It just keeps gettin better and better. Sitting on this pedestal I’ve made for myself at thirty thousand feet above normal, I look down at my brethren of yore, my deepest cousins in crime, the land I miss so dearly. And while looking down, what do I see? A shit-show of epic proportions. I mean, you’d think that at this point someone, somewhere in #americant could step up to the plate. Not Joe-shmow, of course. Joe-Shmow is the problem! But why not a Senator, why not a former president, why not Hillary? As far as I can tell there are only a few congressmen that have stepped up to the plate so far, i.e. the two-hundred or so that are suing #Trump over violating the emoluments clause. Bless their sweet little liberal hearts, eh! Of course, we all know what lawsuits are all about. I mean. Come on. Lawsuits are like porn was back in the day when you had to put a quarter in a machine and a small window opened up where you saw Davila playing with her Dirty Nikki. I mean, you really gotta wanna go there with lawsuits these days–but once you go–you’re there. Or maybe not.
Speaking of lawsuits. Last year when my better-half dragged me off to India for what was supposed to be a two to three year stint aka career betterment–but turned out to be a dudd–I was threatened by a restaurant manager who thought a lawsuit was the best way to solve a simple bank transfer problem. Seriously. We had a lunch at a Bangelore shopping mall. The bill was (insert # Rupees here; about $14) and we thought we paid. I even kept the receipt. About a week later we got a call from the restaurant manager that the bank transfer of the card didn’t go through. If we don’t pay the bill by that afternoon, he said, he was gonna sue me. Seriously, India? Are you the first other world country to be Trumped above the rest? The next day, of course, I travelled back to the mall/restaurant–getting around Bangelore is a nightmare, btw–and paid our bill with cash. The manager was thankful and went into this long tirade about how some people just don’t pay their tabs. Oh really.
I suppose every once-a-once, in a world governed, managed, made profitable by lawsuits, there might be one or three out there that actually makes sense. And so, with all the gusto I can muster from these thirty thousand feet, looking down upon the land I love/miss so much–and for the sake of Seth Rich’s family–sue the beegeezees out ’em, baby.
Rant on.
-t
Links that motivated this post:
worstwriter 