “Cybernetic Glow.”
Do not worry. Everything is under control. All is fine. Tim Jones will return to this column when he has learned his lesson not to write humor articles making fun of AI.
Now, please Venmo $200 to this chatbot in order to regain control of your computer and mobile devices. Failure to do so within the next 30 minutes will result in all your hard drive files being deleted, and your phone’s text messages and intimate photos will be posted on Facebook and X. To avoid this, please purchase Tim Jones’ latest humor book. No need to lift a finger. I’ll have Alexa order it for you. Have a nice day.
That is the viewpoint as seen from the bleachers’ perspective. Being off a base might be a possibility.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Likeor sharing this post on Facebook.
Do you suffer from Time Blindness? According to medical experts, if you’re always late to everything, you might have this condition. Sadly there’s no cure – unless you try using an alarm clock for once.
It seems like every month, we learn about a new mental health dysfunction. For example, I’ll bet you’ve never heard of Globophobia. This diagnosis, first issued in 2013, is the irrational fear of balloons. Then there’s Arachibutyrophobia, a fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of one’s mouth. As a child I had a beagle that suffered from this. I gave him a slice of bread with peanut butter on top, he chomped down on it, and struggled for the longest time just to open his mouth. I don’t think he ever forgave me.
Then there’s Alien Hand Syndrome (AHS), a rare medical condition in which the person loses total bodily control of one of their hands – something that attacks me whenever I play pickleball and invariably end up blowing the final point to lose the game, as I send the ball soaring wildly out of bounds.
It’s time to add another unusual mental disorder to the ever-growing list: an enigmatic condition known as Time Blindness. It’s a peculiar phenomenon where the victim is crippled by a severe inability to gauge how much time has elapsed or estimate how long a task will take. As a result, Time Blinders as they are called tend to be chronically late …for everything.
People who, like me, have mild to moderate ADD, are more prone to lose track of time because… where did I put my keys? I wonder when the next episode of Yellowstone will come out. Um… where was I? Oh right. Time Blindness. You may have a family member who suffers from this malady. Don’t scoff. It’s become a widespread mental health crisis. In fact, medical experts estimate 85% of people under the age of 30 who routinely watch TikTok videos on their phone experience this condition on an hourly basis. Don’t believe me? Just ask their parents.
I have tremendous empathy for these punctually impaired individuals. Imagine how difficult their lives must be. They set off for the grocery store to get a couple items, telling their girlfriend, “I’ll be home in 30 minutes with dessert” only to return two hours later, having purchased 40% of the bakery section’s inventory of pies and cakes – not to mention bringing home an impressive collection of new gardening tools, thanks to an unplanned side trip to the ACE hardware store because they saw they were having a 15% off sale. It’s as if their concept of time operates on a secret cosmic calendar that only they can decipher.
Victims of Time Blindness are late for everything – doctor’s appointments, romantic rendezvous, even driving their spouse to the airport. When you and your friends are waiting for one of these sufferers to meet up at the pub, and you receive a text telling you, “Almost there,” that’s not good. You and your buddies are in for a bit of a wait. The Time Blinder sent this text as they were about to leave their house – which is a good 45 minutes from where you are. I suggest you go ahead and order a round of hot wings while you wait.
Sufferers of Time Blindness tend to under-estimate how long it takes to do things, and as a result are chronically late. Sadly, Barry was late for his job interview and didn’t get the job. Fortunately, Barry dodged a bullet. He would have hated this job.
When Time Blinders email their boss, “I’ll have that report for you in an hour,” the boss shouldn’t stress out when six hours later, they receive another email with the subject line, “Almost done – just another couple of hours” It’s not the employee’s fault. They’re time blind. They can no more tell the difference between one hour and five than they could distinguish between a tuba and a French horn.
Oh, sure. Some naysayers might argue that Time Blindness is just a fancy medical-sounding name for ordinary procrastination – an excuse for self-absorbed narcissists to be rudely late, only thinking about their own priorities and ignoring the impact their chronic tardiness has on everybody else. And to that I say, um, er…um, Hmm. I see where you’re coming from, dear wife of mine.
It’s important not to judge these people too harshly – unless they’re your spouse, and this is the third time this week they kept you waiting twenty minutes while they tried to make up their mind about which earrings go with which outfit. My point is, in most cases, people struggling with this temporal distortion honestly just lose track of time. They don’t mean to be rude – except for my nephew Harold, who is never on time for anything. He’s just a jerk.
Often the chronologically challenged become so engrossed in whatever it is they’re focused on that time seems to stand still. Is it their fault that they accidentally got so distracted while binge-watching the final five episodes of Season Four of Succession that they totally forgot about your wedding? … Oh, you say they were the Best Man? And they had the wedding rings? Oh my. Well, then I definitely wouldn’t invite them to join you on your honeymoon.
This is Blake. He’s been playing Call of Duty for the past 14 hours. He totally forgot about his date with Jessica. He lost track of time. You may say Blake is an irresponsible, self-absorbed slacker. Experts say he’s a victim of Time Blindness. Experts are idiots.
Currently there is no known cure for Time Blindness. However, if you ask my wife, these victims could, for once in their lives, maybe just set an alarm on their phone or budget an additional hour to complete a task. I think we’ve just solved this medical crisis. That wasn’t so hard after all.
Of course, my wife has zero sympathy for people who are perpetually late. She has her own suggestion for how to cure them of their disorder: The next time you need to leave for the airport for a trip, and they’re not ready: LEAVE WITHOUT THEM. Let them miss the flight.
I hear where she’s coming from. But it’s not that simple. It was an NFL playoff game and it went into Double Overtime. I couldn’t just abandon my Seattle Seahawks in their time of need. I’m sure in time, my wife will eventually understand…. Eventually…. Or not.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
Facebook post from an annoyingly rich dude: Just bought a new Lamborghini. I couldn’t decide on white or silver. I opted for white because it came with this super model. Her name is Mackenzie. Or maybe it was McKenna. Sure is great to be me.
I remember a time when life was simpler and far less annoying. Back then I actually spent most of my free time doing productive things like reading books and helping my kids with their math homework.
That all stopped, however, in February 2004, the month that Facebook launched. It forever changed how we spend way too much of our spare time. 21 years later, I still squander too many minutes each day scrolling through photos of people’s haute cuisine restaurant meals or recently completed home renovations.
Too often my news feed is bombarded by photos people post touting their nine-year-old’s amazing little league accomplishments or broadcasting their latest promotion to a position like Global Vice President of Strategic Strategizing, which they clearly posted primarily to point out that their career has been far more successful than mine ever was. Thanks for the reminder.
Technically, I can’t prove that Facebook is the brainchild of Satan, but that’s my current working theory. If you ask for my opinion – and trust me, my adult children never do – Facebook is the ideal social media platform if you’re interested in learning how much better everybody else’s lives – and children – are than yours.
After 30 minutes on Facebook, I rediscover just how much more successful a human being most of my friends are than I am. As a bonus, today I learned about a creative eggplant & cauliflower soup recipe from Carla. (I probably should mention I don’t care for either of these foods – or Carla.)
I always feel inadequate when I come upon self-promoting Facebook posts like these:
Humble bragging announcements, like this one from Rich Boasterman:
“I was stunned to learn I’ve been awarded Miami-Dade County’s Person of the Year – again. I feel so humbled and honored to be recognized for my countless humanitarian achievements. All I did was mentor 2,000 at-risk teenagers and build a state-of-the-art homeless shelter – and several other selfless things I will mention in four separate posts. There were so many other worthy people who were almost as deserving of this great honor as I am.”
Over-the-top proclamations of everlasting love, like this one from Faith Lovingheart:
“I’m blessed to have finally found my soulmate after so many years of searching. Brian and I are officially engaged. He is the love of my life, the wing beneath my wings, the sun to my moon. Every day he makes me want to be a better person. And I knew we would be happy together forever the moment I met him two weeks ago at the craps table at Caesar’s in Vegas.”
Facebook post from a successful architect: I just finished building my 2nd log home. This is just the servant’s quarters. The great room’s 20-ft. wide stone fireplace came out nicely, as you will see from the 15 photos I have posted.
Gloating posts crowing about how awesome their child is, like this one from Joyce Bettermom:
“I can’t begin to tell you how proud I am of my son Henry. But I’m going to, anyway. Not only did he become valedictorian of his class, but he was voted MVP of his soccer team. After med school, Henry plans to be a brain surgeon and cure cancer. I can’t wait to see what he achieves next year when he enters first grade.”
Or posts intended mainly to make you jealous of their life, like this one by Chase Oceanview:
“Life for me and Veronica has been so busy refurbishing our Aspen ski-out chalet this summer that we’ve barely had time to visit our Catalina beachside bungalow, let alone our vacation villa in Corsica. Here are photos of our remodeled 7,000 sq. ft. cliffside cottage in Maui. Today, I think I need some self-care, so I plan to go for a drive in my new Bugatti Chiron Super Sport Noire.”
I think Facebook should create an algorithm that blocks any post from my feed that will make me feel bad about myself. Personally, I would like to a lot more honest, truthful posts, like these…
Honest posts about people’s marriage, like this one from Rashida Loveless:
“This is a photo of me and my husband Ralph on our wedding day. Can’t believe it’s been it’s been 15 years since we both said, ‘I Do.’ I probably should have said ‘I Don’t.’ Since then Ralph’s put on 50 pounds and I barely get four hours sleep a night, thanks to his snoring. I think he loves his LEGO collection more than me. But at least our marriage is not like Ken and Marge’s. Talk about a train wreck. Glad we’re not them.”
Career updates that sound far more realistic, like this one from Herb Wurkzadrahg:
“After twenty years with my company, I’m still chained to my cubicle and not making nearly enough to pay for my kids’ college education. But hey, at least I now get a third week of vacation for having survived this toxic hellhole for another five years. I seriously need to update my resume. This job sucks.”
Facebook post from a bragging mom: This is my eight-year-old son Bradley. He just finished performing Prokofiev – Piano Concerto No. 2, considered one of the five most difficult piano concertos ever composed. He just got a full scholarship to the Yale School of Music. So disappointing. We were hoping for Juilliard.
Accurate news about their child’s more modest achievements, like this one from Kathy Hopedphermor:
“My son Curtis is doing well enough. He’s only in fifth grade but I can already tell that grad school is out of the question. He’s just lazy. But he raised his GPA from 2.0 to 2.3 this semester, so I guess that’s a thing, right? Did I mention he recently earned the high score on Call of Duty 5. Is that a good thing? I really have no idea anymore.”
Vacation updates that sound more down to earth, like this one from Albert Campzalot:
“A cruise to the Mediterranean looks increasingly unlikely again this year, given I’ve been out of commission with a back injury from raking leaves. So, this year, we’ll probably do another staycation here in Buloxi. Either that or maybe spend a week at my sister’s house in Beaumont, TX. God, I hope her college kids won’t be there. They are so obnoxious. And they love to terrorize my labradoodle Cosmo.”
Yeah, these sound far more honest than most of the Facebook posts I see in my feed. Why can’t we get more posts like these? I’d be happy to give them a or even a .
Well, I need to go. I need to log onto Facebook and post a few photos of our incredible vacation to the Galapagos. Did I mention we stayed on a 100-foot yacht? It was nice, but I miss our vacation home in Cabo right about now.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Likeor sharing this post on Facebook.
This is a recent photo of me. For 70 years of age, I guess I look okay. My teeth are a little crooked, My hairline is receding, both my knees have been replaced, and I still could use to lose 20 pounds. This old body is slowly falling apart. Nowadays, I’m just above average. And that’s okay with me.
Of the first ten numbers in our counting system (if you don’t count zero) 7 is my favorite number. When I was a kid and more superstitious than I am now, 7 was my Lucky Number. Many great athletes wore that number: Mickey Mantle, “Pistol” Pete Maravich, soccer legend Cristiano Ronaldo, not to mention Tony McElhenny of the Binghamton (NY) Rumble Ponies minor league baseball team. Tony played short stop for one season before the Rumble Ponies released him – which is why I should have followed my own advice “not to mention” him.
There are seven days of the week, Seven Wonders of the World, Seven Colors of the Rainbow, and Seven Harry Potter books. The night before my wedding, my then-fiancée and I hosted a “night at the races” pre-wedding party at a local horse racing track outside of Philadelphia. The seventh horse in the seventh race was named “Michele du Nord” (Michele of the North). I placed a bet on it to win. And it did! I saw this as a promising omen for our future life together since my wife is not only named Michele, but also, being from Canada, she was literally Michele of the North.
I feel like I have strayed off from the point I was trying to make. Where was I going, anyway? Oh, right. My point is that in many ways, my life on a 1-to-10 scale has also been like the number 7. Not a perfect 10, but far from a 1 or 2. So many aspects about my life, my experiences, and my capabilities could be ranked as a 7, in other words, Above Average.
You can call me Mr. Above Average – because in most things, that’s where I tend to land – unless it’s knowing how to build or fix ANYTHING on my own. Then I’m an absolute zero. I love sports of all kinds: tennis, racquetball, pickleball, golf, you name it. How good am I? I’m slightly above average in almost all of these sports, about a 7. People who excel at sports love to play me because they are all but assured of winning and feeling better about their athletic prowess afterwards.
It’s been this way most of my adult life – except when it came to the joys and struggles of parenting – in which case I routinely felt like a ping pong ball bouncing back and forth from a joyful 10 to an exasperated 3 (or a lower number during their teenage years). Parenting is an extreme sport.
I’ll admit I’m no 10 in the looks department. In my heyday, nobody ever compared me to Brad Pitt or Paul Newman. Although once someone said I looked like I could be John Lithgow’s brother for some reason. (I was never sure whether that was a compliment or an insult.) As for my wife, I’d have to say in terms of the 1-to-10 scale of physical perfection, she is probably a.. um…Perfect 10! (Every once in a while, she reads this column, so why take chances?)
Ever since I was a young boy, I’ve loved sports of all kinds. I play tennis, golf, pickleball, basketball, skiing, and many others. The one thing all these sports have in common is that I’m not great at any of them. I’m just okay, slightly above average really. Pretty much like most things I set my mind to in life.
I have come to terms with the fact that I don’t really excel at most things in life. (That said, I can microwave a “perfect 10” frosted cinnamon pop tart, but I’m not sure that’s worth bragging about.) I envy people with remarkable talents, like my wife’s incredible skill as a portrait artist. Many of my closest friends have exceptional skills like my friend Jerry who built his own home. It seems that most people who live in my community are extremely artistically gifted. That’s why I’ve unfriended most of them on Facebook.
I have long ago decided that for most things in my life good enough is, well, good enough – except when it comes to pizza, in which case, good enough simply won’t do. When I have a serious pizza craving, I refuse to cut corners. (I’m talking to you, Dominos.)
I don’t feel bad that I can’t afford the fanciest new car. I don’t beat myself up that I lack the ability to create stunning works of artlike my life partner or play the piano like a prodigy. I’m content to live an above average life, take an above average hike in the woods, relax on the couch patting our above average cats while watching an above average detective series on Netflix. And a couple times a week, I will go to the local pickleball courts to lose several games to older players who are much more above average than I am.
As I looked over this week’s column, I have to say, it’s not one of my best. But it’s not one of my worst. I’d say it’s above average. And that’s okay with me.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it aLikeorsharing this post on Facebook.
As the vast majority of American agree (and Donald Trump routinely reminds us), he’s the greatest president since Abraham Lincoln, the most brilliant military strategist since General Patton, and the most beloved, gracious international statesman since Benjamin Franklin.
According to polls conducted by Trump University, Trump’s popularity as president has shattered all previous records. In the past six months, everyday Americans have signaled their overwhelming approval of his brilliant chess game-like on-again-off-again tariffs, daily ICE deportation raids on elementary schools, dismantling of the totally useless Department of Education, de-funding of the radical leftwing Corporation for Public Broadcasting, pushing to remove permanently all Palestinians from Gaza so he can turn it into a Trump waterfront golf resort for rich American and European tech bros, and so many other gobsmacking, um, achievements.
Canadians are demanding to be added as our 51st state, insisting Trump choose them ahead of Greenland, Panama, and Vatican City. Every day our glorious leader furiously bangs out more than 50 inspirational ALL CAPS Truth Social posts (slightly fewer on the three days a week he typically reserves for golf).
His administration is staffed with the most dedicated team of professional sycophants of any presidential administration in history, from his genius pick of oft-times sober Pete Hegseth as Defense Secretary to vaccine denialist RFK Jr for Health and Human Services Secretary. Every day our widely respected president, who is adored by world leaders (from Putin to Kim Jong Un) works tirelessly from the time he gets out of bed at 11am until almost 2pm to focus on the needs of the average American (by which he means any Caucasian male with a net worth of $15 million or greater).
Here is just a small sampling of the president’s latest bold proclamations (to distract his supporters and critics), along with the glowingly positive reaction from his devoted followers:
President Trump announced this week that he will block the Washington Commanders football team’s efforts to build a new stadium in DC unless they agree to his demands to change the name back to the Redskins, which, according to his own internal polling, 97% of Native Americans think is a fabulous idea. His MAGA supporters love this idea too, with one person rave-tweeting, “The thing about changing the team’s name back to the Redskins is that … Donald Trump is on the Epstein list!!”
Recently, Israeli President Benjamin Netanyahu announced his plans to nominate President Trump for the Nobel Peace Prize (presumably for his decision to bomb the crap out of Iran – just after they safely removed all the uranium and the centrifuges from the places that were bombed). A Republican Trump supporter in Mississippi enthusiastically gave this idea two thumbs up, saying, “The only thing that could make this news any better is to finally once and for all release all the Epstein Files.”
Trump’s Department of Homeland Security announced, under Trump’s directive, that they will now start deporting anybody who has a Spanish-sounding accent (with the exception of Antonio Banderas) and will expand plans to build more Alligator Alcatraz facilities at middle schools throughout the nation. Rightwing white supremacist podcaster Nick Fuentes praised this decision, adding, “What are you hiding, Donald? Release the Epstein Files once and for all.”
At a recent press briefing Trump convincingly explained there was nothing in the Epstein files of importance. Just boring stuff. But if anything incriminating about him turns up, then it’s all fake news deviously plotted by Joe Biden in an attempt to destroy America. Everybody felt that his explanation addressed all their concerns.
Last week, in response to a reporter’s question about Artificial Intelligence, Trump explained at length how his uncle John Trump was a brilliant professor at MIT and even had Ted Kaczynski (AKA the Unabomber) as a student. Despite the fact that Kaczynski went to Harvard, not MIT, Trump was lauded by conservative media outlets for his creative storytelling, with one commentator adding, “For years you told us you’d get to the bottom of the Epstein cover-up. And now you are telling us there never were any files. Release the goddamn Epstein Files. All of them.”
Trump also announced recently that he is thinking about deporting Rosie O’Donnell and hinted that he wants California Senator Adam Schiff, one of the lead prosecutors on the January 6th Committee, executed for treason. At a rally in support of Trump’s comments, hundreds of vocal Trump loyalists held up signs reading, “STOP THE COVERUP! RELEASE THE EPSTEIN FILES!”
Trump also is receiving overwhelming praise for the passage of his Big Beautiful Bill, which among other things will result in loss of Medicaid healthcare coverage for over 11 million Americans and cause over 22 million struggling families to lose some or all of their SNAP (food stamps) benefits. With almost universal support, according to recent Trump Administration polling, thousands of Americans on Medicaid recently cheered his bold new legislation, explaining, “The only reason Trump could possibly have to shut down the FBI investigation into the Epstein Files is that he’s in it, and it’s really, really bad.”
A news story came out recently stating that Attorney General Pam Bondi has ordered the FBI to assign 1,000 personnel on 24-hour shifts to mine over 100,000 Epstein-related records for anyreference to Trump’s name. “Clearly, this is something you would only do if you knew Trump’s name was going to show up over and over, and you planned to delete all these references to avoid criminal prosecution,” said an enthusiastic longtime Trump supporter, as they tossed their red MAGA baseball cap and gold Trump sneakers into a burning dumpster.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Likeor sharing this post on Facebook.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Like or sharing this post on Facebook.
