You will enjoy reading the output of my rotting mind

I'm still mulling that stupid Brett Kananaugh no-handshake with bereaved gun control advocate incident.   I already said the attempt may have been prohibited on the basis of a security arrangement.  Allowing the two swains to lock hands is an opportunity for Mr. Guttenburg to bite Brett's shiny little  nose off.    It's not freaky for security guards to forbid physical contact.

 There are some desperate assholes out there, and some of them  have a perfectly appreciable agenda.  If I wanted to enact gun control I might not have been as even tempered as Guttenburg.  Brettster isn't anything close to my kind of person.   The reason for my limp wristed centrist position on this matter and loads of others is the sheer and shitty human capital that might otherwise wind up on the Supreme Court.  At this point, shit is shit.   Perhaps  when all options are bad, one tries to be the most pragmatic little shit one can be.   It's what I do.

Happy days, 45 turned in a grade A performance plastering over sex allegation #3.  When a fifth victim comes forward, I think Channel should name a perfume after her.    Okay.  I'm sick.   Maybe I'll get help.   Don't let me have you believe I support any politician.   I'm urging pragmatism with regard to actions that 45 is taking.  One can despise the First Shroomdick  at the self-same time.  Philosophers have spoken of the divided self.  People can compartmentalize this crap. 

Woolly Bully, by Sam the Sham and Pharoahs, is the song of wacky hocus pocus.   Jean Paul Sartre believed everyone has the right to go insane.   One  can keep one's marbles in a tidy sack, as well.   Shroomster has been taking a number of actions we all should be eyeballing critically.  I believe in fair play, the Prez is a first rate bullshit artist, and I don't mind recognizing the brute for it.  Another song comes to mind, goddamit, It's Only A Paper Moon.   Blanche Dubois was singing it in the bathtub, in Street Car Named Desire, shortly before being carted to the state hospital.   What may have seemed normal a few decades ago is only a paper moon.  Maybe our Shroomdick is bullshitting us all someplace nice.