IMPEACHMENT STEW

   Neither Samm nor I are sports fans. Super Bowl Sunday is about the extent of our participation in consuming nationalized sports propaganda. And that’s just for the socializing and finger food. The concussion causing, opioid of the masses has no effect on us. But what we both approach with the same enthusiastic, fan frenzy as sports is televised hearings. We prepare for such political events with the relish of a bobble-headed mascot during the playoffs. Booze, drugs, and prepared dishes are required. Yesterday I made a nice venison stew in anticipation of Bill Taylor’s testimony in the historic televised hearings leading up to the impeachment of Donald Trump. Samm’s bringing the beer and edibles. Who’s your party? USA! USA!

   What I don’t understand is Trump’s failure to truly exploit this TV moment. The king of the “no press is bad press” aphorism, “Tabloid Trump,” is missing out on a perfect opportunity to capitalize on a prime-time spectacle. They are impeaching HIM. Why not spin this into a once in a lifetime Pay-Per-View extravaganza? Take control. Forget these whiny Whitehouse lawyers. Rudy must know some L.A. entertainment sharks who can take a fresh approach—intellectual property and branding specialists—trained to smell blood. These legal “producers” could package the entire Presidential impeachment proceeding as something like the Olympics; pitch it to FOX—freeze out the competition. The greater the production value and the more “up close and personal” interviews of flag waving, God fearing Republicans the greater the chance for a win. Did somebody say Nuremberg?

     The fact that Trump is being seen at more sporting events is also telling and not unrelated. I don’t think he even hears the booing or the chants of “lock him up.” He’s there to be seen and as long as the crowd sees him, all good. Alabama college football fans are a made to order MAGA smack shot right into Trump’s ego. One acolyte even stabbed the Baby Trump balloon in front of Rob Kennedy, in appreciation of the Presidential visit. That should have been on TV. If somehow sports spectacle could be combined with political theater—with maybe Jenine Pirro and O.J. doing the color commentary—a new crossbreed, hybrid form of entertainment could be salvaged out of the Trump shit show. Where’s Trump’s new spiritual advisor? Advise for Christ’s sake. Somebody must know O.J. 

  Because it was so cold in the mountains yesterday, making the venison stew on top of the wood stove was an easy choice. I hung the buck on the porch and cranked up the fire in the stove. Soon the smell of the onions simmering in squished peeled tomatoes filled the house. It’s one of my favorite ways to cook and heat the house at the same time. Because I’ve been hunting so hard, I was a bit at loose ends on Tuesday. Gun season doesn’t open until Saturday. I got a couple of days off. Wednesday I’ll watch the hearings and we’ll eat the stew. Thursday I’ll skin, trim up the back strap and quarter that deer. On Friday we’ll either watch more hearings or I’ll finish the butchering on my own with the radio tuned in. Saturday I’ll load the 30.06 and hit the woods again, looking for the buck that broke that 10 pointer’s rack. My week is planned.

     We already know what Bill Taylor is going to say, but I can’t wait to hear him say it. Any sane person knows that Trump has no defense, but that never stopped him before. How many times has Melania found surly hookers in bed with her husband, only to be convinced by the irate President that there were no such women there after all? How many times have we counted him out—were sure there was no way he was gonna wiggle out of this one—that finally he’d been caught red handed……..only to be proven how foolish we are? I’ll never give a shit about the World Series or the Final Four, but give me a Watergate, Kavanaugh, or Trump impeachment extravaganza any day of the week. Between that and deer hunting the holidays will be here before you know it. I know what I want for Christmas.