Nukes i the hands of 2 madmen!…

So, we have some dick over in Asia that has a hardon for the US and wants to blow us all up. Then we have on the other side a man that has no military experience in any form or way whatsoever, that can’t wait to blast North Korea back to the stone age.

You people can laugh at that as much as you want, but the threat on both sides is very but very very real. This time even China and Russia seem to have had enough with this over-fed clueless kid, starving his people and building himself an arsenal of nukes that within the next 8 to 12 months could have the capacity to strike and hit the pacific coast of our nation.

“While our State Department is making every effort to resolve this global threat through diplomatic means, it must be noted that the combined allied militaries now possess the most precise, rehearsed and robust defensive and offensive capabilities on earth,” Mattis said in a statement. “The DPRK regime’s actions will continue to be grossly overmatched by ours and would lose any arms race or conflict it initiates.

“The DPRK should cease any consideration of actions that would lead to the end of its regime and the destruction of its people,” Mattis said.

Yes, these are words to try and get the Chubby little boy to calm down and sit back at the negotiations table, but the White House seems pretty much ready to throw a few over the Pacific direction Kim Jong-un’s bedroom bunker! Basically its language that Kim Jong-un understands.

Well, we now have two crazy peeps with a nuclear capability to launch an attack on one another, lets see how this goes…

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Will we survive whats left of the Donald Trump presidency?

So. We have a vulgar, unstable yo-yo with a toxic ego and an attention-deficit problem in the White House, and now we can see that government by Twitter is like trying to steer a ship by firing a pistol at the waves — not really useful — but what does it all add up to? Not that much, if you ask me, which you didn’t, but I’ll say it anyway.

We will survive this. He will do what damage he can, like a man burning books out of anger that he can’t read, but there will still be plenty of books left.

I went to my high school class reunion last week and the gentleman’s name never came up. He has been front-page news for months, every bleat, blurt, yelp and belch. His every gaseous eruption is played over and over on cable news. But among my old classmates, not a word. They spoke with awe and reverence of their grandchildren (we’re the class of 1960), some about travel, plumbing projects, beloved old cars, stories of youth and indiscretion, nothing about death or President Trump. After five hours with them, I have no idea whether they lean left or right. Remarkable.

Marvin Buchholz and Wayne Swanson are still farming, though they, like the rest of us, are 75 or close to it. They both know what sweet corn is supposed to taste like. Dean Johnson is still tinkering with cars. Rich Peterson is in terrific shape, thanks to teaching physical education all these years. His parents ran Cully’s Cafe out back of the Herald office where I wrote sports when I was 16, and I’d come in to eat hot beef and gravy on white bread and potatoes while reading my own immortal words in black type. They loved that boy, and he turned out well.

Bob Bell and I discussed some classmates whom I considered lowlifes and hoods because they wore black shirts with white ties and drove old cars with flame decals and loud mufflers, but he saw a better side to them and stood up for them, and good for him. His dad was an attorney, so Bob grew up with the idea that everyone deserves a good defense.

Carol Hutchinson was a librarian, Vicky Rubis a schoolteacher, Mary Ellen Krause worked at the town bank, one of the spark plugs who kept our hometown’s enormous Halloween parade going all these years. Carl Youngquist and I remembered our basketball team of 1958, a good bet to win State, but we lost in the early prelims to a bunch of farm boys from St. Francis. St. Francis! It was like Rocky Marciano being KOed by Mister Peepers.

It’s a privilege to know people over the course of a lifetime and to reconnoiter and hear about the ordinary goodness of life. By 75, some of our class have gotten whacked hard. And the casualty rate does keep climbing. And yet life is good. These people are America as I know it. Family, work, a sense of humor, gratitude to God for our daily bread and loyalty to the tribe.

If the gentleman stands in the bow and fires his peashooter at the storm, if he appoints a gorilla as head of communications, if he tweets that henceforth no transcendentalist shall be allowed in the armed forces, nonetheless life goes on.

He fulfills an important role of celebs: giving millions of people the chance to feel superior to him. The gloomy face and the antique adolescent hair, the mannequin wife and the clueless children of privilege, the sheer pointlessness of flying around in a 747 to say inane things to crowds of people — it’s cheap entertainment for us, and in the end it simply doesn’t matter.

What matter are tomatoes. There is an excellent crop this year, like the tomatoes of our youth that we ate right off the vine, juice running down our chins. There is nothing like this. For years, I dashed into supermarkets and scooped up whatever was available, tomatoes bred for long shelf life that tasted like wet cardboard, and now I go to a farmers market and I’m astonished all over again. A spiritual experience. The spontaneity of the tomato compared to the manufactured sweetness of the glazed doughnut. An awakening takes place, light shines in your soul. Anyone who bites into a good tomato and thinks about Trump is seriously delusional.

Garrison Keillor

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