Latest Gleeson Motion

Oh My!

Flynn Amicus Motion

John Gleeson, Esq.
919 Third Avenue
New York, New York

A Real Law Firm Practicing Real Law With Real Lawyers! Really!

No. 20-5143
IN Re: Michael T. Flynn,

Emergency Ex Parte Motion For Clarification of the Word, “Moot”

COMES NOW, The Amicus, John Gleeson, Esq., and for his Motion for Clarification, presents the following:

1. This Honorable Appeals Court used the word “Moot” in its recent Order stating, in brief, that “The District Court’s Order appointing an amicus is hereby vacated as moot.”

2. However, Merriam-Webster Dictionary provides TWO contradictory definitions of the word, “moot” one meaning an issue open for discussion, (hereinafter “good moot”) and the other definition meaning of no practical significance, (hereinafter “bad moot”.)

3. As a result, this Court’s recent Order is confusing, and I am not sure whether I still have a job, a paycheck, and any practical significance.

WHEREFORE, the Above Premises, stated, the Amicus respectfully Requests this Court to determine what the meaning of “moot” is for the case at bar.Respectfully,

John Gleeson,
Amicus and a Real Lawyer

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Bandying About???


Bandy Legs???

Dr. Lee Was Helped Along One Step At A Time!

By Sacks Roamer

So there is a relatively new DNC shill on the scene. Her name is Dr. Bandy X. Lee, and she is a psychologist at Harvard. She is an obvious partisan, and she can be relied on to say all manner of ridiculous things about Donald Trump. I am not sure whether she is paid for her opinion, or just provides it for poops and giggles. For example, this tripe, masquerading as an “analysis”:

Her most recent expert analysis is that Trump is using standard subconscious technique to enlist the “child soldiers” seen in his supporters opposing the pandemic restrictions:

“Subconsciously, it is a loyalty test for the people. In Africa, where I did some ethnographic work, child soldiers would be recruited and made to kill a family member to demonstrate their allegiance to the government and not to the family. Similarly, in urban gangs in America, one may be challenged to kill a police officer to prove one’s willingness to uphold gang rules over societal rules . . . When Donald Trump suggests that the virus be taken as a ‘hoax’, that people gather in churches or that people protest for their own sacrifice, he is actually testing people’s loyalty to the ‘laws’ of his mind over the laws of nature, or even impulse for survival. The more he abuses them, the greater their devotion grows, since the psychological cost of admitting their mistake is ever higher — and so it becomes easier to dig a well of unreality than to see the obvious truth.”

Yale Professor: Trump Is Using Subconscious Techniques To Push “Armed Troops In The Streets” Toward A “Massacre”

Psychobabble crap. And her twitter description of herself is a hoot! “Violence expert and forensic psychiatrist of 20 years, uninvolved in politics until politics invaded her area of expertise.” Yeah, sure.

Anyway, I prayed that she would do us the favor of analyzing Joe Biden, because he is obviously suffering from age-related cognitive dysfunctions, dementia, and memory problems. LO AND BEHOLD! My prayers were answered! Here it is in all its non-partisan glory!

                                                              Dr. Bandy X. Lee

Psychologist Specializing in Long Range Diagnosis

Yale University                                                                   
Jean-Baptiste Lamarck Hall
New Haven, CT 06520


April 24, 2020

Dear New York Times,

How are you? Fine I hope! You asked me last week to do a long range analysis of Joe Biden, vis a vis some very nasty comments from right wing neo-fascists and Trump supporters to the effect that the former Vice-President is showing signs of cognitive dementia and senility. I appreciate you choosing me and I assure you that I will provide a very honest analysis, free of any political bias, such as has been insinuated by the fanatic rabble that supports our obviously mentally-disturbed President.

Those who know me well, know that I do not have a political bone in my body. To proceed to my analysis, I find Joe Biden to be the very epitome of a mentally sound person, fully in grasp of reality. He seems well-oriented as to what year it is, and he has not been seen out of his home without his pants on. He knows who the President is, which is Trump, who makes fun of physically disabled people. He does have little bo-bos from time to time about where he is. For example, which state he is in, but on a standard short form mental status exam, he still scores a solid 66.6%! Since he is the only person in the class, so to speak, I feel quite comfortable rounding that up on the curve to a solid A+!

I did take note of the fact that he was not able to recite the passage about all people being endowed by you know, the thing, with whatevah, but no psychologist in her right mind would expect a patient to be able to recite the whole Declaration of Independence. Plus, on the World War II answer he gave, he knew who the President was during that time, Franklin Roosevelt, a good Democrat, Thank Goodness!, so I think that makes him pretty much a candidate for Mensa!

As far as mistaking his sister for his wife, that is a common mistake, and quite common among the members of the Hookworm and Incest Belt of the South, where so many of Trump’s deplorables dwell. I know I have several times mistaken a grande for a venti at Starbucks, and Jeni’s Ice Cream for Ben and Jerry’s! Sooo, these sorts of little mixups can happen. I am not worried at all by that!

I do note that he is a sensitive and caring person, and I would suggest that he not engage in any prolonged debates or lengthy question and answer sessions. I think he sometimes seems to stumble over words or lose track of the question, but that is simply because he cares so much for people as opposed to the psychopathic Trump. And, it would probably be advisable to connect either a short tether or some duct tape between his belt and the dais to keep him in place because he has an oratory style like the old Greeks of the Peripatetic School, who walked around as they dispensed their wisdom. It is conceivable that Joe Biden could wander around and fall off a stage and injure himself during such an episode.

In short, I saw absolutely no signs of any cognitive difficulties with Joe Biden, and I think he would make a wonderful replacement for that fat, narcissistic, criminal crook, Donald Trump!

Very Truly Yours,

Dr. Bandy X. Lee,

Why am I not surprised???

Sacks Roamer
The Unknown Blogger

Here is a pdf of her analysis too:


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If Peter Strzok Was A Doctor – – – An Analogy

I Swear By Apollo They Will Have To Carry You Out of Here In A Body Bag!

By Sacks Roamer

Sooo, here is a hypothetical to help better explain the whole Peter Strzok and FBI meddling in the 2016 Presidential Election.

It is 2019, and President Trump is in San Francisco, giving a speech on why Illegal Aliens suck, when he keels over with sharp chest pains and shallow breathing. The Secret Service rushes Trump to the nearest hospital, The Fritz Haarmann Memorial Medical Center.

Dr. Bent More is on call in the ER.  Dr. More is a rabid Leftist, with a history of anti-Trump and anti-conservative activism. He wore a pink pussy hat in Washington. He puts on a mask and takes up a baseball bat when conservative speakers come to town. He thinks borders are racist, and looks with disdain on the deplorables.

The normal procedure for suspected heart attack victims is to run an EKG, do blood tests to confirm a heart attack, and to start blood thinning medications. For the first time in his career, Dr. More eschews these procedures, and instead puts Trump onto a treadmill set to a high speed, and about 15 minutes later, Trump falls over and is unresponsive. Dr. More is the only person in the room, and about  10 minutes later, he finally hits the Code Blue button. But it is far too late. Trump is kaput.

At his trial for Negligent Homicide, Dr. More’s defense boils down to two arguments:

(1) I am a doctor who took the Hippocratic Oath, and I would never do anything unprofessional, or intentionally harmful to a patient!

(2) How dare you insult the whole Medical Profession and all hard working doctors everywhere!

The prosecution however, focuses on the good Doctor’s actual actions and omissions. In other words, the REALITY of what took place. This is the same as with the Trump Political Persecution, and the related Hillary Exoneration. Outside of all the protestations of FBI professionalism and lack of bias, it is the examination of the actual facts that matter.

In the Hillary email investigation, FBI Director Comey wrote an exoneration of Hillary before the investigation concluded. Cheryl Mills, a potential defendant in the investigation, was allowed to represent Hillary. Never mind that this was a clear conflict of interest. Further, Mills was allowed to sit in on the examinations  of other subjects, and thus put herself into position of making sure what everybody said dovetailed with the Hillary  narrative. Computers and evidence were allowed to be destroyed by Hillary. The Attorney General of the United States even went as far as to engage in secret meeting with Bill Clinton, a clear violation of ethics. There are more incongruities, but to cap it off, Director Comey took it upon himself to decide against prosecuting Hillary. That is not the job of the FBI. Ever. That is supposed to be a prosecutorial decision.

With the Trump Persecution, Deputy AG Rosenstein has a clear conflict of interest heading up the investigation since he is the one who recommended firing Comey. There is the troubling manner of how the Steele Dossier made it into the investigation, Not to mention how the Mueller Team got stacked with people like Strzok in the first place.

Against the REALITY of these facts, of which I have only skimmed the surface , we will all be exposed to the Democrat’s  constant barrage of Dr. More’s defense – – – Strzok is a professional and the FBI would never ever do such a thing.

Put your thinking cap and focus on the facts. I hope this analogy has been useful.

Sacks Roamer
The Unknown Blogger

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The Avocado As A Big Green Nut???

The Avocado As A Big Green Nut???

No, Those Are Not Avocados???

The Avocado As A Big Green Nut?
A One Act Theatre of the Absurd Play
by Squeeky Fromm

Mimus Personnae:

Andrew Merry, the Prosecutor
Mae Tate, the Defense Lawyer
Mark Easy, the Judge
Welliam Peccant, the Defendant
Anna Peccant, the Defendant’s Mother
The Girl Reporter, the victim
The Jury???

Mimus Locus and Mimus Facta:

A Courtroom in Anytown, USA. It is the first day of trial. The Defendant is accused in the attempted murder of a beautiful Girl Reporter who was investigating his nefarious narco gang activities. Peccant attacked her with a machete, and the quick-thinking Reporter pulled her gun and shot him once in the abdomen, and one in each buttock as he ran away. The incident was captured on a security camera with a full view of the Defendant’s face. The machete was dropped at the scene, and the Defendant’s DNA and fingerprints were found on the weapon. Slugs matching the Reporter’s gun were pulled from the Defendant at a local Trauma Center. Blood splatters at the crime scene match the Defendant’s DNA.

The Defendant claims he was shot by an unknown assailant while praying in his back yard many miles away. His mother supports his claim.

It is an open and shut case. Right?

Act I, Scene I, Male Fundatos

Judge Easy: Everyone please be seated. Mr. Prosecutor, you may begin.

Prosecutor: I would like to address my opening remarks to the Defense Attorney, and the Defendant’s mother. I understand the Defendant will not be testifying today. There is a tremendous amount of evidence that the . . .

Judge: Wait a minute, you can’t address your remarks to the defense attorney and the witness. You are supposed to address your remarks to the jury. Is this your first trial???

Prosecutor: But Your Honor, I have decided to try out a new trial strategy! If I address my remarks to the jury, then I have to convince 12 people that the Defendant is guilty, whereas if I limit my remarks to the Defendant’s attorney, and his mother, then I only have to convince 2 people! And no, this is not my first trial. I think it would be a better use of judicial time. . .

Judge: We need to discuss this. Bailiffs, will you please escort the Jury to the holding area. Thank you. Now, would the attorneys approach.

(The Attorneys approach the bar.)

Judge: Now, Mr. Merry, what is it you are asking the Court to do? Accept that you are going to try to sway Defense Counsel and the Defendant’s mother that he is guilty??? I think that is going to be a very difficult thing to do.

Prosecutor: Yes, Your Honor. I want you to dismiss the Jury, and let me proceed to trial with only Ms. Tate, and Anna Peccant, the victim’s mother. If I can convince them that the Defendant is guilty, then there is no defense to the testimony that will be offered by the Girl Reporter. We will have met the burden of finding the Defendant guilt beyond any reasonable doubt.

And remember, Your Honor, that Anna Peccant will be under oath and required to answer truthfully, or she could be charged with perjury. Ms. Tate, the Defense Attorney, has a duty to be truthful in court, and tell no lies. Further, she is under a duty of candor toward the Tribunal.

The only irregularity is that the Court will have to allow me some leeway on the questions, and require Ms. Tate to testify.

Judge: Ms. Tate, what do you have to say to this?

Defense Attorney: I am all for it your Honor! And my client agrees. (The Defendant is seen with a big smile on his face.)

Judge: Mr. Merry, have you discussed this with the poor, innocent victim, The Girl Reporter?

Prosecutor: Yes, I have. She agrees as long as she has exclusive rights to the story

Judge: Girl Reporter, do you agree to this? Do you understand that Mr. Peccant might well go free?

Girl Reporter: Yes. But I am not afraid of him. The way he was hollering, “No mas! No mas!” after I shot him in the ass, I won’t have to worry about him no more. Plus, this story ought to be a hoot! I bet I win a Pulitzer!

Judge. Okay then. Bailiffs, dismiss the Jury, and thank them for their service. Mr. Prosecutor, you may proceed..

Act I, Scene II, Mimus Ipsa Loquitur

(The Girl Reporter has already testified, truthfully and very intelligently, of course. The Defense Attorney was unable to make a dent in her testimony. Now, Anna Peccant is called to the stand, and sworn in.)

Prosecutor: You have previously stated that your son was in your backyard when he was shot, correct?

Anna Peccant: Yes, he was in my backyard praying, when some horrible person or persons unknown shot him! I guess they are not good Catholics like me and my son. Maybe they are Atheists or Protestants. Maybe Jehovah’s Witnesses, or some of those Mormons on bikes doing a drive-by?

Prosecutor: Then if you were at home, why didn’t you take him to the hospital. The records show that he flagged down a police car, 18 miles away from your residence, to take him to the hospital? You have a working vehicle, don’t you?

Anna Peccant: Yes, I have a car. I guess he just didn’t want to bother me. I was watching the Bold and The Beautiful, and we do not have a DVR to record the show.

Prosecutor: Okay, if you were busy watching your soap opera, then how do you know your son was in the backyard praying?

Anna Peccant: Because I saw him when I got up to go to the bathroom during the commercial.

Prosecutor: If all this took place during part of your soap opera, then how did your son get 18 miles away, all after being shot three times? Because the records indicate that he said told the police that he had “just been shot” when he flagged them down? Eighteen miles is nearly a marathon!

Anna Peccant: Well, he participated in track in junior high.

Prosecutor: C’mon, you’re just being ridiculous. There’s no way you really believe your son managed to run 18 miles in under 5 minutes with 3 bullets in him and bleeding like a stuck pig, do you?

Anna Peccant: It is no more unreasonable than believing that he attacked that Girl Reporter with a machete! I know my son, and he would never do a thing like that. He is a good Catholic boy who prays every day, and wouldn’t hurt a fly!

Prosecutor: Your son has racked up 6 major felonies in the 4 years since he turned 18, including two felonious assaults with deadly weapons! I have records indicating that you visited him in prison on numerous occasions. You even made a domestic violence complaint against him yourself when he hit you and stole your EBT card last June. You can not be serious that he is a good Catholic. You can not reasonably maintain that he is not the kind of person to attack someone with a machete! You can not say that!

Anna Peccant: Yes I can! He is a good boy who would never attack that hussy with a machete! See! I did too say it!

Prosecutor: And how about the machete with his fingerprints on it! The blood splatters at the crime scene that match his DNA? The Girl Reporter’s testimony, and the fact that her cell phone records indicated she was at the crime scene at the time of the shooting, and 18 miles away from your back yard? What about the security camera evidence? Wasn’t that your son, wearing the very Sympathy For The Devil shirt that you bought him for Christmas?

Anna Peccant: I think the Police phonied up the evidence and The Girl Reporter is a big liar! Look at that short skirt she is wearing! With boots no less! What a tramp! Haven’t you ever heard of dopplegangers, people who look just like other people? And that shirt is sold on the Internet, so who knows how many people have one?

(The Prosecutor throws his papers in the air and shakes his head.)

Judge: Are you through with this witness?

Prosecutor: I guess so. Is there any point in me making a motion that the witness be held in contempt for perjury.

Judge: No. She is entitled to her opinion, There is no legal requirement that she have good sense. Heck, half the country voted for Hillary.

Prosecutor: Okay, please call Ms. Tate to the stand.

(Whereupon, the Defense Attorney is sworn, and seated on the stand.)

Prosecutor: Alright, Ms. Tate, you have heard all the testimony, and seen all the evidence. Do you still maintain that your client is innocent.

Defense Attorney: Well of course I do. All you have presented is evidence, and what my client tells me is also evidence. I weighed it all out, and I believe my client.

Prosecutor: What about the DNA evidence? What about the phone records, the security camera footage?

Defense Attorney: Electronic records are easy to tamper with. Didn’t you see Forest Gump?

Prosecutor: How do explain his alibi, that he was 18 miles away from the crime scene, and 18 miles away from where he flagged down the police to take him to the hospital? Is that even physically possible?

Defense Attorney: Well, it is a scientific fact that people under stress get great rushes of adenaline which permits them to do things they otherwise could not.

Prosecutor: Oh Good Grief! That’s ridiculous! And how about the fingerprints and the DNA on the machete? The DNA blood evidence at the scene? The Girl Reporter’s excellent and unskakeable testimony? Remember, you have to be truthful, and exercise candor toward the tribunal!

Defense Attorney: Look, unless you can read my mind, then all you can say is that I just have a different opinion than you. You know as well as I do that mistakes can happen with DNA evidence. And what if the Defendant’s fingerprints were on the machete? You can’t prove when the fingerprints were put there. Someone could have stolen the machete from him, and used it to frame him.

Prosecutor: Frame him??? Then where is the “real” culprit with 3 bullet holes in him???

Defense Attorney: How would I know? Whoever the real culprit is, he didn’t hire me. Plus, I could not represent him, because there would be a conflict of interest between him and the Defendant. I wouldn’t want to do anything that wasn’t ethical!

Prosecutor: Oh Criminy! This whole affair has degenerated into the absurd!

Judge: Well where did you think it would go? Did you really think that someone who has been paid to represent the Defendant, and pretend to believe his ridiculous alibi, was going to flip on the stand? Or that someone who has a personal interest in the Defendant was going to fink out her son?

The absurdity is you thinking that you ever had a chance with your so called trial strategy. All you have done is wasted your time and Court’s time, and all for nothing. By your agreement, I am finding the obviously guilty as sin Defendant “innocent.”

Thank you Girl Reporter for allowing this farce to proceed! I hope you write a good story, and win a Pulitzer!

Girl Reporter: Thank you, Judge! Hasn’t this been a hoot?

(The Curtain Closes.)

Act 1, Scene III, Per Mimus Explicavit

(The Girl Reporter appears in front of the curtain and speaks directly to the audience.)

Many of you may wonder what this farce was about. For surely no one would ever expect to change the mind of the someone paid to support a ludicrous position, or someone who has an emotional bond to someone or something. Yet, that is exactly what millions of us do every day when we engage in arguments with people on the Internet. Nameless, faceless people and we try our best to convince them of things, and we get nowhere. And we never will. That is why we must always speak to the jury, to the people who have are supposedly unbiased. Otherwise, we only waste our precious time, and grow frustrated. Shantih, shantih, shantih.

Squeeky Fromm
Girl Reporter

Here is the play in PDF:

The Avocado As A Big Green Nut

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Sie Kommen A Long Way, Baby!!!

By Mick “Spin” Dumdell

It has been 35 years since photographer Helmut Newton’s (1920-2004) pair of iconic photographs, Sie Kommen! (Here They Come!) came out in 1981. First we see the four models dressed:


Then we see them in the same poses, undressed:


From the link below in Note 1., we get Newton’s intent. (Plus that link contains more artistic photographs, which I have printed off for my private collection of nude photographs.  I take my job seriously and study this kind of thing a lot so I can be a more intelligent blogger.) Anyway, I digress:

In many ways Helmut mocks the fashion industry as he strengthens it. He blatantly exposes a side of it that is difficult to detect or absent in other fashion photography. Take for example one of his better known works ‘Sie kommen!’ (‘Here They Come!’), which copies are sold for more than $55,000. It is a two part image, one image depicts the models clothed and the other they are in the exact same position, but nude. In a strange way the nude depiction lacks much of the sexuality you’d expect, due to aggressive posturing. Their nudity has become dress, they are in essence fashion warriors. They say, ‘Look, but don’t touch. Look, we are coming… but not for you.’ They send the message, as with fashion, ‘Look and die with desire.’ While this may not be the desire of the beholder, it is definitely that of the fashion wearer.

I find the above Ebony Cover makes me reminisce about Sie Kommen! with its four beautiful and assertive Black women.

It is only because of the diligent and tireless work of liberal and progressive Americans everywhere that a cover such as the one above could see the light of day. Once, it would have drawn catcalls, boos, and hisses from racist white troglodytes. Now, these assertive black women, these Queens, can strut their stuff, and say, in effect, “Yeah! Uh huh! Whatcha Gonna Do About It , Cracker!”  Ebony needs to complete the series and let us see them in the same pose, nude. Just like the white girls.

While America has come a long way in its attitudes about Black Beauty, let us not forget that the struggle against White Privilege continues! Like I always say, “Racism is hard to find unless you are actively searching for it!”

Yours very truly,

Mick “Spin” Dumdell

Note 1. Helmut Newton: Wiki says,

Helmut Newton (born Helmut Neustädter; 31 October 1920 – 23 January 2004) was a German-Australian photographer. He was a “prolific, widely imitated fashion photographer whose provocative, erotically charged black-and-white photos were a mainstay of Vogue and other publications.”[1]

More at the link below, and it is a fascinating read, well worth your while. This small excerpt:

Born in Berlin in 1920 to a wealthy Jewish family, Helmut Newton was a delicate child prone to fainting. When he was around 8 years old his brother began showing him the ‘gutter’ of Berlin, a red light district which was inhabited by prostitutes like the ‘Red Erna’, who wore thigh boots and carried a whip. Helmut remembers, “my eyes were poppin’ out of my head.” But the Newtons lived at the other end of the social scale, vacationing at posh European spas and hotels that would later become his backdrops. At 12 he saved his money to purchase his first camera at a five-and-dime. The first roll of film he shot was at an underground subway. The whole role came back black except for the one image he shot above ground. A few years later he decided to travel abroad and become a famous photo reporter. “In 1936 I arranged to have myself thrown out of school as a hopeless pupil,” says Helmut. With the help of his mother Helmut began working as an apprentice for Else Simon, a female fashion-and-portrait photographer who operated a studio under the name of Yva. His father’s prophetic response to the chosen path was, “My boy, you’ll end up on the gutter.”

His first job as an assistant lasted for two years and was abruptly ended in 1938 when the Nazis stepped up their attack on the Jews. Yva was forced to close her studio, and later died in a concentration camp. Helmut fled Germany to Singapore and worked as a photojournalist for the ‘Singapore Strait Times’. “The next few years had little to do with photography; I was busy keeping my head above water and trying to avoid starvation. I rarely gave the paper the kind of photos they were hoping for,” he recalls.

In 1971 while in New York for a Vogue assignment, Helmut suffered a major heart-attack which would change his life and transform his photography. With the encouragement from his wife June, Helmut pursued overtly sexual themes in his photos, deriving elements from his own history to instill a menacing edge to his works. This edge brought him to the forefront of fashion photography and possibly made him the most influential figure in his field during the 1970’s. Women were pictured bolder and more aggressive, usually in disquieting situations, photographed in a a realistic reportage style. While the bulk of his models were depicted as members of the social elite, they would be ‘caught’ in seedy environments exploring kinky fantasies with prostitutes and cross-dressers. And then alternating this juxtaposition showing members from the margins of society engaged in fetish driven meetings with the social elite, surrounded by sumptuous hotels and ancient midnight streets, all of them saturated with decadence, luxury, and privilege. While American Vogue would only published distilled version of this period, his most risqué photos were accepted by European magazines. “The term ‘political correctness’ has always appalled me, reminding me of Orwell’s ‘thought police’ and fascist regimes,” he comments on censorship in America.

Helmut published his first book ‘White Women’ in 1976, which featured the most radical selections from this period. Despite negative American reviews it sold some 1500 copies in a week there. ‘The Eyes of Laura Mars’ was a Hollywood film inspired by the photos by Helmut Newton. Ironically the photos he contributed to the film were not satisfactory. The director wanted scenes of blood and corpses which were of no interest to Helmut. He defended his fashion photos as erotic rather than violent.


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The Emperor’s New Sex? (A Modern Fairy Tale)


Good Kate; I Am A Gentleman.

The Emperor’s New Clothes

Many years ago there lived an emperor who loved new ideas and fads so much that he spent all his money chasing about trying to be avant garde. He tried riding to the theater in his new stretch Tesla S limousine only to have the batteries catch fire and nearly burn his entire entourage to death. He tried a Vegan diet, but developed a strange allergy to tofu and had to have the Royal Physician perform an emergency blood transfusion from an overweight meat-eating peasant donor. He had the largest collection of New Age Crystals the world had ever seen to induce good karma.

One day two swindlers came to the emperor’s city. They said that they were sex-changers, claiming that they knew how to change the sex of any person. They told the Emperor that this was the all the rage among the enlightened classes across the world, and that changing sex was becoming de rigeur  if one wanted to remain relevant and newsworthy.

“It would be wonderful to change sexes,” thought the emperor. “Then, no one could claim that I was waging a war on women whenever I dismissed one Royal Consort for another younger Consort, and I could see who among my court were truly modern and progressive. So he immediately gave the two swindlers a great sum of money to change his sex.

They set up their equipment and went to work. First came the hormone shots and the wigs. The Emperor’s body hair was all waxed away, which really stung. Then came all the new clothes.  Some falsies were placed in the clothes since the hormones were really just shots of Vitamin B-12, because the swindlers were not licensed to do this sort of work.

“I really want to see myself in the mirror!” thought the emperor, but he was a bit uneasy when he recalled that anyone who was not impressed with his change might actually be a conservative homophobic hater, and unfit for his position. Of course, he himself had nothing to fear, but still he decided to send for someone else to come see how the work was progressing.

“I’ll send for my honest old prime minister,” thought the emperor. I’ll put this dress on and rely on him to see how the change is coming along. He is very sensible, and no one is more worthy of his position than he.

So the good old prime minister went into the hall where the two swindlers sat shaping a blob of silicone. “Goodness!” thought the old minister, opening his eyes wide. ” The Emperor looks like a silly, tired old queen in drag!” But he did not say so.

The two swindlers invited him to step closer, asking him if the Emperor wasn’t a beautiful and sexy woman. They pointed to the Emperor, and the poor old prime minister opened his eyes wider and wider. “Gracious” he thought. “He has day old beard stubble, and a pronounced Adam’s Apple? I wouldn’t hit this on my drunkest night. Is it possible that I am homophobic? I have never thought so. Am I unfit for my position? No one must know this. No, it will never do for me to say that I was unable to see how beautiful the Emperor is.”

“You aren’t saying anything!” said one of the swindlers.

“Oh, he, I mean she is magnificent! The sexiest of the sexy!” said the old minister, peering through his glasses. “And that little black dress so accentuates his, I mean her figure!”

“That makes us happy!” said the two swindlers, and the Emperor also breathed a sigh of relief.

The swindlers now asked for more money, and more gold, to continue with the transformation, and they continued to shape the blobs of silicone, and a fanny pack to add feminine curves to the Emperor’s male derriere.

The emperor sent other officials as well to observe the progress. They too were startled when they saw the Emperor, but they too told him how wonderful she looked, and advised him to have his coming out party in a grand procession. The entire city was alive in praise of the Emperor. “Magnifique! What bravery! Good show!” they said, in all languages. The emperor awarded the swindlers with medals of honor.

The swindlers stayed up the entire night before the procession was to take place, finshing the silicone body parts. Everyone could see that they were in a great rush to finish the emperor’s new sex change. Finally they announced, “Behold! We are finished!”

“Would his imperial majesty, if it please his grace, kindly remove his clothes.” said the swindlers. “Then we will fit you with your new body, right here in front of the large mirror.”

The Emperor took off all his clothes, and the swindlers began gluing the additional silicone curves on him, piece by piece, along with the falsies.  Then they put the dress and the wig on him, and the emperor turned and looked at himself into the mirror.

“Yes, I am ready!” said the Emperor. “I guess I am beautiful?” He turned once again toward the mirror, because it had to appear as though he were admiring himself in all his glory.

The emperor walked beneath the beautiful canopy in the procession, and all the people in the street and in their windows said, “Goodness, the Emperor,  I mean Empress  is incomparable! What a beautiful dress! What beautiful hair! What a woman!” No one wanted it to be noticed that he thought the Empress looked rather silly, and nothing at all like a real woman, for then it would be said that he was unfit for his position or that he was homophobic.

About that time, one of the Empress’s silicone boobs became unglued and fell to the ground. The Empress bent over to pick it up, and her wig fell off. To make matters worse, the back of her dress split open, and from the rear, certain male body parts became visible.

“But he’s still a man!” said a small child, noticing the Empress’s schlong.

“Good Lord, let us hear the voice of an innocent child!” said the father, and whispered to another what the child had said.

“A small child said that the Empress has a schlong, and is still a man!”

Finally everyone was saying, “The Empress has a schlong, and is still a man!”

The Emperor, or Empress, whichever, shuddered, for he knew that they were right, but he thought, “The procession must go on!” He carried himself even more proudly, and the chamberlains walked along behind him as if nothing was wrong, and they all hoped they could keep this from appearing on FOXNews.

Sacks Roamer
The Unknown Blogger

FootNote 1. The Image appears to be Drag Queen, Wettie White.

FootNote 2. The story is adapted from the version of The Emperor’s New Clothes, found here:

FootNote 3. The Caption.

The Taming Of The Shrew

From Patsy Rodenburg’s “Speaking Shalespeare”, pages 170-171


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Twin Beds And Political Correctness

By Sacks Roamer


The Petrie Dish???

Political correctness is NOT a new thing in American culture. The above Image is one example. REAL married couples did not sleep in twin beds like little kids at a  summer camp. They might sleep in separate bedrooms if they were on the outs, but twin beds would have only been used by married couples who had some kind of medical disorder.

So why were married couples portrayed this way? Here’s part of the answer:

Bed Sharing – Traditionally, all married TV couples in the 1950s and early 1960s were required sleep in separate (twin beds) to uphold moral codes of the times. Many of the top couples of all time such as Rob and Laura Petrie, and even Ward and June Cleaver never had the satisfaction of knocking knees in the same bed in front of the American public.

The first TV program to show a husband and wife sharing the same bed on a regular basis occurred in 1947 on the Dumont sitcom MARY KAY AND JOHNNY. TV’s first sitcom ever. The program told the tale of a newly married couple living in Greenwich Village. Unfortunately, no copies of the show exist so we must rely on the documented memories of others to prove the point. Later in the 1950s Ozzie and Harriet broke the taboo and were seen in the same bed.

The other part of the answer is simply, “Political Correctness.” Back in those days Christianity was pretty much a presumed fact of life for most Americans. Many public schools started the day with mass recital of The Lord’s Prayer, and blessings were said before lunch.

In this atmosphere, overt representations of sexuality were simply considered skeevy, even though the Bible urged people to be fruitful and multiply. And, most children were not unaware of the fact that their parents slept in the same bed. They might not be aware of all that went on in bed, but they knew that twin beds were for kids, not grownups. Of course the preachers, pastors, and dedicated Christian proponents pushed for this stuff and kept the pressure up. America would just have to pretend that married couples slept in twin beds. This made the upper middle class busybody-type white folks happy.

The result of this phase of political correctness was that the completely unrealistic was presented as normal and realistic. Now, we are entering a new phase of political correctness. The proponents of rules-free sexuality are playing the same game as their Christian counterparts, and with the same religious fervor.

While most people, if left to their own devices, would probably opine that Bruce Jenner is some kind of nut for wanting to pretend he is a woman, they are instead forced by societal pressure to call him brave and daring. Television shows are adding obligatory gay characters they same way they added obligatory titty-flashing sex scenes when “R” ratings first came out.  There is little realism to the characters. They are happy, carefree and full of love and caring for each other. Nobody gets HIV/AIDS.  Mentioning high rates of STDS is taboo. Evil villains are the homophobic Christians who don’t rejoice in the rules-free sex.

While this is just a continuation of the rampant sexual romps that began on television when the twins beds went by the wayside in 1968, I think there is an important difference between the two manifestations. Both are silly and unrealistic, but Rob and Laura Petrie’s silliness didn’t result in a 33% STD rate, 60 millions abortions, 600,000+ deaths from AIDS, and young boys waiting to reach the age when they can legally opt to cut their penises off.

Sacks Roamer
The Unknown Blogger

FootNote: The Image is from the 1960’s Dick Van Dyke show.


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Poem from Riders Of The Purple Wage by Philip Jose Farmer

By Penelope Dreadful


I wanted to call attention to a less-well-known-than-it-should-be poem found within a science fiction novella, Riders of The Purple Wage  by Phillip Jose Farmer. Wiki says:

Riders of the Purple Wage is a science fiction novella by Philip José Farmer. It appeared in Dangerous Visions, the famous New Wave science fiction anthology compiled by Harlan Ellison, in 1967, and won the Hugo Award for best novella in 1968, jointly with Weyr Search by Anne McCaffrey.

Riders of the Purple Wage is an extrapolation of the mid-twentieth century’s tendency towards state supervision and consumer-oriented economic planning. In the story, all citizens receive a salary (the purple wage) from the government, to which everyone is entitled just by being born. The population is self-segregated into relatively small communities, with a controlled environment, and keeps in contact with the rest of the world through the Fido, a combination television and videophone. The typical dwelling is an egg-shaped house, outside of which is a realistic simulation of an open environment with sky, sun and moon. In reality each community is on one level of a multi-level arcology. For those who dislike this lifestyle, there are wildlife reserves where they can join “tribes” of Native Americans and like-minded Anglos, living closer to nature for a while. Some choose this lifestyle permanently.

Art (and art appreciation) are prominently displayed in this society; artists receive press coverage comparable to that of today’s movie stars. Hardly less glamorous are the art critics, each of whom has a pet theory about art. A critic also acts as an agent or manager, promoting the work of one or more artists, especially if their work seems to support his ideas. The story revolves around one of these pampered artists, who sometimes find themselves uninspired, due to the lack of major conflicts in society.

Sexual relations and sexual orientation are portrayed as absolutely free from prejudice. The main character is bisexual, and it is implied that most of his acquaintances have had at least experimental relations with members of both sexes. Several forms of birth control are also commonplace, encouraged by the government and freely discussed. See also: Sex in science fiction.

For people who do not want to bother with social interaction, there is the fornixator, a device that supplies sexual pleasure on demand by direct stimulation of the brain’s pleasure centers. The fornixator is technically illegal, but tolerated by the government because its users are happy, do not demand anything else, and usually do not procreate.

Two new sets of customs have arisen which profoundly influence the story. By tradition, everyone has a Naming Day when they are grown, at which point they select a name which reflects their outlook on life, their chosen profession, or the way they want others to see them. The second change derives from the so-called “Panamorite” religion, which features total sexual freedom including oral sex between parents and their children. One source of frustration for the main character is his mother’s decision to “cut him off” from intimate physical contact, a situation made worse by her becoming morbidly obese, which is not unusual in this society.

This is a blurb from an online study guide:

Farmer tells Chib’s story through a dazzling series of puns, wordplay, and allusions, often interrupting the narrative with bizarre headlines — “Excretion Is the Bitter Part of Valor” — and equally strange “quotations” from such imaginary works as Grandpa’s How I Screwed Uncle Sam and Other Private Ejaculations. The precedent for this literary extravagance is James Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake (1939). Joyce, the archetype of the rebellious artist in our era, sensed a deadening atmosphere of frustration and disintegration in modern society. His refuge (like Chib’s) was in art, where he worked the most absolute and brilliant experimentation ever per-formed on the novel. Finnegan’s Wake contains multiple levels of meaning in each word and jams several English and even foreign words into one. The result is a unique Joycean language that is a dismaying puzzle to some readers and soaring poetry to others.

The poem is found on page 35, in the chapter, The Only Good Critic Is A Dead Critic:

Omar Runic’s Extemporaneous Poem
From Philip Jose Farmer’s
Riders Of The Purple Wage

“Call me Ahab, not Ishmael.
For I have hooked the Leviathan.
I am the wild ass’s colt born to a man.
Lo, my eye has seen it all!
My bosom is like wine that has no vent.
I am a sea with doors, but the doors are stuck.
Watch out! The skin will burst; the doors will break.

“You are Nimrod, I say to my friend, Chib.
And now is the hour when God says to his angels,
If this is what he can do as a beginning, then
Nothing is impossible for him.
He will be blowing his horn before
The ramparts of Heaven and shouting for
The Moon as hostage, the Virgin as wife,
And demanding a cut on the profits
From the Great Whore of Babylon.”

“Melville wrote of me long before I was born.
I’m the man who wants to comprehend
The Universe but comprehend on my terms.
I am Ahab whose hate must pierce, shatter,
All impediment of Time, Space, or Subject
Mortality and hurl my fierce
Incandescence into the Womb of Creation,
Disturbing in its Lair whatever Force or
Unknown Thing-in-Itself crouches there,
Remote, removed, unrevealed.”

“_Quid nunc? Cui bono_?
Time? Space? Substance? Accident?
When you die — Hell? Nirvana?
Nothing is nothing to think about.
The canons of philosophy boom.
Their projectiles are duds.
The ammo heaps of theology blow up,
Set off by the saboteur Reason.

“Call me Ephraim, for I was halted
At the Ford of God and could not tongue
The sibilance to let me pass.

Well, I can’t pronounce shibboleth,
But I can say shit!”

“Sir, I exist! And don’t tell me,
As you did Crane, that that creates
No obligation in you towards me.
I am a man; I am unique.
I’ve thrown the Bread out the window,
Pissed in the Wine, pulled the plug
From the bottom of the Ark, cut the Tree
For firewood, and if there were a Holy
Ghost, I’d goose him.

But I know that it all does not mean
A God damned thing,
That nothing means nothing,
That is is is and not-is not is is-not
That a rose is a rose is a
That we are here and will not be
And that is all we can know!”

“The earth lurches like a ship going down,
Its back almost broken by the flood of
Excrement from the heavens and the deeps,
What God in His terrible munificence
Has granted on hearing Ahab cry,
Bullshit! Bullshit!

“I weep to think that this is Man
And this his end. But wait!
On the crest of the flood, a three-master
Of antique shape. The Flying Dutchman!
And Ahab is astride a ship’s deck once more.

Laugh, you Fates, and mock, you Norns!
For I am Ahab and I am Man,
And though I cannot break a hole
Through the wall of What Seems
To grab a handful of What Is,
Yet, I will keep on punching.
And I and my crew will not give up,
Though the timbers split beneath our feet
And we sink to become indistinguishable
From the general excrement.
“For a moment that will burn on the
Eye of God forever, Ahab stands
Outlined against the blaze of Orion,
Fist clenched, a bloody phallus,
Like Zeus exhibiting the trophy of
The unmanning of his father Cronus.
And then he and his crew and ship
Dip and hurtle headlong over
The edge of the world.
And from what I hear, they are still








Here is a pdf of the entire novella:

Riders of The Purple Wage by Philip Jose Farmer

And here is a Word doc. format copy:

The Riders Of The Purple Wage

I hope that you all enjoy this poem. I just bought the paperback! I hope the publisher puts out a new edition one of these years, or Kindle or scribd picks it up. For now, it is out of print.

Penelope Dreadful

FootNote: The Image is from City Lit’s production of a Arnold Aprill’s play adapted from the novella. Here are the reviews:

Riders of the Purple Wage Newspaper Reviews

City Lit’s lame staging hobbles ‘Riders’ satire by Albert Williams First appeared in: Chicago Sun-Times, Dec 5 1989

When Philip Jose Farmer wrote the novella Riders of the Purple Wage in 1967, the sexual revolution was still in adolescence, and no one had heard of AIDS. Public mentions of abortion and contraception were taboo. Television was dominated by three commercial networks. Drugs were confined to the fringes of society. And the National Endowment for the Arts was just a couple of years old.

Today, ideas that seemed far out 22 years ago are part of our daily life, exaggerated only slightly for satiric effect in City Lit Theater’s stage version of Farmer’s novella. Government-sponsored birth control, omnipresent two-way TV with limitless channels (called Fido), widespread use of artificial pleasure inducers and politically influenced grants for avant-garde artists (the “purple wage” of the title) – Farmer’s visions of Beverly Hills in the 23rd century seem very familiar in City Lit’s staging, running through Jan. 14 at Live Bait Theater, 3914 N. Clark. (Tickets: 271-1100.)

The hero of “Riders” is a “neo-primitive” painter named Chibiabos Elgreco Winnegan.

Chib, portrayed as a punky kid with a lean and hungry look by Steve Emerson, is troubled by his dominating mama (played as a grossly fleshy human puppet), hung up on his pregnant girlfriend, tormented by corrupt critics and hype-happy hangers-on, and guided erratically by his rascally great-great-grandfather, an “ancient marinator” who bears a strong resemblance to Walt Whitman.

City Lit’s adaptation of Farmer’s story, though generally faithful, drags down the writer’s flights of fancy with an all-too-earthbound production. Eric Barnes’ original songs, in styles spoofing Cole Porter and Gilbert and Sullivan, enliven the proceedings somewhat, but seem unconnected to the script. And Arnold Aprill’s direction of the young, 11-member cast is filled with clunky movement, cluttered blocking and uncertain intentions.
Weakest of all is the show’s attempt at bringing to life Farmer’s bawdy and freewheeling comedy.

Instead of the anarchic and ambisexual exuberance of the 1960s youth rebellion that inspired Farmer’s satire, Aprill and his design team – Tom Bachtell (sets), Faye Fisher-Ward (costumes), Thomas C. Hase (lights) and Jim Janacek (special effects) – have created cute, colorful, unchallenging images that could have stepped right out of the MTV-style commercials that glut Saturday morning TV kids’ shows.

And despite some energetic individual performances by Donna Jerousek as a fortune-teller, David Ward as a babbling cultural commentator and Robb Williams as a venomous power broker, the actors’ efforts at sexual satire come off about as daring as an episode of “Pee-wee’s Playhouse.”

“Artists should be allowed freedom of expression,” declares one character in the play, “so long as they stop upsetting everyone.”

But City Lit’s mild staging isn’t likely to upset anyone – so it misses the point.

Amateurishness takes `Purple Wage’ for a ride by Richard Christiansen, Entertainment editor. First appeared in: Chicago Tribune, Dec 5 1989

Everyone in “Riders of the Purple Wage” appears to be having a very good time in City Lit Theater’s adaptation of Philip Jose Farmer’s science-fiction satire. Unfortunately, it takes too long before their raucous, bumptious merrymaking lets the audience in on the fun.

Farmer’s 1967 story, much revered in sci-fi circles (of which I am not a member), takes place in the television-dominated, post-Orwellian world of A.D. 2189, but its central, overheated concern-the dilemma of an independent artist trying to maintain his integrity in the face of financial necessity and critical frippery-is essentially timeless.

Chibiabos Elgreco Winnegan, Farmer’s rebel hero, is a young painter beset by several problems, many of them stridently sexual: a whorish mother who fools around (and tap dances), a bosomy girlfriend who wants to abort their child and a flamingly gay critic who offers a favorable review in exchange for sex.

Buttressing Chib’s resolve, however, is his beloved 120-year-old great-great grandfather Winnegan (Cameron Pfiffner, smoking a cigar and wearing red, white and blue undershorts), a crusty codger on the run from government spies who encourages his protege to follow his heart.

Decked out with outrageous costumes and ingenious props, “Wage” takes almost a full act before it defines its world and finds direction for its plot. Even then, much of the atmosphere is murky and too much of the performance is over-the-top campy, as if amateurishness had been equated with zestfulness.

Innumerable bad puns and obscure literary references lard the text, and every once in a while hints of the complex financial and social structuring of Chib’s world surfaces in bits and pieces.

The actors act as if they know what’s going on in this mad scramble. Steve Emerson is a lanky, likable Chib, and in the swirling supporting cast, Betsy Freytag has some loud-mouthed fun as a Tarot card-reading hoyden.

Some of the production’s happiest touches come from its musical number inserts, harmoniously sung and neatly danced by the cast. The music and lyrics are by Eric Barnes, and they’re so clever that they make one want to hear more.
`Riders of the Purple Wage’

A play adapted and directed by Arnold Aprill from the story by Philip Jose Farmer, with scenery by Tom Bachtell, costumes by Faye Ward Fisher, lighting by Tom Hase, sound by David Kodeski, special effects by Jim Janacek. Opened Nov. 29 in a City Lit Theater Company production at Live Bait Theatre, 3914 N. Clark St., and plays at 8 p.m. Thursday through Saturday and 7 p.m. Sunday, through Jan. 14. Running time: 2:05. Tickets are $14 and $16. Phone 312-271-1100.

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Debbie Wasserman-Schultz Does Kim Jong-Un!

By Sacks Roamer

ninotchka the hat 2

It Depends On Whose Ox Is Gored???

DNC Chaircreature Debbie Wasserman-Schultz did a pretty good imitation of North Korean Leader Kim Jong-un last night while being interviewed by Megyn Kelly regarding the Republican debate! Remember this from a few years ago, when Kim Jong-il croaked:

North Korea’s hardline regime is punishing those who did not cry at the death of dictator Kim Jong-il, according to reports.

Sentences of at least six months in labour camps are also apparently being given to those who didn’t go to the organised mourning events, while anyone who criticised the new leader Kim Jong-un is also being punished.

Those who tried to leave the country, or even made a mobile phone call out, were also being disciplined, it has been claimed.

Daily NK says a source has claimed that ‘criticism sessions’ – which began after the official period of mourning – have now finished and tough sentences are being given out.

The informant from North Hamkyung Province told the website: ‘The authorities are handing down at least six months in a labour-training camp to anybody who didn’t participate in the organised gatherings during the mourning period, or who did participate but didn’t cry and didn’t seem genuine.’

The source claimed the criticism sessions created a ‘vicious atmosphere of fear’, which meant the new leader, Kim Jong-un, was being accused of preying on the people now that he has taken power.

It is unclear how many people face incarceration but the figure could be many thousands.

It appears that Ms. Schultz, who is uncertain about the difference between Democrats and Socialists, put that lack of understanding to good use, and  learned a trick or two from the Norks.

Democratic National Chairwoman Debbie Wasserman-Schultz said during a post-debate interview on Fox News that the “misogyny” during the first Republican presidential debate is what stood out to her.

The remark came in response to a question from host Megyn Kelly who asked her to name what “jumped out” to her as she watched the GOP hopefuls face off in Cleveland.

“The misogyny, to start with,” she said. “I mean, after your question to Donald Trump and the obvious misogyny that he engaged in his response, not a single one of the other Republican candidates criticized him, commented, talked about the importance of making sure women have access to health care or equal pay for equal work.”

Wasserman-Schultz was referencing the moment Trump turned on Kelly after she asked him to address disparaging comments he has previously directed toward women.

Here’s the video of it:

I guess Ms. Schultz expects some requisite quantum of suffering and outrage from anyone near such a statement, else they incur her disdain and wrath. Something like:


Oh The Humanity! Mean Donald Trump Disparage Fat Slob Rosie O’Donnell!



Donald Trump He Declare War On Us Poor Defenseless Women!



Me Need Safe Space from Donald Trump!

Maybe that would make her happy, but I doubt it. She stays in full time outrage mode. Geeesh! Talk about the Thought Police! This is what politics in America has become – – – a symbolic outrage contest. This is the kind of stuff that Donald Trump told Megyn Kelly he doesn’t have time for.

Good for him! Neither do I!

Sacks Roamer
The Unknown Blogger

FootNote: The Image is Greta Garbo in the 1939 film Ninotchka.  Wiki says:

Ninotchka is Greta Garbo’s first full comedy, and her penultimate film. It is one of the first American movies which, under the cover of a satirical, light romance, depicted the Soviet Union under Joseph Stalin as being rigid and gray when compared to the free and sunny Parisian society of prewar years.

The hat, which I think looks like a gourd, has its own story:

Sometimes this genius for invention represented the difference between a classic and a misfire. In Conversations With Wilder, director Billy Wilder described to Cameron Crowe how for Ninotchka, Lubitsch solved the problem of how to show the transformation of Greta Garbo’s character from an ardent communist to an equally ardent capitalist without writing pages and pages of turgid, political dialogue.

“‘The hat.’ And we said, ‘What hat?’ He said, ‘We build the hat into the beginning!’ [Co-writer Charles] Brackett and I looked at each other—this is Lubitsch. The story of the hat has three acts. Ninotchka first sees it in a shop window as she enters the Ritz Hotel with her three Bolshevik accomplices. This absolutely crazy hat is the symbol of capitalism to her. She gives it a disgusted look and says, ‘How can a civilization survive which allows women to wear this on their heads?’ Then the second time she goes by the hat and makes a noise—tch-tch-tch. The third time, she is finally alone, she has gotten rid of her Bolshevik accomplices, opens a drawer and pulls it out. And now she wears it. Working with Lubitsch, ideas like that were in the air.”


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Chuck Schumer Exercises His White Privilege!

By Mick Dumdell


Obama Begged Schumer To Reconsider

Like the racists always say:

Black is Black
And Tan is Tan,
But White’s still the color
Of the Big Boss Man!

Now we have a practical demonstration of that sad fact as Sen. Chuck Schumer exercises his White Privilege and betrays President Obama on the Iran Nuclear Deal! Legal Insurrection reports:

The Huffington Post is reporting that Chuck Schumer will come out against the Iran Nuke Deal:

New York Sen. Chuck Schumer, the chamber’s third-ranking Democrat, plans to announce his opposition to the nuclear deal negotiated by the U.S., Iran, and five world powers tomorrow, three people familiar with his thinking tell The Huffington Post.

Schumer’s move will come a day after New Hampshire Democratic Sen. Jeanne Shaheen and Schumer’s fellow New York senator, Kirstin Gillibrand, announced their support for the deal. That momentum is blunted by Schumer’s pending announcement. Backers of the deal had hoped that if Schumer decided to oppose the deal, he would hold off until the last minute.

(added) Schumer made the announcement Thursday night, as reported by CNN New York Sen. Chuck Schumer, an influential Jewish Democrat who’s poised to assume leadership of his party in the Senate, will oppose President Barack Obama’s nuclear deal with Iran, he announced on Thursday evening.

“After deep study, careful thought and considerable soul-searching, I have decided I must oppose the agreement and will vote yes on a motion of disapproval,” Schumer wrote in a 1,600-word post on the website Medium that posted during the first Republican presidential debate.

“I will vote to disapprove the agreement, not because I believe war is a viable or desirable option, nor to challenge the path of diplomacy,” he added later. “It is because I believe Iran will not change, and under this agreement it will be able to achieve its dual goals of eliminating sanctions while ultimately retaining its nuclear and non-nuclear power.”

Will this break the deal? Remember, Democrats only need 1/3 of the Chamber to block opposition to the deal. So unless he lobbies his colleagues really hard, this may be just a courtesy vote.

This is nothing but a complete usurpation of the President’s power and authority by a slimy white politician. Schumer has figuratively slapped Obama in the face. Obama is the head of the Democratic Party, and as such, mere Senator Schumer should defer to Obama’s judgement! But, White Privilege has undermined what should be a simple thing – do what the head of your party says.

I am very disappointed in Senator Schumer!

Yours very truly,

Mick Dumdell

FootNote: The Image is from the 1935 film, Sanders of the River. Wiki says,

Sanders of the River is a 1935 British film directed by the Hungarian-British director, Zoltán Korda, based on the stories of Edgar Wallace. It is set in British Nigeria. The lead Nigerian characters were played by African Americans, Paul Robeson and Nina Mae McKinney.The film proved a significant commercial and critical success, giving Korda the first of his four nominations for Best Film at the Venice Film Festival.

Sanders (Leslie Banks) is a British colonial District Commissioner in Colonial Nigeria. He tries to rule his province fairly, including the various tribes comprising the Peoples of the River. He is regarded with respect by some and with fear by others, among whom he is referred to as “Sandi” and “Lord Sandi”. He has an ally in Bosambo, a literate and educated chief (played by the American actor, Paul Robeson).

The African-American singer and actor Paul Robeson, a civil rights activist, accepted the role of Bosambo while living in London. At the time, he was studying the roots of pan-African culture through studies of language and music. He felt that if he could portray the Nigerian leader, Bosambo, with cultural accuracy and dignity, he could help audiences—especially Black audiences—to understand and respect the roots of Black culture. He took the role on the condition that the film would portray Africans positively.

The filmmakers took an unusual step towards authenticity by sending a film crew on a four-month voyage into remote areas of the African continent. They recorded traditional African dances and ceremonies, with the intention of using this footage integrated with scenes shot in the studio that included the future President and Prime Minister of Kenya Jomo Kenyatta as one of the extras.[1]

After the filming, Robeson was asked back to the studio for retakes of some scenes. He discovered that the film’s message had been changed during editing; it seemed to justify imperialism and upholding the “White Man’s Burden.” The finished film was dedicated to “the handful of white men whose everyday work is an unsung saga of courage and efficiency”.[2]

Bosambo was changed from a Nigerian leader to a servile lackey of British colonial rule. Robeson was furious and complained: The imperialist plot had been placed in the plot during the last days five days of shooting…I was roped into the picture because I wanted to portray the culture of the African people and I committed a faux pas which convinced me that I had failed to weigh the problems of 150,000,000 native Africans…I hate the picture.[3]

In 1938, Robeson added disparagingly: “It is the only film of mine that can be shown in Italy or Germany, for it shows the negro as Fascist states desire him – savage and childish.”[4] Robeson was so disillusioned by the picture that he attempted, but failed, to buy back all the prints to prevent it from being shown.


You may watch it in full here:

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