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Well, my Dome of Positivity was stretched a bit thin this past week when our president, Payosa Loco, the Crazy Clown, had my personal National Union of Friendly Americans (NUFA) yell-a-phone wiretapped while I wasn’t looking.
Now everybody knows what I’m up to.
And that I believe we have a boob leading our country.
The yell-a-phone was developed by my dad many years ago as a way to alert the neighbors he was interested in talking to them. He’d simply stand outside the door, cup his hands around his mouth and yell. We lived in the country so the conversations were often sketchy due to distance but the point was made. Dad was trying to communicate.
Everyone up and down the road knew the yell-a-phone and its inventor.
It was also used to locate children. As children we had no manners and often ignored the request to communicate. When we heard him call we’d slip a little deeper into the woods and then upon our return home feign innocence by saying we heard nothing. The adults had manners and the yells between dad and neighbors indicated that diplomacy worked.
Some people have said that the yell-a-phone was the twitter of its day. You know, an effort to communicate in simple childlike language. Sad. Mad. Huge. Pathetic.
Simple childlike language. Dad knew the difference immediately. Any boob could twitter away with messages of little consequence. A little tapping of the fingers was not the same as a hearty yell in the direction of a neighboring home. There was some meat and purpose to a good yell.
Now that my yell-a-phone has been wiretapped by Payosa Loco I’m going to do a little experiment. At first I was angry with the blatant intrusion reported widely in all the well-heeled fake news outlets but then I figured I’d have a some fun. I’m going to stand outside and use the yell-a-phone to shout out “You’re nothing but a two-bit, foulmouthed, shiny shoe charlatan.”
Or, “Take all of your clown pals and get into that little clown car and find your way back to the circus.”
Or, “You couldn’t sell a pair of shoes to Shoeless Joe Jackson.”
Or, “The White House is looking a little tacky, like your suits made in China.”
Or, “That crowd at your inaugural was like seafood. Shrimpy.”
Or, “Pee Wee Herman has bigger hands than you.”
Or, “If bankruptcy was a football game you just scored six touchdowns.”
Just a few days after people like Paul Ryan said he hit a home run with his speech to Congress and Mitch McConnell said Payosa Loco proved he could be presidential, he popped like the hot air balloon he is by accusing Obama of wiretapping Trump Tower. For that I believe we all should go take a leak on Trump Tower. Let’s organize a million man march to take a leak on Trump Tower.
According to Will Oremus in Slate.com the speech was an exercise in low expectations. All Trump did was “speak for an entire hour without sounding like an unhinged demagogue.” Oremus predicted, correctly, that none of that “presidential” would last and that the moment the president is criticized by someone, or told he cannot have his own way, the unfiltered Trump—the petty, combative, egotistical one—will roar back to life.
So now the fun part begins.
I’m going to stand outside and use the yell-a-phone as a sort of primal scream therapy for myself and also perform a simple experiment and apply it to an unfettered narcissist who can’t resist responding like boob.
I’m going to yell at him from afar, knowing full well that I’ve been wiretapped, and get his goat on a daily basis. My dad, inventor of the yell-a-phone, would have approved wholeheartedly.
Watch for me on Twitter, even though I don’t use that platform. Please let me know when he responds.