Now that billionaire investor David Hoffman has acquired a controlling stake in Lee Enterprises, making himself the primary owner of the parent company of the Arizona Daily Star I am hoping he may hear me out.

A Substantial Collection

The collection I intended to donate to my school includes over 10,000 cartoon originals, a large collection of relevant ephemera, my Arizona-related political mementos, and hundreds of relevant correspondences.

A Special Ask From Special Collections

Long before I retired the folks at the University of Arizona Special Collections Library expressed enthusiastic interest in collecting and archiving my original artworks upon my retirement from cartooning. Nice, right?

My collected artworks date back to before 1986 when I started at the Star, back to my years at the Wildcat, my years working as an independent freelance cartoonist, and including my formative years drawing at the Oklahoma City Times, The Virginian Pilot and the Daily Press.

In the University’s state-of-the-art climate controlled archive my art would safely reside next to distinguished items such as the journals of Ed Abbey, Mo Udall’s joke file, artifacts from Governor Raul Castro’s and Governor Rose Mofford’s Administration and the works of other Arizonans of note.

What could be better?

An Honor

I was more honored by their proposal than by any accolade I had ever received in my entire life. Seemed like the perfect answer. It’s a huge collection. My kids don’t want it save for a few select pieces.

The U of A has the room for it.

Lee Publishing Responds

When I told Lee Publishing a back in 2019, seven years ago, I intended to donate my originals to the University of Arizona I assumed they’d be happy for their editorial cartoonist.

I assumed that perhaps Lee, proud of the employee to whom they awarded their respected and singular “Spirit of Lee” award in Chicago years ago, might proudly assist their spirited employee in this endeavor.

Lee’s Lawyers Get Involved

In 2019 Lee’s lawyers decided the University would have to sign a licensing agreement or my donation could never proceed.

A multi-page licensing agreement describing fees the University Library must agree to pay Lee if it ever reproduced any of my originals.

A fee. For a gift given freely. Was the meaning of the word “donation” incomprehensible to Lee? Such gifts are customarily given to such institutions with no strings attached.

The University rejected this financial entanglement.

It’s 2026

It’s 2026, seven years later and I am still prohibited from donating my life’s works to the University of Arizona.

Lee insisted injecting this unheard cash grab into an otherwise common, clean and simple agreement. When I protested I was told this was based on a theoretical issue.

A theoretical issue which has never arisen, nor would ever arise, between any public library and its donor.

The Example Cited

The example cited imagined the Library at the University of Arizona Special Collections hosting a modest gallery show celebrating my work, let’s say, upon my death. Or even a show wherein just one of my cartoon originals relevant to the subject of the show, say Evan Mecham or Mo Udall are displayed.

Say they then create a gallery guide which they sell, featuring an image of the one displayed cartoon original. Lee wants a fee to reproduce that image. For any Fitzsimmons’ image the library might reprint for educational purposes Lee insisted they wanted to charge the library a user’s fee.

Permit Me To Scream

Permit me to scream this truth at the top of my lungs: This is something libraries do not do.

Library gallery shows are free.

Library programs are free.

And my beloved University Library is a public institution. A p-u-b-l-i-c institution.

How Unusual Is This?

When the University declined my donation, thanks to Lee Publishing’s uniquely embarrassing extortion rider, associated with my gift to my Alma mater, I knew how unusual this was.

And “unusual” is an understatement.

America’s largest academic institution dedicated to comics, cartoons, and graphic novels is the Billy Ireland Cartoon Library and Museum, formerly known as the Cartoon Research Library. It is located on the campus of Ohio State University in Columbus, Ohio.

Not Once, Not Ever

Not once has that esteemed institution ever had a donor’s former publisher or syndicate demand a “licensing agreement” from the museum tied to the cartoonist’s gift of cartoon originals.

The University’s Reaction

The University’s reaction to this unconventional and completely unheard of deal breaker was disappointment and astonishment.

Consider how much it would cost the Library to curate my collection, to invest in the appropriate custom storage essential to protect my works and to pay their staff devoted to the tedious archival preservation of my thousands of donated pieces and to cover the daily cost of preserving my collection for all time in their state of the art climate controlled archives so that cartooning scholars, historians and journalism students would have easy and free access to the body of my work, for all time, one editorial cartoonist’s enduring historical record of this period in our state’s history.

For Years We Went Back And Forth Over This

Today my original works continues to decay, scattered about in our home, our shed and in our open carport. I’m waiting for the film crew from “Hoarders” to show up at our door any day.

I Have Always Understand My Work is Lee’s Intellectual Property

I have always understood and accepted that my published work is the “intellectual property” of my former publisher. This dispute is not about their right to own and publish my scanned and digitalized works.

This is about my thousands of hard copy cartoon originals. Once my drawings were scanned, uploaded and published, both in print and online, I saved and stored every cartoon original I drew since I began working at the Star in 1986.

In my thirty-five years there no one in management ever expressed any interest in archiving these originals. Made sense. Once published they may as well have been litter.

Until now.

Should I Have Been Surprised By Lee’s Response?

I guess I should not have been so naive. I didn’t learn a damned thing from an earlier insult:

When I was offered international syndication, a noteworthy achievement for any cartoonist, Lee rewarded me by garnishing every cent of my fluid income from my syndication, varying roughly from pennies to up to thousands of dollars a year, an act that the owner of the syndicate, Daryl Cagle, informed me was the only one of its kind he’d ever experienced in all his years of representing hundred of cartoonists.

Save For One Exception

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A Sap

A cheerful sap, I accepted this plantation attitude, happy to have my work seen in up to 700 publications around the world on any given day. I accepted Lee’s garnishment of my syndication income and went on with my life.

Since Retiring From Cartooning

Since retiring from cartooning years ago, Lee has remained free to profit from reprinting the “intellectual property”, the thousands of digitalized images which Lee rightfully possesses, whenever they wish to do so.

No compensation ever came my way from the sales of my works in publications beyond the Editorial Page, such as my cartoon book, my greeting cards, note cards, annual calendars, annual holiday ornaments, beach towels, or window shades.

This I accepted.

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When I Persisted in Protesting Lee blocking my donation

When the University understandably declined to accept my work with the poison pill licensing agreement attached I protested to my superiors at Lee.

Their answer?

After years of quibbling, Lee would be willing to box, stack and store my treasured collection in their grim grey warehouse behind the Northwest Costco.

An alternative to donating my work to the University of Arizona’s Special Collections archive that left me flummoxed.

Was That A Joke?

As an honored alum of the University of Arizona, I found this to be senseless and infuriating. Picking pockets for pennies.

A year later when I revisited the topic regarding Lee’s licensing agreement demand, aborting my donation to the University, after progress was promised, it was suggested to me that Lee employs an archivist somewhere in the corporation who would be happy to “archive” my work.

What?

Insulting

This second alternative, offered by my former employer, to whom I gave a lifetime of countless hours, well beyond the job description, was another vague pathetic gesture to pacify me.

Through the tenure of a number of Star editors and publishers I cheerfully served as the face of the paper in our community for decades, as a lecturer, an entertainer, an emcee, an auctioneer, a standup comedian, a caricature artist, an awards banquet master of ceremonies, and God knows what else, at every venue, every community center, every high school, middle school, junior college, university, music hall, theater, auditorium, VFW post, church and civic club west of the San Pedro that invited me to cheer them on.

During my tenure of nearly four decades I raised hundreds of thousands of dollars working fundraisers for everything from AIDS victims to Breast Cancer Research to Immigrant Causes to Step Up to Justice to Doctors Without Borders, including illustrating cookbooks for the Food Bank to creating promotional art for hundreds of other charitable concerns, giving my Arizona Daily Star the best face I could, seven days a week, for the breadth of my entire public career.

You can see why I was broadsided by their surprising answer to my request to simply donate my originals and associated materials to my hometown school.

Included among my donations would be the numerous state press awards I won for the Star. My two original cartoons that were displayed in an exhibit at the Norman Rockwell Museum. My cartoon autographed by the five Capitol Hill Police who defended the Capitol on January 6th. My signed note from Gabby. Entertaining hate mail. Defaced cartoons by creative “haters”. Political mementos. My first cartoon published in the Star on my first day. A letter from Mo Udall. And much more.

After Years of Lee Stalling

After years of fruitless exchanges I am done asking Lee, a six hundred million dollar corporation, to jettison their pathetic “pick pocket” licensing agreement allowing me, their longtime loyal employee, to do the right thing. To finally donate my life’s works to my University, .

And so I am taking this public.

After seven years of this maddening quibbling, one way or another I will donate my works to Special Collections.

Without a petty licensing agreement.

What’s Next?

I assume Lee may even sue me to block me from achieving my life’s dream.

I envision myself having no choice but to invite the local alternative print and digital press and our local TV reporters to be at the Special Collections Library to witness Lee’s lawyers attempting to block me, a 70-year old man with Coronary Microvascular Disease, with limited time left in this world, from wheeling carts stacked high with my life’s work into the archive where my works belong.

Will the Poynter Nonprofit Media Institute, the Columbia School of Journalism and every other revered journalism-related outlet cover this ridiculous David and Goliath story about their insulting mistreatment of their award winning creator in his silver years?

If My Dream Is Deferred

If Lee persists, I will have no choice but to pursue a final action.

I will burn my entire collection of works and ephemera in one final blazing public protest. Come to my home. Stop me.

I’ve had years to think about this. I have concluded this is my answer if my humble rational reasonable request is not respected. Better a bonfire of all of my work than leaving it to pack rats. Would anyone blame me for dumping the ashes in front of my once beloved Arizona Daily Star office?

I remain grateful for the shot at an amazing life The Arizona Daily Star gave me. Yet today I am left feeling betrayed and profoundly wounded.

I Love The University of Arizona

It’s my hometown school.

It is the school where this Columbia Journalism School Picture Editor of the Year Award winner was inducted into the Arizona Daily Wildcat Hall of Fame in 2003.

It is where this John Fischetti Award Winner was recently honored with induction into the University of Arizona’s Journalism School Hall of Fame.

It is the school where I was honored to give a keynote speech at one of the earliest Tucson Festival of Books banquets welcoming over a hundred distinguished authors to our community.

It is the school where this creator, producer and writer of the “Annual Arroyo Cafe Holiday Radio Show”, and the Diaper Bank’s “Twisted Christmas Carol” shows at the Fox, first learned to hustle, to work hard, to serve my community, to overcome obstacles and to bear down.

And it is where this former President of the Tucson Press Club will one day add his works to the University of Arizona Special Collections Library.

Because Lee knows it would be the right thing to do.

They know where to reach me.

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Did you see Trump’s prime time address on elections? Listening to Trump warn us about election fraud is like listening to Epstein lecturing us about pedophiles.

What hilarity! This is the apricot toad whose political career is based on false claims. Did he succeed in casting his feculent spell over FOX viewers? Will his “evidence” lead to prosecutions?

Did he fail?

Is voter fraud nearly non-existent? Hell, yes.

Is this a distraction from the war he totally fucked up? Double Hell, yes.

Will Democrats crush America’s Neo-nazi Party this November? Triple Hell, yes.

When I hear folks calling for impeachment and prosecutions of Trump’s political enablers I am tempted to be greedy. How about investigating a few hundred grifting Mega-church MAGA Pastors with a reinvigorated IRS.

MAGA wants the wall of separation down? So be it. Kiss that tax free life goodby, thou pulpit politicizing parasites.

Watching Democratic Senators hammer Todd Blanch was a joyous treat. Oh, to see a servile Trumpist getting reamed on national TV to his smug face. Trump is watching this. We know because of the diaper delivery trucks racing to the White House. Sirens on and cherries flashing.

Seen the plans for Marana’s Data Centers? Lovely architecture. What would you call it? Is it Dystopian Classicism or Post-Apocalyptic Neo-Brutalism? Is it Big Box Revivalism updated with a Soul Draining Motif? On 2nd thought I think it's just one more cookie cutter example of Geek Revival Post-Futurist Blight with a Neo-Toxic presence.

The clarity of Georgia Senator Ossoff’s language dazzled me : "We understand the president may be threatening to declare sitting senators illegitimate. If that's the course of action he pursues, he's calling GA voters illegitimate...a committed lifelong racist, he was humiliated that it was Black voters in Georgia who were instrumental in his defeat."

Ossoff swiftly and deftly humiliated Trump’s unintelligent Intelligence nominee. Like a verbal samurai.

Such a man is a threat to Donald Trump.

How is Trump’s war going? Oops. We hit a children’s hospital. Sorry to remind anyone our tax dollars are killing innocent children. Did you know bombing civilian infrastructure is a war crime? If you didn't know that you may have what it takes to serve into today's military. And after your court martial or dishonorable discharge, you can serve in today's ICE. Where you can kill adults in front of their children.

God bless America.

I was a bit surprised to learn California, a blue state, has two large ICE concentration camps. But then I realized For Profit Private Prison corporations are only trying to earn income by providing an essential service. They believe in the liberating power of hard work. That's why their credo is "Arbeit Macht Frei". So far the only ovens in these camps are still in the kitchens.

SpaceX stock isn’t doing well. Nerts. And I sold my house to buy a few shares. I’ve always been savvy that way. I also bought a share of Volkswagen stock when Hitler introduced the first Volks Wagen.

I bought SpaceX with money from my sale of Hugo Boss stock I bought when I heard Hugo had designed the Nazi’s SS uniforms.

Is Tiki Torch stock still good? Any fellow investors know who makes Satan’s pitchforks?

I am blown away by the persistence of the brave Epstein survivors calling on Congress to send Blanch the Pedo Protector straight to his disbarment by the New York State Bar.

And by the many outraged Congressional tenacious pit bulls like New Mexico’s Rep. Melanie Stansbury, who called this Administration’s Epstein tap dance the largest criminal cover-up in American history.

Believe the survivors. Listen to them, Congress. Don’t let the MAGA maggots abuse them again by treating them like buzzing pests.

The Rapist-in-Chief FINALLY paid nearly $6million to E. Jean Carroll. Once upon a time, posted a wag, this would have been all over the news for days.

Ah. The good old days when a serial rapist could never be President. Maybe Kingpin of his cell block. The only news you would've heard then would have been about a prison death. And detailed descriptions about the broomstick.

According to Reuters Apple Intelligence AI just registered with China’s cyberspace regulator. When in Rome behave like a Roman.Remember when imperial powers raided undeveloped nations to set up plantations? It's our turn! Where in China will China’s Apple plantation be?

Here is the rule: After every fatal shooting Trump orders ICE to suspend their vehicle stops. Until the blood is mopped up, ICE's killers are protected and the crime scene has been trashed and the yellow tape tossed. Then back at it. Repeat.

A Nicholas Grossman posted some facts yesterday pointing out Trump’s WAR OF CHOICE ( My old man caps) will cause big, prolonged economic problems in the years ahead.

Such facts are like a drone, or two, or three thousand drones, "modifying" oil refineries. They can hurt. But not to worry, Trump is at the helm of our great American dinghy.

It was once a battleship.

Today it is a dinghy. Out of gas. With no tiller.

I saw a commentator note “the whole goal of the mainstream media since 2015 is to gaslight us on what Trump says and does.” What? I thought the media’s goal was to thoughtfully hide horrifying images of war and carnage from Gaza and the Gulf to keep us from feeling blue.

Some think it’s wrong for the media to keep giving proven liars like the Director of the National Economic Council Kevin Hassett a platform. Hey!It's not a crime for elected officials to lie. It's a mandatory requirement. I also think they should still face mandatory firings squads once they leave public life.

And that's no lie.

As for Blanch I am astonished Trump would nominate an unqualified nominee with a damning paper trail. I am equally astonished to see birds flying and fish swimming.

A wag suggested “You will soon be able to use coins with Trump's kisser on them to try to buy the gas and groceries you can't afford.” What a whiner. They have many uses! I think the Official Trump Butt Plugs are super Cool. Which side faces out and which side faces your colon's interior?

Is is black and white? When Senator Klobuchar asked nominee Blanch, “Do you agree that it's unacceptable for federal agents to forcibly enter someone's home without a warrant and drag them onto the street without checking that they even have the right person?” he replied, “Well, it depends on the circumstances. It's not a black and white answer". So true! It's not a black and white question either. For MAGA's immigrant haters it's simply a brown and white question.

We all know Trump cares deeply about election fraud, stolen votes and rigged ballots. I can’t stop seeing Trump dressed like Julie Andrews in “The Sound of Music” singing “These are a few of my favorite things.”

Of course it’s an XXXL costume with a thick granny panty liner. And he’s not allowed near ANY of the little girls.

On Wednesday, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth announced a program to test testosterone levels in troops. On Monday, he announced a new task force to prosecute “leakers” who I assume he will have tested for bladder control.

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Maine has no choice now but to vote out the duplicitous quivering Susan Collins, a nattering nothing who is simply one more gutless shameless vile ICE enabler only today she has Maine blood on her trembling liver spotted hands. ICE is killing Americans as if it were America’s new SS. Only with less competence and training. But with the same overt 24/7 public encouragement from our right-wing media, mirroring the goosestepping media of Nazi Germany in the thirties and forties.

Speaking of Elon, I agree with those who say he should be arrested and deported to Mars and oh, one more little thing. Nationalize all his holdings. The whole trillion dollar pile. SpaceX, Starlink, and X. They are demonstrably essential national security entities. A racist South African naked ape is not essential to anyone's security.

Speaking of Bitch McConnell, CNBC just ranked Tennessee as the worst state to live in based on its 2026 Quality of Life study. Good work, Mitch. It’s because Tennessee is Evangelical heaven. The Bible Belt under America’s beer belly. Note to philosophy and economics scholars: The opiate of the asses thrives in such impoverished third world hellholes.

Speaking of Ukraine nailing Russia’s ass with drones, they have wrought an amazing amount of damage. How much damage? So much damage Russia’s refineries look like scrapyards. So much damage Russia’s Putin should be angling for asylum at Mar-a-Lago. So much damage it is clear the will of the Ukrainian people to support their way of life far outweighs the poor average Russian’s apathetic support for their “way of life” under Putin’s mob. When it’s a war between Free men and slaves the winner who is the winner in most cases?

Florida officials completely shut down and dismantled the “Alligator Alcatraz” immigration detention camp in the Everglades. with an assist from the Miccosukee Tribe which spearheaded legal and public protests against the facility arguing it harmed their ancestral lands and sensitive wetlands. This is Argument Number One for the value of respecting diversity in a democracy. Thank you to the Miccosukee Tribe for their contribution to "Perfecting our Union".

The former Republican Mayor of Mesa, the third largest city in Arizona, just announced he is endorsing Governor Katie Hobbs. Admired by the tiny minority of rational Repubs, his support is huge for Hobbs. Only the whackiest of white-wing wingnuts support Biggs, the biggest and nuttiest wing nut of all. Biggs is unquestionably the most treasonous truculent tyrannical traitor trolling for Trump in this state. He is going down.

Every time a Ukrainian drone strikes Russia I want to cheer in Ukrainian. I don’t speak the language. I’ll have to settle for a “Sic Semper Tyrannus” shout out followed by a “Booooyah!” Good luck, brothers, Putin Vladimir in his early grave.

The inane American border wall is killing saguaros and obliterating the landscape. O my dear demented primates. Look at we chimps destroying our beautiful desert, building hideous shambolic walls, when we should be building sea walls, flood dikes, around our cities soon to be threatened by rising waters. Sorry for the buzzkill.

1000% agree with Pete Buttigieg’s call for the elimination of the Electoral College. Intended to create equity the EC only creates representation so disproportionate we’re Absurdistan. And the EC also creates confusion for high schoolers mystified by the "Electrical College".

Russians are killing each other over gas shortages. All this anger will have to find therapeutic expression..I wonder where?…Perhaps focused on Russia's cowering leadership? The real question is will Putin’s corpse end up like Mussolini’s or Khaddafi’s?

Someone asked if anyone else was getting more progressive as they aged. I certainly am getting more progressive as I age, for one reason: My brain stem never fossilized like many of my peers as we stumble towards our eternal dirt naps. You know who I’m talking about. The Living Dead. Or as I call them “The Foxilized”.

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REPUBLICAN SENATOR LINDSEY GRAHAM DIES, FUNERAL SERVICE TO BE CLOSED-CLOSET

AFTERLIFE SHOCKER: Senator John McCain notes death of former friend, “No sign of Lindsey here”

Senator McConnell “appreciates the outpouring of support he’s receiving from assorted oligarchs while he continues his free subsidized recovery”

RFK JR DENIES GROWING FOOD SAFETY ISSUE, “EXPLOSIVE DIARRHEA CAN BE SIGN YOU’RE STANDING TOO CLOSE TO A MILITANT VEGAN”

US team seeks Iranian pledge to stop taking Donald Trump seriously

MCCONNELL, LONGEST SERVING ZOMBIE IN SENATE HISTORY, “I STRUGGLED WITH GOOD BRAINS TO EAT IN GOP SENATE”

Trump’s gift plane from Qatar grounded when staff notices massive bullseye painted on fuselage

Hell “packed full”, McConnell redirected to spend eternity in shed on reduced fixed income with healthcare cuts he endorsed

Iran threatens to avenge Supreme Leader’s killing, Trump vows “will wipe out Islamic Republic of Japan bigly if they kill me”

Trump tests anti-communist message decades after communism defeated, “fluoride in our water” next

Secretary of State Rubio ruling Venezuela from afar, renames nation "Marcozuela", says “Ruba” is next

SENATOR LINDSEY GRAHAM PRAISED BY FELLOW CONSERVATIVES AS PASSIONATE DEFENDER OF KNOWN CORRUPT PEDOPHILE AND CHILD RAPIST

Pressuring God to toss Grim Reaper’s ballot, Lindsey Graham’s desperate last act fails

Poll: Given choice between keeping San Pedro River or Sierra Vista 97% choose preserving San Pedro River

MCCONNELL TEAM CONFIRMS HOSPITAL PIC RELEASED IS ACTUALLY AI ELAINE CHAO WITH YERTLE THE TURTLE

US launches wave of strikes on Iran; Tehran says diplomacy ‘futile’, gas up Monster trucks now, MAGA suckers

SENATOR GRAHAM DYING IN OFFICE HIGHLIGHTS AGING SENATE, ISSUE OF GREAT CONCERN TO AGING READERS OF DYING NEWSPAPERS

Arizona Man Reacts to Monsoon “as if He Never Saw Rain Before”, Claims He Saw Ark Floating Down Arroyo

IRAN CLOSES STRAIT OF HORMUZ FOR REPAINTING, ALGAE REMOVAL, FOR FORESEEABLE FUTURE

TRUMP TO USE QATARI GIFT OF ACME ROCKET TO PURSUE ROADRUNNER

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Retired Cartoonist found Whiling Away Retirement Scrolling For Clips of Ukraine Drone Strikes

TRUMP THREATENS TO BOMB IRAN AND JAPAN AND EXHAUST OIL RESERVES BECAUSE IT’LL MAKES “GREAT CLIFFHANGER TV”

Family fears worst as they learn Mitch McConnell’s healthcare, body, could be left in care of all the women of his home state

Russians cursing Putin post videos of Ukrainian drones scoring hits on their factories, refineries, bridges

At Summit Trump calls Zelensky “My good friend Putin,” warns him about “Islamic Republic of Japan loving Osama’s JCPO-YMCA-whatever with Iran.”

State of Kentuckistan Begins Hunt for Brain Dead Republican to replace Mitch McConnell

TRUMP IN RUNNING TO REPLACE BRAIN DEAD MITCH MCCONNELL, MAY APPOINT SELF TO SENATE IN HISTORIC FIRST

CEASEFIRE OVER! OIL PRICES GO UNDER! DOW DROPS! TRUMP BEGINS NATIONWIDE SEARCH FOR FALL GUY! “VANCE, HEGSETH LOOKING GOOD!”

MAGA Retiree on fixed income can only afford to drink “Zero Sugar” Mountain Dew, “and it’s the color of Trump’s reflecting pool”

Democrats Graham Platner quits Maine Senate race to spend more time with his family in neo-Nazi “swinger” orgies

Post Exclusive: Trump appoints Graham Platner to fill Mitch McConnell’s Senate Seat

Ghostbusters Team announces “any one who knowingly lied about speaking to Mitch McConnell’s Ectoplasm will be zappe!”

Trump at NATO summit: “We had 11 missiles shot by the Islamic Republic of Japan,” Challenges attendees to game of “Tik Tok Toe.”

TRUMP: “DEPLETING OUR WEAPONS INVENTORY I CAN STIFFEN WILL OF IRANIAN FANATICS BY FUELING THEIR INFINITE LUST FOR REVENGE”

Trump touts “America’s 250th State Fair” space on Mall as terrific paint ball site for “My January 6-ers” to play

Patriot Front Neo-Nazis march in DC up to White House for the President’s Annual “Blessing of the Animals”

WINNING U.S. SOCCER TEAM CHANGES NAME TO “KNICKS” IN ATTEMPT TO DODGE TRUMP-FIFA-RIGGING-HUMILIATION STAIN

Khamenei funeral draws millions, Trump asks Staff “how can you assure me millions will mourn my loss?”, White House staff stumped

Funeral procession for Iran’s late Supreme Leader Khamenei stretches from Tehran to back of Trump’s throat

Dangerous Heat Hits Arizona As Officials Urge Residents To Stay Indoors with the Javelinas

Percentage of Americans who read for pleasure on any given day fell from 28 percent in 2004 to 16 percent in 2023 and you just lost interest so turn the page

Any candidate who says “Oh this silly thing?” when you point out he has a Nazi tattoo needs vetting at that moment says American people

Trump puts Graham Plattner on shortlist to replace Pete Hegseth

South West remains under an Extreme Heat Warning until 8 p.m. Thursday, June 5, 2064

DENMARK DECLARES “GREENLAND NOT FOR SALE”, MULTIPLE LISTING SERVICE REGRETS ERROR

Sunlit baked Front Porch will miss Couple Who Only Comes Back Late These Summer Afternoons to Judge the Colors of Sunsets

Trump Claims Size of Administration’s Official Crowd Size Estimators Exceeds All Estimates of former Crowd Size Estimators especially the graduates of the Trump College of Crowd Size Estimators

PEPPERDINE STUDY FINDS 100% OF EVERYONE BELIEVES NO ONE AND THAT MEANS “ESPECIALLY YOU”

Trump calls Iranian leaders “Scum”, Algae Defense League Attorneys sue for “slanderous defamation of scum” on behalf of Reflecting Pool

ARIZONA ATTORNEY GENERAL SUES SUN FOR ‘MALICIOUS PROSECUTION’ IN ‘SUMMER LONG KILLING CAMPAIGN’ DESCRIBED AS ‘CLIMATE CRIME WAVE’

Area man trapped in Casita for the summer texts, “We’re retirees cabin-bound by the heat. Help. Drop weed down our chiminea.”

37% of native Tucsonans overheard muttering something “unintelligible about monsoons” as soon as clouds as appear on southern horizon

I am a Yankee Doodler and I have assembled here some of my best doodles celebrating our nation’s birthday. Plus I’ve included a link to a blurry humiliating video of a fool hosting his own private 4th of July parade back when the Covid outbreak was raging.

Happy Fourth, patriots!

The Fourth! The day we celebrate our nation’s birth by torching Sentinel Peak.

Which sometimes coincides with the start of the Monsoons.

We Tucsonans celebrated the Fourth in times of great strife as well as in times of plenty.

And here it is!

The link to my poor quality one-man Fourth of July Parade video :

Fitz Fourth Pandemic Parade

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Well, that was humiliating to review. At least my grandkids enjoyed it.

Over 20-years ago I offered up alternatives to the torching of “A” Mountain. They were ignored! Hard to believe.

Year after year we struggle to perfect the Union we honor on Independence Day. And this doodler is grateful for the freedom to express his cynical views.

Fingers crossed, none of us loses any fingers on this glorious occasion.

We even survived a second would-be King after we kicked one out of our country.

And when Arab Spring was cycling through the Middle East we were reminded how challenging sustaining a democracy could be.

In spite of a plague and an insurrection we endured.

Have a beautiful Fourth of July!

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On the Fourth I hang this replica of a Colonial Flag from the eave over the door to our Arizona casa. My Betsy Ross flag. The one with thirteen stars.

The 4th is my day to remember Isham. And all the other Ishams. What a weird name.

July 4, 1773

Isham was the name given to the child born in 1749 to a couple of illiterate Irish immigrants who settled in Prince Edward in the heart Of Virginia between Charlottesville and Richmond, a persistent pair who were done with Ireland’s hopeless poverty and cruel British Monarchs who treat the Irish like they were animals. Isham’s ma and pa came to this place with nothing to give but forlorn Gaelic goodbyes, and a vow and a curse to never return to Roscommon in County Clare

Isham is 25

It’s 1774 and Isham is a twenty-five year old subject of King Edward and he is also a good Irish “Church of England” Christian because it is a crime in Virginia to be a Catholic.

Isham is in robust health from working the 10-acre family farm begun by his late father who is buried beneath the Dogwood trees on the hill in view of their simple main house, the porch and the chairs, all hewn by Isham himself. Whenever he rides into Charlottesville to see his friends he treats himself to an ale. During one visit to a smoke-filled Tavern Isham hears talk of a revolt, a skirmish, up in Boston.

No.

Yes!

Where that bloody Massacre took place a few years back?

When was ‘at?

In 1770! Damn the King’s redcoats.

Boston, again! Who’s behind the trouble?

Sons of Liberty! Aye, they’re at it, again, lads!

Back at what, again?

Standing up to the King and farting in his face and his damned Stamp Act.

Hooligans! Troublemakers! Burning effigies of His Majesty!

They’re patriots! Who are you?

Did ye hear what happened next?

Tell us! Tell us!

They boarded three British ships and dumped every chest of their damned taxable tea into the Boston harbor. Next thing we hear-

Massachusetts is under martial law.

We’re next if we aren’t careful.

Isham, why are you so quiet?

Isham is greatly ashamed of a relation, a cousin, up north, from County Clare, low rabble who is said to be a smuggler and worse, a notorious godless atheist. He is proud his wicked sinful cousin is among the leaders of the Sons of Liberty.

It’s 1775 and talk of war is everywhere

It’s 1775 and talk of war is everywhere people gather. Whether they gather with friends to buy a sister a bonnet in Richmond, or it’s to shoe a horse with the card playing blacksmith down the road events in New England were on their minds. More than the dogwood blossoms or the piano at the Governor’s Palace. You could be hunting deer, sitting in a blind by the pussy willows with the boys, or churning butter with the sisters and an attack on Boston and New York or Philadelphia is an attack on all of us. Quilters, coopers, sharecroppers, grave diggers and cobblers, it didn’t matter. You could be a cabinetmaker, a candle maker, a milliner, or a printer. You were first and foremost a citizen of this place. This is your home, your country and your neighbors are getting shot and killed by the King’s men.

The battles of Lexington and Concord are on every man’s mind these days. The “shot heard ‘round the world” is being heard throughout the colonies, even in Prince Edward. His Flint lock musket “Betsy” hangs over their fireplace and he calls his two pistols his “barking irons”. Isham is torn between his fierce desire to fight and his abiding fear of losing the farm in his absence.

He sticks close to his hearth and kin, the harvest is good, his blessings are many and yet he feels the tug of war with word of British warships in our harbors and the blasted feckin’ redcoats occupying our cities. In nearby Williamsburg, a fellow named Patrick Henry demands liberty from our British overlords. Isham cheered when he heard that Henry said he’d rather be given death than remain the subject of a King. Down with the feckin’ bloody King.

The fife and drums have appeared

Autumn leaves crunch beneath the wheels of their wagon as the family rides into the town of Prince Edward. Faint muffled melodies of Madrigals and flickering candles reveal signs of life in the busy Taverns.

No we can’t stop.

We are not here for idle pursuits.

We are here for commerce.

At the crowded farmers market the air is filled with the aroma of warmed cider. When Martha unveils and unpacks her freshly baked Sally Lunn bread the fragrance bewitches customers who line up at their makeshift tent.

After they sell the last loaf and all the ginger cookies Isham and Martha walk with their adult daughters who are following the fife and drums that have appeared on Prince Edward’s main street. They look elegant in their clean blue colonial army uniforms and they sound wonderful as they thrum and drum and march up the street, tin pipes whistling, to the town square, where they circle and stand at attention in front of the brick courthouse where a Captain serving in Virginia’s 4th calls for recruits to join the fight “against the King’s army”.

Isham mutters, “Madness.” And says no more.

That night at home Isham decides he must go. The world is a quilt that is being plucked apart by crows. Over cornbread and candlelight, he entrusts the family farm to, Martha, who will have to rely on the help of their three adult daughters, Polly, Sally and Dolly.

Next morning, Isham, says goodbye to their two sons who are buried next to Isham’s parents. Martha’s, too.

His family follows him down the worn path to the gate, where he stops, turns and looks past his kin at their farm, the fruits of their labors one last time. He bends down, rubs dark dirt in both of his calloused hands, smells it and tosses it into the day, says, “Well,” slings his smooth bore flintlock musket over his shoulder, kisses his dear, dear, dearest Martha goodbye, hands the reins of his stallion Apollo to Martha, tips his tricorn hat at his girls who curtsy and sob and he kisses them and turns, and without looking back walks over the horizon into town and signs up, telling the recruiting Officer he’s a most excellent good shot when it comes to hunting deer or tracking turkey and he is handy with a tomahawk, and he’s built wells, fences, a home and raised three barns. The recruiter, a Yankee from Cork, likes the faint Irish lilt in Isham’s voice.

Can you haul cannons?

Yes, sir. Captain, sir.

I see you have your own weapon.

Yes, sir. Captain, sir. And my two barking irons!

They shake hands.

I am an infantryman

He earns the uniform of a Privateer in the Colonial Army. He writes home to exhausted Martha, “I am an infantryman. I serve under a fellow Virginian. I hear he is much like myself, a farmer from up north… Mount Vernon, outside Fredericksburg.”

He will curse and worship his commander, General George Washington.

This same year, in the Pimería Alta, on the frontier of Spain’s southwestern conquests, Hugo O’Conor, an Irish mercenary, also from County Clare, serves in the army of the King of Spain. O’Conor is the head of a detachment exploring what will become southern Arizona. O’Conor marvels at the thriving village farms he finds along the lush Santa Cruz.

The church will come with their missions.

The King’s army will come. And build a presidio.

This will be Tucson.

It is 1776 and construction begins on mission San Xavier del Bac at the foot of Black Mountain.

It’s 1776 in Virginia

It’s 1776 in Virginia. Isham, other Privateers, farmers, tradesman, shopkeepers and new recruits from all over the County gather at the Suffolk Courthouse where they are organized into the 4th Virginia Regiment of the Continental Army’s Virginia Line.

This is the story of one of my forefathers on my mother’s side. Much here is conjecture. I know he was literate. I know he was at Valley Forge to hear his Commander, General George Washington deliver Tom Paine’s words on December 1776:

Two centuries later my granddaughter will be named “Emma” in honor of her greatest of great grandmothers, an enslaved person her father found named Emma who “belonged” to General George Washington.

But I am getting ahead of Isham’s story. Long before Valley Forge, Isham’s service begins with his regiment going to Charleston.

At the Siege of Charleston they are outgunned by the Redcoats. Many are taken prisoner. Isham flees on foot to fight again.

He does not travel on horseback. For years Isham will travel on foot, marching up and down the Atlantic coast with Washington’s Continental Army, an underpaid colonial insurgent in rags who scavenges for food and firewood and wears well worn boots he finds on the war dead.

He fights at Chesapeake Bay, Brandywine, Germantown, Trenton and Princeton. It’s been desperate months since he’s gotten any news from home. He pines over the harvests he’s missed. Back home his horse Apollo becomes ill and dies.

His Regiment taunts the Redcoats, chasing the King’s devils from one skirmish or ambush to the next. He sees more savagery and death than one Irish poet’s heart should ever see and has been seen drunk outside his tent singing “Yankee Doodle” sarcastically under his breath to no one. He writes to Margaret, “I could have died by a twist of the King’s bayonet or had my arms blown off by a cannon ball courtesy of the Crown but I am blessed by Providence.”

He is at the defense of Philadelphia.“Martha, I can go to my grave a contented man for I have seen Democracy’s Temple, the very Hall where Mister Jefferson’s Declaration of Independence was agreed upon and signed.”

His last station is Valley Forge

Privateer Isham marches with Virginia’s 4th Colonial Regiment to Valley Forge and joins in the building of the army’s encampment for the bitter killing winter. Serving under the command of the well liked Colonel Issac, he sees brothers-in-arms freeze, he sees fellow veterans of battles die from sickness. Isham is war weary and exhausted. How long will this go on?

He writes letters to the Congress, asking to go home. He is done fighting. “I fear my farm is lost. I shall be indigent.” Looking at his frostbitten toes in front of his meager campfire he writes Congress graciously outraged his representatives are not appropriating monies to buy soldiers shoes for their feet. “Will you not buy shoes for your revolution?”

Many here are without boots, frozen blue feet wrapped in scrap cloth. Perhaps the next battle will bring Isham a new pair of boots that are his size. He’s a small man so shoes from dead drummer boys work.

It is 1776 and Isham will read the newly signed Constitution of the United States of America with other companions at the King’s Arms in Charlottesville. They do not speak of the men they have shot, knifed, clubbed or bayoneted. They speak of Athens and Rome. Of Kings and revolutions.

It’s 1777

It’s 1777. Trenton, New Jersey, on January 2, the day after New Year’s and he questions his sanity, has he gone mad? He carries a copy of the Declaration of Independence which he purchased from a printer in Williamsburg in his coat pocket. Isham is with his regiment, they are veterans of many battles, in the new year, crossing the icy Delaware River, in the freezing night, intent on savagely killing the invading occupiers sleeping in their barracks on the other side.

In the dawn Washington’s insurgent forces wake the sleeping Hessians with their furious bayonets, musket balls and cannon fire. Isham kills many men face-to-face and keeps the shoes he has.

It is here Isham comes upon a discarded Pennsylvania Long Rifle. “A fine weapon.” He prizes it more than the beaten tricorn he found with a fancy cockade ribbon which he thinks looks “grand as macaroni” with his blue regimental colonial uniform and his white breeches.

Isham has nightmares crowded with the cries of young patriots dying too slowly from terrible crude wounds suffered on bloody battlefields and swamps in North Carolina and Virginia, and in New Jersey forests and Pennsylvania woods. Isham the farmer has butchered pigs and yet never had he seen such grievous bloodletting among men. The slaughtered. The disemboweled and the dismembered. Isham never tells anyone he has recurring nightmares about “redcoat devils” murdering his beloved family, torching his barn and his crops, leaving him in bitter terror and desolation. And so he writes asking to be relieved of duty.

Home

It’s 1778 and Isham is honorably discharged. He is gifted a white horse he names Mars. He rides for days and returns home, exhausted and penniless, after being away for nearly 4-years to find his wife destitute, his daughters married and gone, his barn burned, his livestock long gone, his crops turned to dust and his farm a complete loss.

Isham finds work as a carpenter as the war grinds on.

It’s 1781 He is 32. He reads Cornwallis has surrendered to General Washington and General Rochambeau at Yorktown! His fellow revolutionaries are finally victorious.

It is 1783. One of his daughters and her husband are killed on the frontier. Orphaned by a frontier Indian attack their two boys come to live with the old soldier and his wife.

1787 He is 38. According to celebrants down at his favorite Tavern, The Crow’s Anvil, they have a Constitution to read and to toast. It’s been thirteen years since he signed up and he has yet to receive his pension as promised.

1797 A decade later, at 48 he is an old man. Isham and Margaret are indigent. Congress gives him a coupon good for land in the Missouri Territory in place of his pension. The aging couple heads west, bringing their two adult grandsons with them.

One grandson dies from disease, the other helps the old veteran work the new farm into prosperity and he has three sons.

Martha dies in 1816. Martha and Isham, were eyewitnesses to the formation of a new nation, under God, with liberty for some. The old soldier will die in 1838 in Arrow Rock, Missouri where he is lain to rest next to Martha, his partner through it all. A metal plaque declares their eternal bond in a frontier woodland.

The Civil War

One grandson grows up to join a Union Regiment in 1859 which will fight in numerous battles to preserve the Union his grandfather lost the legendary family farm fighting for, the union of the slavers and the family abolitionists, the more perfect union Abraham Lincoln sanctifies with his blood.

More blood at some battles than a pig farmer ever saw in all his years serving in a colonial infantry regiment known for their bayonet butchery. They were motivated at the morally exhausting end.

The middle son is a grim adjutant serving with General Ulysses Grant. He witnesses Lee signing the instrument of surrender at Appomattox.

In 1984 I visited the modest Courthouse on a grey day when it was cloaked in mist and through the mist I saw the Civil War cemetery tombstones just next door dressed with dark wet flags, rows of cold time worn stone weeping for the dead here in the mountains of Virginia in the rain.

The third and youngest grandson is a Forty Niner.

He heads to California with gold fever and goes broke. He signs up with a cavalry regiment which escorts wagon trains along the Oregon trail into Portland. After the Civil War he engineers and builds the road from Portland to Bend and maps Crater Lake. His wife becomes Postmaster General and is a fine river rafter.

Unknown to all of them another cousin from County Clare arrives in New York. It is 1861, this prodigal son dodges the Civil War Union Army draft, settles among the Irish gangs at Five Points, and within the decade is arrested for armed robbery, followed by 10-years in Sing Sing; he gets out, starts a construction business and from his sweat-earned mansion, it is said he hefted a Guinness high as he watched the Statue of Liberty being assembled in the distance across the harbor from his home giving her an Irish blessing and salute. Slainte!

In 1876 his young cousin out west lands his first reporting job working general assignment for a newspaper in Bismarck, North Dakota that publishes snake oil and Mark Twain. His first assignment is to ride along with the 7th Cavalry Regiment of the U.S. Army, led by Lieutenant Colonel George A. Custer, into the Little Bighorn.

He missed his deadline.

It’s the 20th century

It’s the 20th century. The jazz age. Kenneth is Aunt Edith’s handsome only son. He flies his Curtiss Model D up and down the Willamette Valley performing aerial stunt at fairs and festivals.

His final 4th of July he flew in front of an aerial fireworks display. Circling and looping through the thunder booms under the roar of his engines he could hear the town band playing stars and stripes forever in the distance below. When war comes to Europe Kenny tells that story to a recruiter, signs up, and ends up flying a British Sopwith Camel, a single-seat biplane fighter, which is famous for its maneuverability. Some say it is a death trap.

It is World War I and Ken, from Willamette Valley, shoots down so many German war planes he is heralded as a flying Ace. Too near to armistice he is shot down over France. His remains are never found. He is our family’s Unknown Soldier.

Go far enough back in your family’s history you will find an unknown soldier.

Below the dogfights, beneath the flak and under the shadows of the blimps his distant uncle, Ronald, unknown to him, is a doughboy getting ambushed in his trench by Krauts. Ronald is machine gunned in the legs, gassed and survives to become a homicide detective on Manhattan. He has three sons who sing the entire Star Spangled Banner at Yankee’s games in terrible harmony.

It is 1941 and the eldest son, a college boy, signs up to kill Nazis and Japs, and, by God, he will liberate Europe. He is quickly promoted to the rank of Captain. On D-Day he is standing behind the landing craft’s door ready to lead his men into hell when it drops. A German bullet zips across his throat and ends his crusade there.

The middle brother is an Airborne Ranger who brags about looting Hitler’s Eagles Nest. He has Hitler’s Sugar Bowl.

The youngest brother is in the Air Force, serving in post-war Japan where he meets a woman from Hiroshima. She and her family are on a picnic that day far from the city. She loses everything. They marry. They have kids. It is ’68 and one son is a nuclear physicist at Berkeley. He leads protests against the Vietnam War.

He is our cool cousin. He irritates my father, the Master Sergeant.

One of my brothers serves two tours in Viet Nam there as a medic with Charlie Company, once during Tet. Another was at Cam Ranh Bay. My brothers return from Vietnam. They all agree with the nuclear physicist at Berkeley. They discourage me from signing up for war. Enough blood they all say.

The Master Sergeant agrees. He says he’d seen enough blood at Pearl Harbor.

Dad. We didn’t know you were at Pearl.

That was a surprise to us.

So much blood.

.

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NO.1 POPULAR TOAST THIS 4TH OF JULY: GOD BLESS AMERICA AND MAY WE OUTLIVE THE BASTARD

Trump Blames Friend, Twice-Convicted Felon, For Terrible Reflecting Pool job, Vows to Appoint “Incompetent Corrupt Moron” to Cabinet Post

ANNUAL TORCHING OF “A” MOUNTAIN WITH FIREWORKS KICKS OFF TUCSON’S FOURTH

FOREST FIRES, SHRIEKING ELK ADD FESTIVE SPIRIT TO ARIZONA FOURTH OF JULY

UKRAINE’S DRONES ATTACK RUSSIA’S OIL FIELDS, PEPPER MOSCOW, CRIMEA; PUTIN ALLEGED TO BE HIDING IN TRUNK OF TUCKER CARLSON’S LADA

IRAN WAR THREATENS PEACE, PEACE THREATENS PROFITS

Stubborn Area Dad Insists on Driving Packed Mini-Van to Empty Campground, As Heat Dome drives Historic Heat across Fourth of July Weekend

Demented Emperor Caligula sues Donald Trump for identity theft

CANDIDATE FITZSIMMONS VOWS “DOGS SPOOKED BY FIREWORKS TO QUALIFY FOR EAR PLUGS, PTSD HEALTHCARE BENEFITS” UNDER PROPOSED PLAN

Few Show Up to Trump’s “State Fair” to see “Amazing Broken Ferris wheel, Phenomenal Failed Air Conditioning and Incredible Melted Ice Cream”

KASH PATEL’S GIRLFRIEND OPENS FAIR WITH “DREADFUL”, “GRATING” RENDITION OF ALLEGED NATIONAL ANTHEM OF UNKNOWN NATION

Slide Rock in Sedona offers “wet escape in Eden” if you like raging forest fires or psychics who fail to predict their own heat strokes

God says “too busy with international wars, quakes, floods” to “Bless America”, asks such “bizarre requests” go to Zeus, Vishnu or Baal

One Third of Green Valley Residents Kick Off the Fourth by Quaffing a Fifth at Ninth Hole

TRUMP “250TH STATE FAIR” ON MALL SAID TO BE LIKE “MELANIA” MOVIE , “A DULL, TACKY, BOX OFFICE BOMB NO ONE SAW”

IN DERANGED POST TRUMP THREATENS TO OBLITERATE JERUSALEM, MECCA, IF GOD DOESN’T BLESS AMERICA

GOD THREATENS TO CLOSE DOWN FLOW OF TRAFFIC THROUGH TRUMP’S PROSTATE

Fireworks terrify hordes of Javelina who launch “purge” of city residents

SPECTACULAR FIREWORKS ON 6TH AVENUE, ROAD RAGE TO BLAME

Mariachis, Bagpipers perform “Star Spangle Banner” at 4th of July Picnic, moving thousands of patriotic Tucsonans to cry along with hundreds of cats-in-heat

Local Emergency Room Teams Binge watch Season 2 of “The Pitt” to Prep Staff for Potential Firework Injuries

Flock of Quail arrested by rural MAGA sheriff for parading on the 4th without permit

IN UNHINGED RANT TRUMP CALLS FOR DEPORTATION OF “SONORAN HOT DOGS”

Calling for “traditional” Fourth of July Celebration on Mall Trump Limits Admission to White Male Christian Property Owners Only

Monsoon season accused of “Dilly Dallying” by elderly Tucson residents

RFK JR. SAYS “TODDLERS SHOULD BE ABLE TO BUY FIREWORKS”, AS A CHILD HE OFTEN RAN AROUND WITH A LIT SPARKLER “UP MY ASS-AND LOOK HOW I TURNED OUT!”

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Suicide helpline. How can I help you?

This is America calling.

Who?

America. Does it matter? Some call me Sam. You, you can call me America.

Where are you calling from, “America”?

Reflecting Pool. In front of Abe Lincoln. Sad looking Abe. He looks like he could use some help, too, these days.

I know where you are. What are you doing there?

It’s the Reflecting Pool. I’ve been reflecting.

Reflecting?

Yeah. It’s all just muck as far as I can see. Muck, muck, muck.

Well, there is an algae problem. It can be fixed-

I’m done. I give up. I’m sitting in it. Ugh. It’s gross. This is how I deserve to go. Drowning in a giant swamp made by a politician who said he was going to drain the swamp.

Sir-

I’m laying down in it. Take me, Jesus. I’m done. I can’t take it anymore.

Stop. Stop what you’re doing.

It feels as slimy as every deal that grifter has made since he was elected. The People have failed me.

America, you may have lost your way for now, but-

But what?! At least once an hour I nearly choke to death on my own vomit, sick from his wanton destruction of my beloved democracy, his vile racism, the cruelty of ICE. Ew. What’s that?

There are reports of dead ducklings in the pool.

Ugh. Damn. I’m covered in Donald Trump’s muck for nothing. I hate that man!! I’m throwing myself in the Potomac.

America, help is on the way.

My dream is dead. For millions of our people it’s a nightmare. It’s over. Send help to Venezuela.

Your People love you, Sir.

What does it matter? King Trump picked their pockets clean. I’m a joke on the national stage. I’m throwing myself in the Potomac.

That is not who you are, America. Your President is a joke. You? You are not a joke. I believe in you. And that for which you stand-

Spare me! I know the rest of that one. “One nation under that demagogue. Divisible. With liberty and justice for the corrupt and super rich.”.

That is not my America, Sam.

Oh, it isn’t? Try buying gas in my America. And if you thought groceries were expensive? Bought any hemlock lately?

Listen-

-It’s so expensive now it’s cheaper for me just to asphyxiate myself on the toxic fumes emanating from that monster’s diaper at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. - Gack!- Oof. What a stench! I can’t take it anymore. He’s killing my people. The corruption! The suffering! He’s killing me! I’m heading for the river. I’m going to do it.

Listen, to me, America. You’ve got to-

-I’ve got to what, lady? I’ve been at this for 250-years! The people have given up on “perfecting my union.”

No they haven’t. I haven’t.

Please. Did you see my pathetic, tacky “Happy 250th” party on the mall? IT WAS ALL ABOUT TRUMP! People walked out!

Well, that was just one example..

Argh!!! I may as well take the Sylvia Plath route and shove my head inside a Magnavox airing FOX News 24/7 around the clock until my brain is a raisin fried to a MAGA crisp. There’s my Potomac River.

What are you doing?

I am getting in it. I’m going to lay down in it and drown my sorrows forever..

Don’t! …Hope.

What?

Hope. Dare to hope.

When I feel death’s grip on my election systems?

Get up. Lead by example with hope, never fear.

Ugh. I have so many tough choices ahead to make.

Don’t ever make decisions based on fear.

What then?

You’re America. Make decisions based on hope and possibility.

I don’t know anymore…

Hope and possibility is what you are made of my friend.

Hmm.

One of the lessons that I grew up with was to always stay true to yourself and never let what somebody else says distract you from your goals.

I do listen to all the chatter. Do you see the posts, hear the podcasts, watch the news??

Stop listening to it! Focus on the fight ahead.

It’s not easy.

If it was easy it wouldn’t be worth fighting for. Something that has carried us through every moment... is the power of hope—the belief that something better is always possible if you’re willing to work for it and fight for it.

It is so hard these days. And hope seems out of reach.

You may not always have a comfortable life and you will not
always be able to solve all of the world's problems at once
but don't ever underestimate the importance you can have
because history has shown us that courage can be contagious
and hope can take on a life of its own.

There’s a lot of truth in what you’re saying, lady.

America. Are you willing to work for it and fight for it? You are America after all. With a union to perfect.

Well, I guess I-

Come on. One more time.

I guess I could work -

-and fight for it.

And fight for it.

One more time.

One more time. Who am I talking to?

Name’s Michelle.

If I need a pep talk can I call you back?

I’m always here. And remember. Do not settle for the world as it is. Together we will work for the world as it should be.

Never settle. You’re right. It’s not who I am. I never settle. I never give up. I’m hanging up. I’ve got work to do.

Take care, America. Have a beautiful Fourth. And God bless you.

You, too. Where’s the nearest public showers and laundromat?

That’s on you.

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People who say “But it’s a dry heat” too often can be arrested. Class 666 demeanor.

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O how we loved that man. Advertising genius, recording comedy artist with Frank Kalil in the early sixties (Below, he’s the genius in the back) and a good family man.

It’s only fitting we celebrate Jay’s life in a somber fashion with a moment of sober reflection:

And now, Jay’s greatest hits:

Hey, Fitz, he’d say, I got an idea for a senior nudist resort. 

It’s called Lake Flaccid.

I got this great sitcom idea: Six very pale people, all with night jobs, live in the same apartment building.”FIENDS”

--Where everybody knows  your blood type.

Did you hear? Trump asked the Ukrainian President to send him some exotic Black Sea calamari. 

Proof of a squid pro quo. 

O mama. My cardiologist seems baffled by my condition.

Not surprising for a 9-year old.

I’m so proud. I just invested in Fredrick’s of Hattiesburg. 

They’ve got pretty panties, maybe a little too much burlap.

Are you suffering from an illness you can’t spell or pronounce? Help is a phone call away. Just call The Diction Doctors at one, eight hundred ONOMOTOPAEIA.

I think people waste a lot of money buying brand new catheters. 

I have a business that recycles them for a lot less.  And with two dozen of my “Nearly New” catheters you get a free front end alignment.

I have an amazing doctor. He’s a two for one deal. He’s a proctologist and a urologist. Last time I saw him I said, “Hey, while you’re down there…”

When I asked if Jay was donating his stuff to an archive he said, “Sure. I have a whole wall full of memorabilia and genitalia.”

Jay really thought we should have done more to promote our show to seniors.

I think we should do tiny flyers, go into drug stores and tape them onto Poligrip packages.

Here’s an intro Jay wrote for himself:

“Fitz, Can you help me with the cover for my autobiography? I need a homeless person’s sign.”

“What’s your book called?”

“Will Work For Metamucil.”

Jay was scheming a book tour.

I asked him, “When are you hitting the road and will Scarlett be riding shotgun? “ Jay answered, “Never say shotgun and Scarlett in the same sentence.  Reminds me of our wedding.”

I think people waste a lot of money buying brand new catheters.  I have a business that recycles them for a lot less.  And with two dozen of my “Nearly New” catheters you get a free front end alignment.

And then our friend fell ill. Jay sent this text from the hospital:

I’m trying to get well. Yes, I’d love to get up there on the Rialto stage.  You hold the stopwatch and you have my permission to send Crystal out to drag me off by after 12 minutes. As my old friend David used to say, Cheers. Jay. Typing from my hospital tent in Mumbai.

Another text:

I’m really looking forward to this wonderful show.  Just be sure the microphone can be lowered to my Futon. By the way, “Ford V Ferrari” is a takeoff on a movie I wrote in the eighties, “Plymouth V Yugo.”

Then this text from our Tucson treasure. My older brother in spirit. A patriot. A religious man who practiced what he preached. If he had a vice it was his love of borderline blue humor. My beloved lunch buddy.

”Back in hospital. Will keep you advised. Jay.” I knew it was serious. There was no funny tagline. No punchline. I texted back: ”Love you, brother. Candle lit. Obey your docs and Scarlett.”

Scarlett was his bride and his chief blessing in this life.

Back in 2008 our friend Jay wrote a one-man show he performed at the Temple of Music and Art called “Better late than sorry.” His tagline was “Funny isn’t about your age. It’s about your journey.” Wise fellow, that Jay Taylor.

It’s appropriate for our devout friend that such a tribute as this was broadcast years ago on a Christmas Eve because at the Arroyo Cafe we liked to believe, at Christmas time, when laughter rang through an old vaudeville theater that an angel got his wings.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Jay Taylor.

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Congressman Juan Ciscomani’s 12 Pet Peeves:

1. Donald hardly ever calls

2. Busybody “paid” Anti-Fa “protestors” outside office

3. Being found by a “Where’s Waldo” search party at Waldo’s hiding space

4. “Invisibility Cape” a ripoff

5. Losing at Hide ‘n’ Seek

6. Whiners bitching about my beloved Fuhrer’s “alleged” corruption

7. Godless Marxist heathens asking me if I think Trump is a good Christian

8. Consultants saying “Show the voters you’re more than just a pretty face”

9. Trump’s nickname for me: “The Cisco Kid”

10. Ungrateful American women. After all I’ve done to protect the unborn

11. Packed Town Halls

12. Misguided “No Kings” protestors

13. Rural hospitals, veterans and SNAP parasites whining because I signed Trump’s Big Beautiful Bill

14. Tariffs on English Pomade

15. Jesus Christ isn’t our President

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My father, the quiet man knew.

That same year the movie “Patton”, starring the gruff George C. Scott, came out. A veteran of the “Good War”, he insisted we see it together. “It’s on at the Base theater. Do you have to wear those bell bottoms?”

We bonded over war movies and history. We were the first in line.

There’s a moment at the end of the film where Patton is seen alone after the war, overseeing the occupation in peacetime Europe, walking his beloved dog on a cold winter’s day. The great war hero reflects on an ancient Roman custom as walks into the distance.

Perhaps you remember it.

“For over a thousand years, Roman conquerors returning from the wars enjoyed the honor of a triumph—a tumultuous parade. In the procession came trumpeters and musicians and strange animals from the conquered territories, together with carts laden with treasure and captured armaments. The conqueror rode in a triumphal chariot, the dazed prisoners walking in chains before him. Sometimes his children, robed in white, stood with him in the chariot, or rode the trace horses. A slave stood behind the conqueror, holding a golden crown, and whispering in his ear a warning that all glory ... is fleeting.”

Or as the stoic philosophers of the old world would say “Sic transit gloria mundi”, which translates to “Thus passes the glory of the world”.

That was the only time during the movie my dad turned and gave me that steely look that wordlessly suggested I should heed the wisdom, “ All glory is fleeting,” punctuated by a nod. I nodded back in the dark theater, saying nothing to the fastidious warrior I adored because my drooling mouth was stuffed with Milk Duds.

It took me years to understand why this idea, that little endures, save for our fidelity to freedom, mattered so greatly to the Master Sergeant.

We left the theater happy to have survived the second World War.

If you have never seen the film “Patton” is a five star cinematic treat about the singular four star general whose armored division rolled across Africa, up into Italy and then across Europe, breaking the German’s last ditch defensive advance in the Battle of the Bulge and rolling across the Rhein River into the the rubble of what was the most obscene murderous anti-democratic political fever to ever terrorize the globe.

The Good War, the Master Sergeant called it, more than once on the walk to his humble Ford Falcon. “When I signed up I said tell Hitler and Tojo I’m going to kill ‘em all.” He’d grin his Irish-American “street tough” grin at me.

Go, dad!

Dad is long dead and once in a long while when I need my father’s voice this 70-year old man will talk to his grinning ghost. “You were right., Damn it,” or “Miss you, old man. I wish I had gotten all your life stories out of you before you left us,” or “I’m glad I lived this long to finally learn this lesson, pop.”

I say “I’m glad I lived this long to finally learn this lesson, pop,” an awful lot these days.

The two greatest lessons he enjoy teaching were empathy and humility. His highly sophisticated empathy lesson always took the same form. He had been a Featherweight boxing champ when he was a kid. I never saw him lose his temper or strike anyone. But if he caught wind of me bullying anyone he’d call me over, place his warm open palm on my cheek and say, “I hear you were picking on a kid at school.” And then he’d gently pat my cheek. “Now how would you like it if I did that to you?”

He never struck me. Ever. Didn’t need to.

As for humility, I remember being with him on the base walking to his office and he would point to the massive grey and white hangar that had the single word “PRIDE” painted across the length of the entire roof in huge white caps like the Hollywood sign.

“Hey, pop, isn’t pride a bad thing?”

“No, sir. Pride has to be earned. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Then he’d channel the altar boy who grew up an orphan on the brutal streets of Manhattan by reciting scripture. “Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with the humble is wisdom.” Got that? Proverbs.”

“Uh-huh.”

And then he’d grin, because the street orphan loved the dream of justice for the oppressed his God promised him. “The Lord detests the proud. They will surely be punished.”

“But-”

”Don’t ever forget false pride is a sin boy. Always goes before a fall.”

I had no clue what he was saying, until later in my life when my own inflated ego was my foe.

I never forgot the lesson, a lesson for today’s world, suffering from an empathy deficit nurtured by cruel leaders who believe their glory will endure. Hang enough giant banners and portraits in hopes you’ll be remembered and all I can think of is an Italian dictator’s last hours back in 1945 at the close of WWII.

Patton’s forces were spearing the underbelly of occupied Europe through then Fascist and Pro-Nazi Italy and the Italians were caving. were Benito, the bully, tried to disguise himself and escape the mobs but because he had pridefully insisted on putting his face and name on everything he was recognized in an instant by partisans who nabbed him, disguised as a German soldier fleeing Italy in a troop truck. A quickly assembled firing squad dispatched the great strutting narcissist, Benito Mussolini and his pitiful adoring mistress to Dante’s Hell.

Pride goes before a fall, right, pop?

If only Benito and every leader like him today had their own servant holding a “golden crown” and whispering the warning “that all glory is fleeting.” But once a mortal believes otherwise the risk is great.

The vengeful anti-Fascist partisans mutilated the despised Fascist’s bullet riddled corpse and displayed it in a public square hanging it upside down, alongside his mistress, for the people, exhausted by years of Mussolini’s cruel grip on their lives, to spit on, curse and cheer.

His shredded remains were displayed, stolen by neo-Fascists, kept hidden for a decade, and finally buried in an unmarked grave.

Two days later Adolf Hitler took his own life in his bunker. Hitler, having heard what happened to Benito’s body, ordered his corpse burned to escape the humiliation of having his body mutilated and displayed like Mussolini’s by the conquering Russians.

Sic transit gloria mundi.

Thus passes the glory of the world.

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Poorly regulated Camp Mystic in Texas files for moral bankruptcy after catastrophic floods killed 28 people

Extreme heat melting records across Europe, more coming Saturday, next week, month, next year, entire epoch

Senate Passes Resolution Directing Trump to End Hostilities With Iran and Begin Hostilities With Trump

RAGING TRUMP, FURIOUS AT POLLS, ORDERS WAR SECRETARY HEGSETH TO DRAWS UP PLANS TO INVADE POLAND

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Rebuke comes one week after the president signed framework with Tehran with Sharpie on roll of Official White House toilet paper

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With “Old Tucson” looking to change hands many wonder what the possibilities could be. Here’s my list of helpful suggestions:

• Southwest World featuring cyborgs recycled from rusted Goodwill finds

• Elon’s Space-X Space Port and Sarsaparilla Bar

• New Tucson Post-Apocalyptic Theme Park

• High Chaparral Marijuana Dispensary and Pot Farm

• Knott’s Nutty Barely-a-Farm

• Old Tattoine: 10 Miles and 100,000 Light-Years from Town

• Six Flags over an Abandoned Western Theme Park

• Bonanza! The Casino!

• Torchy the Cowpoke’s Fire Safety City

• Blazing Doorknobs Summer Fun Park

• Frank Herbert’s Dune Town

• Bataan Death March Theme Park—Only open in July

• ICE Detention Center for Undocumented Disney workers

• Jackie Chan’s “Varmint Village” for Retired Gunfight Reenactors

• Marshall Jeff Bezos’ Wild Wild West AI Data Center and Public Noise Nuisance Jamboree

The possibilities are like an afternoon stroll around Old Tucson in the middle of July: Endless.

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When I turned 15-years, and seven months old, the Master Sergeant said, “It’s time you learned to drive.” He said it the same way he said, “David, it’s time you learned to swim.”

Terror.

“We’re going out to the Flight Line. You’ll love it, boy. Great place to learn how to drive. Wide open spaces.”

Horror.

“It’s a tarmac, pop. You sure about this?”

No dad has ever heard, “You sure about this?” from his kid and thought, “Good point, kid. Maybe I’m not sure about what I’m doing here. Why, yes, I shall reconsider the wisdom of this choice.”

Instead, 1971’s “Father of the Year” said, “Lighten up, squirt. The airfield is perfect. It’s just a big parking lot. It’s Sunday morning. It’s dead.”

As he drove us there, I asked him how he learned to drive.

“Taught myself. When I was 14, I stole a Model T.”

Throughout his life I asked my father for cash, for loans, for signatures, forgiveness, the keys to car, help with my education and advice about the plumbing. My greatest regret? I didn’t ask him for more stories.

“It was stupid. Drove it off a country bridge and hitchhiked home. Did I tell you about the time I stole money from the poor box to take the ferry out to Potter’s Field to visit your grandfather’s grave? I missed the ferry back and spent the entire night on the cemetery island.”

“Many times, pop. The best scary bedtime story ever.” We had arrived. It was time to get out and switch seats. I slid into the driver’s seat of his pride, a sun-bleached 1954 Ford Falcon that he kept running with prayer, wires, duct tape and spit. “Why can’t I learn to drive in our neighborhood like everybody else?”

He pointed to the flat empty horizon with his lit Marlboro. “When I taught your sister to drive our old Pontiac ended up in the flowerpots on Mr. Goldberg’s front porch. I’m not going through that again. Head over to that air raid siren. And don’t hit it.”

I crept along wondering when our incursion would be discovered. He flicked an ash out his window. “Floor it, Buck Rogers. You can go faster than 15-miles an hour.”

I’m flying an ancient rattle trap and Chuck Yeager is my copilot. He turned the half-melted plastic leaning Jesus on his dashboard around so He could lean, “into our headwinds.”

“This isn’t an X-15 I’m driving here. Can I change the music?”

“No. Percy Faith calms my nerves. Just drive. Hands at 9 and 3. Check your rear view mirror.”

I did. “Hey, pop, there’s a blue pick-up truck behind us that looks very official. And its lights are flashing.”

The Master Sergeant looked behind us. “Dammit!” I hit the brakes and skidded. The Military Police stopped behind us and an armed soldier approached our vehicle. The Greatest Generation gave me his best serious Eisenhower look. “No jokes this time. I got this.”

Good call. Years later I’m glad I didn’t confess we were sent by Boris and Natasha to photograph military installations.

The smooth-talking Master Sergeant got us home in time for the Ed Sullivan show. He bragged about the incident every time he had a cold beer in his hand. “Should have seen the MP’s face when he found out I was an NCO. And you should have seen Dave. I thought sure he was going to wet his pants.”

Lesson: Better to try something daring and absurd, and apologize afterwards, than to have never tried.

I was tasked with sorting his possessions after we buried him. We sold his cars, sis got his flag, and I got his tools, the very tools he used to keep our hapless junkers, beaters and rattle traps running through countless summer road trips and graduations.

I spent a lot of my childhood in our carport handing him those tools as he tinkered. In return, he gave me tools for living:

“Takes a dollar to learn a dollar. All the best junkyards are south of 22nd Street. Any jackass can kick down a barn. Takes a man to build one. Jackass is an acceptable curse word.”

Sorting the last of his possessions I discovered Dad’s most precious treasures in the top drawer of his bureau: his spare shoelaces, his toenail clipper, his keys to forgotten locks, pictures of mom, old credit cards, war medals, too many old reader’s eyeglasses, and our ancient baby teeth wrapped in a very old handkerchief. Next to the baby teeth I found every misspelled handmade Father’s Day card he had ever gotten from us, neatly stacked. “Best Dad Ever.” “Thanks, Dad. You’re one In A Million.”

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1. Send ICE Agents to the polls to intimidate voters

2. Order National Guard units to the polls to stifle protests and intimidate voters

3. Persuade billionaire donors to bribe God

4. Persuade Elon to bribe Satan. Again

5. Repeat accusations of election fraud by Democrats

   

6. End vote-by-mail ( Dr.Evil’s idea )

7. End Tuesdays (Melania’s suggestion)

8. Rename the month of November “Trump-tober” to confuse voters

9. Persecute nonpartisan civic engagement groups

10. Make it harder for newly naturalized citizens to vote

11. Make it harder for Melania to vote

12. Make it easier for MAGA voters to vote with crayons ( inedible )

    

13. Sue news outlets that expose deep fake MAGA campaign ads

14. Challenge winning results with lawsuits, lawsuits, lawsuits

15. And more lawsuits

16. Order the FBI to investigate Democratic candidates

17. Order FBI to investigate and search offices run by Democratic County Recorders

18. Order the National Guard to confiscate ballots

19. Swap adjacent states with each other to confuse voters

20. Obliterate the Voting Rights Act

21. Invite armed MAGA vigilantes to the polls

22. Seize personal and private voter data if there’s any data about us these crooked scumbags don’t have already

23. Purge voter rolls of Democrats

24. Seize ballots and election materials

25. Rig voting maps

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MAGA gubernatorial candidate Andy Biggs’ Pet Peeves

1. Porky pig

2. Having to smile when Trump calls me Biggy Smalls

3. Governing

4. Constant comparison to “Biff” from “Back to the Future”

5. Why can’t very day be January 6th?

6. Good friend Paul Gosar’s breath

7. Suspicion by others winning the sweepstakes was an act of Satan and not God

8. Katie Hobbs

9. Homos and drag queens who believe we are all God’s children

10. And Jews (Shhhh..)

But wait there’s more Pet Peeves

1. Sometimes the soles of Trumps shoes taste funny

2. “House Freedom Caucus” never writes, calls, shares racist jokes anymore

3. Democracy and Katie Hobbs

4. Tiki torches allowed to run low on Tiki fluid

5. The woke leftist lesbian femi-nazis persecuting Biggs’ fellow MAGA candidate Mark Lamb just because he likes the little ladies

6. “Election Denier” deniers

7. AntiFa-Socialist-Marxist-Illegal-Immigrant-DEI-loving ICE protestors. suffering Trump Derangement with an Empathy surplus

8. Voucher Program Fiscal Hawks and Kris Mayes

9. Whiners upset Biggs tried to overturn the vote of every Arizonan in the 2020 election and Katie Hobbs

10. Being mistaken for the Great Train Robber Ronnie Biggs, who used his money to fund his escape and a new life on the run

But wait there’s only 10 more Pet Peeves:

1. Being mistaken for using his $10 million in 1993 American Family Publishers sweepstakes winnings to better all mankind

2. Being slammed for using the $10 million to fund leap from law to full-time disruptive radical far right politics

3. Fussy critics who point out when prevaricating Biggs posts that Hobbs is “Under investigation” he fails to note it’s by an out-of-state, private MAGA lawyer that his MAGA crew hired to “Investigate” her

4. The word “prevaricating”

5. Elites from the big city who say comb-overs are a “Glamour Don’t”

6. Women who think there’s ever a justification for an abortion

7. MSNBC, CNN, New Times, The Arizona Republic and The Arizona Daily Star and every network but FOX

8. The Voting Rights Act

9. Ballroom naysayers

10. Vermin

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RFK Jr downs algae from Reflecting Pool, says “algae and pond scum an excellent source of protein and Omega-3 fatty acids”

DEAL MAKER DONALD TOUTS “HISTORIC” MULTI-BILLION DOLLAR PAYOFF TO IRAN IN EXCHANGE FOR NOTHING

EXPERT ANALYSIS: Stormy Daniels went away for far less than Iran

Department of War to change name to United States Defensive Department

White House counters critics, “Trump promised base they’d get tired of Winning”

Trump signs unconditional surrender to Iran at Versailles, where France surrendered to Hitler in 1940

Iran to charge fees in the Strait of Hormuz, Foreign Ministry spokesperson says, laughing

ALLEGED “STABLE GENIUS”, REALIZES WAR MUST END “BECAUSE OF THREAT TO GLOBAL OIL SUPPLY”, BILLIONS OF DOLLARS, HUNDREDS OF LIVES AND LIMBS TOO LATE

Trump takes victory lap at G7 summit, celebrates setting up Vice President Vance to be unparalleled strategic disaster’s “fall guy”

President defends letting Tehran keep its arsenal of ballistic missiles, letting his $15 million reflecting pool keep it’s “phenomenally beautiful green algae”

Trump warns self continuing war could lead to an "global depression”

Trump fails to warn self continuing in office could lead to impeachment

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Here is the opening clause of the Iran War Memo of Understanding as this American understands it:

The United States and the Islamic Republic of Iran are signing this MOU to declare the immediate surrender of the United States of America to the Islamic Republic of Iran, with both radical theocratic parties undertaking from now on not to initiate any military operations against each other, or Iranian school children, and to refrain from randomly texting bizarre, inconsistent, empty threats of use of force against Iran by President Trump. Both radical theocratic parties will work to ensure the territorial integrity and sovereignty of Lebanon which makes Israel your #@! headache.

The final deal will confirm the permanent termination of Trump’s reputation as a master deal maker and this idiotic, wasteful, fruitless war on all fronts.

So what did we get?

A pledge to lift all sanctions against Iran.

Where’s the pledge form our White House to never again send our military treasure into harm’s way for such disastrous ill-conceived idiocy?

I’m surprised Trump didn’t demand a pledge from all participants to call reporters who ask detailed questions about this proposed treaty “Stupid piggies”.

A pledge to lift all UN resolutions.

I’m surprised Trump didn’t demand a white curtain be strung across the presentation of this fiasco. Little Rubio has to sell this bucket of loose stool to the Republican Congress and, in his 2028 campaign, candidate Vance, author of “Hillbilly Self-Pity” will have to wear it, smeared and caked on his smug face. They both deserve it. Ambition blinded them to the cardinal rule of associating with Trump : “Everything and everyone he touches turns to shit.”

A pledge to lift all International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) Board of Governors resolutions.

This from the President who loves to threaten to end civilizations.

The release of frozen Iranian assets.

Holy Mullahs. Many of those assets have been frozen for decades, dating as far back as the 1979 Islamic Revolution and back then I was 24 and now I’m 70 The frozen funds are estimated to be between $100 billion and over $160 billion.

Money talks. Trump walks.

That’ll teach them Iranians to mess with the Master of the Art of the Deal.

A U.S.-led commitment to develop a $300 billion reconstruction and economic development plan for Iran paid for by private investors.

Who? Gee, I wonder what the benevolent private investors will get for their money? A piece of Gaza as well as Iran, too?

A timeline for U.S. forces to withdraw from the proximity of Iran following a final deal.

This is the “Skedaddle-Now-We-Kicked-Your-Ass Clause”.

Iran’s commitment to ensure safe passage for oil tankers is guaranteed for 60 days in the Strait of Hormuz.

Only 60 days. That’s 3-months. Right up into election season. Timing is everything, as Netanyahu once said to Trump while Trump was napping.

The long-term administration of the critical waterway will be left to future negotiations between Iran, Oman, and other Persian Gulf states.

Our “Sphere of Influence” is losing air faster than the GOP’s grandad is losing his grip on reality.

Iran reaffirms it will not procure or develop nuclear weapons.

And Democrats promise they won’t launch an impeachment when they win in November. And President Barack Obama promises he won’t laugh his ass off at this train wreck. Cross their hearts.

Iran agrees to maintain the current status quo of its nuclear program pending a final deal.

The nuclear program Trump “obliterated”? That one?

Enriched material stockpiles would be down-blended on site under IAEA supervision as a minimum baseline.

While Trump, the Vigilant, plays with his ballroom model, watches UFC fights on cable and gets back to full-time grifting.

Broader questions about enrichment and Iran’s nuclear will be resolved in final deal negotiations.

And Trump will never lie again. Really.

The U.S. agrees not to impose new sanctions or deploy additional forces in the region while those talks proceed.

Because the price of oil is ruled by whoever controls the Strait of Hormuz. The trillion dollar geography lesson our Dumb-Ass-in-Chief didn’t learn in school when he was 12.

The MOU sets a 60-day deadline, extendable by mutual consent, to finalize a comprehensive agreement, which would ultimately be endorsed by a binding U.N. Security Council resolution.

In setting this agreement-to-agree deadline the phrase “mutual consent” jumped out at me. Must sting the old swine who claimed he could grab any pussy he wanted. Consent. There’s a concept for the characterless.

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BREAKING: Read Full Text of U.S.-Iran Memorandum of Understanding Shared by U.S. Official

A senior administration official has revealed the full text of the memorandum of understanding between the United States and Iran to reporters, offering the clearest picture yet of what the two countries have agreed t…

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a month ago · 365 likes · 95 comments · MeidasTouch Network