From what I read on the intertweet-o-telesphere, politcal-satire show host Samantha Bee referred to Ivanka Trump using the c-word. I’m not going to spell it, because I object to the word and what it stands for. I am not an Ivanka Trump fan, but neither she or anyone other woman deserves to (or should) be called the female equivalent of the n-word. That’s my red line.
I have been recording Samantha Bee’s shows on the DVR, and I watch one once in a while. Samantha Bee is no Jon Stewart in terms of satire or subtlety. Although I do not frequent comedy clubs, I understand that outrageous language is the norm there. Samantha Bee’s crude name-calling may get a shock-laugh in some sleazo comedy club but it was not right on her cable-television show and it would not even have been right if the two of us were having a private lunch together in a diner.
So I am done with Samantha Bee. Her apologies aside, she has shown what her values are and what her boundaries aren’t.
• • •
The next story is about Roseanne Barr’s blatant racist comment and its social and political sequelae. Roseanne now seems to think she can walk back her comment comparing black people to apes. Maybe, in this bizarre intertweet-o-telesphere that we inhabit, she will manage to do that. But even if she does, it doesn’t mean she is not a racist. Like Ms. Bee, Roseanne has shown what her values are and what her boundaries aren’t.
I was never a Roseanne fan. I’m not sure how you could have guessed.
• • •
Last but not least. I went to the Post Office earlier this week and asked for a sheet of the Mister Rogers stamps. The clerk told me that the stamps sold out on the first day and that they weren’t available anywhere in the area. I was astounded, and I said to him, using a louder voice than I should have used, that it was not a beautiful day in this neighborhood. My wife told her sister about my story, and my sister-in-law suggested I order them online (without fully understanding why I would want Mister Rogers postage stamps). I did so, and I expect to get the stamps in a couple of days.
Mister Rogers showed us what his values were and what his boundaries weren’t. I will be happy to put his stamp on any message I send.
Donald J. Trump, Caretaker. This isn’t really his job. He’s just living in that mansion for a while until the real president returns. But while we wait for that day, The Caretaker grows steadily madder. We watch with horror as he falls prey to the same evil forces he invented and pulls the rest of his world into his twisted unreality.
Delbert Grady: Mr. Mueller has a very great talent. I don’t think you are aware how great it is. That he is attempting to use that very talent against your will.
Donald J. Trump: He is a very willful boy.
Delbert Grady: Indeed he is, Mr. Trump. A very willful boy. A rather naughty boy, if I may be so bold, sir.
Donald J. Trump: But my attorney-general. He, uh, interferes.
Delbert Grady: Perhaps they need a good talking to, if you don’t mind my saying so. When my wife tried to prevent me from doing my duty, I “corrected” her.
Donald J. Trump, Caretaker. He’s always been the Caretaker, wielding his axe, obsessed with keeping his mad promises to “correct” things that need to be “corrected.”
Stephen King, please write a happy ending to this ongoing horror novel.