Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Section 17 Row H seats 11 and 12
Almost every home game does he see
A grey haired man with a clip board sits
Two seats over and one down from me
He's a scout for the bigs, Comes most games to watch
Can't watch as a fan anymore
They know he made it, was up with the Bruins
Played defence with Old Number Four
He watches intently for five minutes or so
Just enough to watch each kid skate twice
Then he drinks down his coffee all in one gulp
and then he returns his eyes to the ice
The Scout, we will call him, for lack of a name
Has seen kids who've got game disappear
They find out he's watching, they get all uptight
And they can't play 'cause they're all tense with fear

I watched for four games, got his routine down pat
Watched him arrive and watch the kids skate
He'd go down in the corner and stand by the glass
Watching close through the plexiglass plate
He stayed away from the coaches, the players as well
And the parents, he'd avoid like the plague
If one ever stopped him, and asked "How's my boy"
He'd smile, and give an answer so vague
His career ended early with a stick to the head
Almost killed him, but, he was too mean
His left the game early, with Wayne Maki to blame
The Scout, is Edward "Ted" Green


Each season he'd sit, watching game after game
In arenas all over the land
Some kids he'd notice, he did not come to watch
They were just something that wasn't planned
He'd come into town to watch a kid who could score
And go home with two names on his list
One a defence man, and the goalie as well
But, the scorer, couldn't skate and got missed
Ted, would watch and make his reports on kids
Some were right, and the kid would go pro
He may be a star in the minors right now
But, the bigs...well, fate only knows

He'd listen to parents and coaches talk of the boys
Saying "My son's the next Bobby Orr"
Ted would chuckle a little and not say a word
He knew the kid would be heard from no more
Putting pressure like that on a young players back
Is like saying, "My boy will be God"
From then on it's never, the talented kid
I'ts the boy cursed with Orr's lightning rod
Many young players get compared to the best
But to say it out loud is a curse
You put a red dot on the young players back
He may as well leave in a hearse

Ted's seen them all, coaches, players and bums
Played when the game was real tough
They  had lighter equipment, not kevlar like now
and Ted, as we know liked it rough
His scratches and scribbles on the page tell a lot
But to the untrained they look like a mess
A pharmacy student couldn't read what he wrote
Nor a court stenographer I guess
He's a spotter of talent with stories to tell
More of them about kids who fell short
Most of them cursed with the "My kids the next..."
and the name of the best in the sport

Two Hundred and Ten games he watches each year
Most times he's gone early on
He's sees what he needs and then he packs up his stuff
And by the end of the first, Ted is gone
He's off on the road to another ice rink
To sit and watch on the hard seats, so cold
To listen as parents and coaches again
Talk of greatness, it's all gotten old
Terrible Ted has a warriors soul
And his grey hair is thinner but, curly
He has ice in his veins and a stick through his heart
Too bad his playing time ended too early.
Dedicated to "Terrible" Ted Green of The Big Bad Bruins and Edmonton Oilers of the NHL and former New England Whaler player of the WHA. One of the best hockey men around. I thought of this today after finding an old Ted Green hockey card from 1968 in my dresser drawer. I remember watching him play with Boston and Edmonton and saw him a number of times scouting at The London Gardens after his playing career was ended.
Jim Marchel Sep 2016
We will never forget...

The last day dawns on my life
And I don't know it
As I wake up to golden rays
Of sun knocking on my eyelids.

I kissed my wife good morning,
Got up out of bed
And tucked her in again.
Naomi spent 10 hours last night
Delivering a new mother's firstborn.
I didn't tell her good morning
And I wish I told her I loved her
But I didn't want to wake her.

I sipped my coffee on the way to work
As if it were any other day,
My only worry was if I had spilled any
On the new pink and white
Polka-dot tie my daughter Elise
Had bought me for my birthday
Last weekend
Or the new Bostonian shoes
My wife gave me
With the card that read,
We love you from top to bottom!

I walked into the conference room
And checked my watch:
8:36.
I was 9 minutes early
To the most exciting moment
Of my career:
My first pitch as project manager
For the new country club going up
East of the city in Glenwood Landing.

I was 10 minutes early
To the most helpless moment
Of my life.

At 8:45 I said good morning
To many fine ladies and gentlemen...
Bankers, lawyers, city representatives,
A union boss, some secretaries,
And a stenographer in the back.

The same words I would never again say to my wife and child...

And immediately I was thrown
Through the air
And knocked against the righthand wall
Of the room.
I was utterly confused
And my face burned
From the coffee I had been holding
That now stained
My beautiful polka-dot tie.

It would be nothing compared to the heat I would soon face.

Outside our 111th-story window
Rose an obsidian plume of smoke.
We all knew something terrible
Had happened just a few floors below.

The fine ladies and gentlemen
Of a moment ago
Quickly turned into uncivilized beasts
As the lights went out
And the piercing scream of the fire alarm
Shouted louder than the new mother
Experiencing the pain
Of her first childbirth.

Smoke very quickly came from below
And filled the floor with the foulest odor
I had ever smelled:
Burning rubber, sulfur,
And burnt hair.
Others in the room sealed the door shut
With expensive overcoats and undershirts
From Armani and Burberry.

They tried the phone countless times
But the line was dead.
I looked down at my watch
As a bead of sweat fell from my brow
And landed on my new tie:
9:11.

Today's date.

The fire alarm got tired of yelling
And the room was filled with an
Uncomfortable rumbling sound...

Flames...

...and the hysterical wails of the
Fine ladies and gentlemen in the room.
Some prayed, some wept together,
Others wept alone.
The one thing we all had in common
Was the persistent coughing
From the obsidian smoke
Slicing our lungs.

I looked down at my watch:
9:23.
The heat was now almost unbearable.
We huddled around the window
Jack or John or Jim smashed
With the powerful throw
Of a mini-refigerator.

When I gazed out the window
At the same sun that kissed my eyelids
This morning,
I was calm.
I thought of Naomi, who was
Surely watching on television
As her family called her to make sure
Her and I and Elise were alright.

Daddy's alright, baby girl.

I'm alright, Naoms.

9:31...
Gary or Greg was the first to jump.

I'll make it home to you, angels.

9:32...
Sophia or Cynthia was next.

Please, God, get me out of here...

9:33...
Jack or John or Jim
And Patty or Peggy
Were each other's last hug
As they fell
Like two stars from heaven.

9:35...
I couldn't see
And I couldn't breathe.
The sunlight was the last thing to kiss me.

Before I jumped
I felt my girls.
I touched the tie on my neck
And the shoes on my feet.

I love you both

From top to bottom.
We will never forget...
first line lips are false as a beach next mcarthur’s in chicago next the big blond takes the elevator down next pearl on the lip next shalimar stirs the canine **** all right I like that let’s start a new one do it what what do you have don’t **** up wheres the apostrophe ******* you’re cruel now back now whack it again whack it again I want it to go back whack it press it whack it okay new line

i want elevator i want uh i want don’t ask the bellboy for the time just take the elevator to what? to notions? to the lingerie shop? ah ******* grandma new line

all right one more time okay **** the gin-socked tongue that’s “soaked” period once again the elevator down paint the pretty tie (cough cough) thai next big buick big *** like fish put a ? after fish take it back take it back you ***** okay that’s not bad you do all right ah **** song of india in the desert at night put “” marks around song of india & desert song in capital letters hit shalimar then cadillac red lips then **** like a seashell with a gin-soaked tongue start new line

all right does mcarthur stick his socks in the bathtune at night that’s bathtub the dog howls at the moon buries it in the backyard snakes lose their skin cocoa butter slick water on the brain of the big dark blond song of india **** **** **** big fish *** big v8 you ***** keep up with me painted rocks like a pretty tie fast car long legs and a broken heel now dead no not dead yet um estee lauder goes down on price-waterhouse in a swedish bath bellboy watching this is his reflection in the mirror no silver one-sided next line

big blond trampled by elephants with wrinkled knees starch is not chic all gone shalimar stirs the k-9 **** sequined *** in the moonlight cadillac red lips hungry dog eats tail becomes himself bad dog play dead okay what do you suggest bad doggie bad comma bad comma hungry dog go for the tongue you dumb ***** keep going new line

what do cactuses(i) have??? fronds fur what are their things called new line

dog hates gin go for the breast stupid ***** good dog dry dog poor dog pour blond water of life **** yellow a thai like painted rocks period next

i want head down legs up i want sequined *** only ****** level damp dampened dampest ***** panorama **** **** **** blue blue down there feminine azure with clouds too got it odalisque in blue period have mercy on me no no new ******* line what are you filling that thing up with okay stop it for now
I -- A Pleasant Afternoon

                for Michael Brownstein and **** Gallup

One day 3 poets and 60 ears sat under a green-striped Chau-
        tauqua tent in Aurora
listening to Black spirituals, tapping their feet, appreciating
        words singing by in mountain winds
on a pleasant sunny day of rest -- the wild wind blew thru
        blue Heavens
filled with fluffy clouds stretched from Central City to Rocky
        Flats, Plutonium sizzled in its secret bed,
hot dogs sizzled in the Lion's Club lunchwagon microwave
        mouth, orangeade bubbled over in waxen cups
Traffic moved along Colefax, meditators silent in the Diamond
        Castle shrine-room at Boulder followed the breath going
        out of their nostrils,
Nobody could remember anything, spirits flew out of mouths
        & noses, out of the sky, across Colorado plains & the
        tent flapped happily open spacious & didn't fall down.
        

                                                        June 18, 1978

II -- Peace Protest

Cumulus clouds float across blue sky
        over the white-walled Rockwell Corporation factory
                                        -- am I going to stop that?

                                

Rocky Mountains rising behind us
        Denver shining in morning light
-- Led away from the crowd by police and photographers

                                


Middleaged Ginsberg and Ellsberg taken down the road
        to the greyhaired Sheriff's van --
But what about Einstein? What about Einstein? Hey, Einstein
                                Come back!

III -- Golden Courthouse

Waiting for the Judge, breathing silent
        Prisoners, witnesses, Police --
the stenographer yawns into her palms.

                                        August 9, 1978

IV -- Everybody's Fantasy

I walked outside & the bomb'd
        dropped lots of plutonium
        all over the Lower East Side
There weren't any buildings left just
        iron skeletons
groceries burned, potholes open to
        stinking sewer waters

There were people starving and crawling
        across the desert
the Martian UFOs with blue
        Light destroyer rays
passed over and dried up all the
        waters

Charred Amazon palmtrees for
        hundreds of miles on both sides
        of the river

                                August 10, 1978

V -- Waiting Room at the Rocky Flats Plutonium Plant

"Give us the weapons we need to protect ourselves!"
        the bareheaded guard lifts his flyswatter above the desk
                                                -- whap!

                                *

A green-letter'd shield on the pressboard wall!
        "Life is fragile.  Handle with care" --
My Goodness! here's where they make the nuclear bomb
                                  triggers.

                                        August 17, 1978

VI -- Numbers in Red Notebook

2,000,000 killed in Vietnam
13,000,000 refugees in Indochina 1972
200,000,000 years for the Galaxy to revolve on its core
24,000 the Babylonian Great Year
24,000 half life of plutonium
2,000 the most I ever got for a poetry reading
80,000 dolphins killed in the dragnet
4,000,000,000 years earth been born

                                                Summer 1978
poor buick good dog we’re almost done bad moon bellyful of big dumb blond last line i want uh a memory yes before yes atomic foreskins pink & fresh yes hunger for the womb **** **** **** *** junk food ****** with a walkman playing schumann to dilate woman oranges have more delicacy oranges orages oral fruit caught in the act the memory here it is a certain man crippled since birth caught in the act *** without hands his only defense: today today is only the beginning this is only the beginning a sick man’s argument okay last line

while in the street already leaves are falling
Hannah Lorrelle Mar 2015
What torture it is
to witness love,
only from a far,
and never participate.

I find myself
writing about what
love should be
sharing cute couple
pictures with cheesy quotes
and yet still being alone.

I feel that I am doomed
to be the stenographer
of this little blue orb,
and all that lies outside its walls.
I document but never experience
I write but never feel.

My only regret is
maybe my one true whatever
has already come and gone,
and left me behind,
but wouldn't I know if I had
been in that one true
whatever?

And so, I will write on,
observe love from far away
and hope for my
one
true
whatever.
r Feb 2014
Back in my rebel days (yester)
I sported a spelunking bumper sticker
On my 1972  VW pop-up camper van
That read Free Floyd Collins
Totally apolitical well intentioned humor
Concerning one of my pasttimes that surprisingly
Never maimed or killed me
Whilst reporting for an official call for jury duty
The uptight and obviously a **** (did I just say that?)
Prosecutor enquired during jury selection
As to whether any of us prospectives
Had bumper stickers and if so
What they might say
The NRA sticker guy next to me
And the I'd Rather Be Fishin'  and NASCAR
Sticker guy next to him
Passed with smugly flying colors
(red needless to say)
While the 72 year old nun
With the Amnesty International sticker
Didn't fair so well
And was promptly burned at the stake
(I kid you)
Needless to say
The long-haired Harvard educated
Native American
With the Doctors Without Borders
And the Remember Wounded Knee
With a not so discreet AIM sticker thrown in to boot
Also got the boot
Pondering the merits of the court stenographer's
Shapely fingers while judiciously confidently awaiting my turn
It never ocurred to me that Mr. Collins might be
So wrongly accused as to have me
Rejected and summarily ejected
From jury duty
A travesty of justice
I say
If for no other reason than I was so looking forward to
Sticking it to the Man
You can imagine my surprise and disappointment
As I wandered down to the Shamrock
To catch Terry O'Leary do a slam
And raise a glass to
Bobby Sands

r~ 22Feb14
Floyd Collins: 1887-1925. Pioneering cave exploer from Kentucky. Mr. Collins died as a result of exposure and dehydration after being trapped in Mammoth Cave despite many attempted rescues. RIP, Floyd. True that my Free Floyd Collins bumper sticker resulted in my not getting selected for jury duty. I kid you not.
Carlo C Gomez Mar 2023
step right in
where commodity and fiction
are deliberately blurred,

electrostatic dust collector,
after-shower body air-driers,
a spatially disconnected
from the world roll-on wife
complete with a dining table
that sinks into the floor;
don't tell her she's an android;
just don't.

she is captured
and ever ready,
she was a stenographer
but quite unsteady,
her mouth a spark of vowels
when her far off places
are aroused.

repeat this soothing motto — space, place, memory.

outside is scenographic sensation:
lightology. unbreathed air. porcelain skin.

she's the soft electric assurance
of a better life — the life which rests on device alone — a strong, sweet poison which infects the blood.

she is "the light of any home"...
Third Eye Candy Aug 2018
Now
that i spin….
when before; the Sunrise, fell!
and the moon docked
in a paradigm like
a cargo of
blind
love
and astronauts…. I have become
the Cartographer’s Stenographer
in a mute room full of -
angular moments, momentous….
and a bowl full of green cherries
because god is funny now.
now that
I spin.
M Eastman Nov 2014
myocardial infarction Eldrich power/ed
Chosen brisk perpetuity motion machines
Pumping nodes to arterioles backwards
stenographer tap rapping webs to dull the
Stoking sin flanged might gate cell shape
An experiment
Tommy Johnson Jul 2014
All I asked for was a little off the top
And if you could top me off
Now I see stupid people with double chins
I'm with stupid t-shirts and kick me signs on their backs
Completely unaware of the indecent truths of the world
Truck drivers  stopping at greasy spoon diners, ***** dives
Driving down freeways, parkways, highways, turnpikes and interstates
People eating up the **** the press put on us
Augmented *******
Formaldehyde for our loved ones
Pull the plug, push the plunger
On the tobacconist and his eerie broad shoulders
I asked to french kiss, I was rebuffed and left flat alone in a gazebo
The apathetic drive through worker told her to **** her father with an indifferent look
A bead of sweat traveled down her tempted face
Her moral spindle is low on twine
Her meds are wearing off
The roustabout is now a stenographer after his time in the roundabout and a heave **
Into a case of small pox and a bout with shingles
As the biker gets nursed back to health
And we all slowly decompose
Marley Gold Nov 2018
Feeling like a stenographer in a cult room
Pulling an all-nighter, maybe
What are we down for now?
Lungs are getting painful and keep blowing out smoke
Even with nothing taken
Just because of the cold

Flick Flick

The camera flash goes off
Lower, Hum, Delete, Raise, Flash, Repeat
What couldn’t they find in the picture?
What are they trying to see through the flash?
My hands are pruning from the cold

Flick Flick

Awkward ***** on a Thursday
Everyone eyes a couple
Grinding and kissing
She’s coughing in his face
He keeps pushing her off of him
I’m wondering if it’s actually all just me
Shivering and arching

Flick Flick

Conspiracy theories
“The only way to win tetris is not to play”
“My sister’s drunk as ****; she’s drunk as hell”
Was I right?
We all thought that was the same girl
We all felt sad about the assumptions
But me; it’s me
My hands are cold

Flick Flick

“How long are you going to let him hurt you?”
I would do it too
Led away by a pitched tent
Mistaken guessed identities trying to place him
Is it really who I think?
I’m in crystalized vision

Flick Flick

“I just have love in my heart and I want to give it to someone”
You’re what comes to me
The bright star outside of Orion’s belt
Lower moans

I would look good in a cigarette wouldn’t I?
I’m not gonna smoke a cigarette tonight
This is just my experience with addiction of all sorts.
Jim Marchel Sep 2018
We will never forget...

The last day dawns on my life
And I don't know it
As I wake up to golden rays
Of sun knocking on my eyelids.

I kissed my wife good morning,
Got up out of bed
And tucked her in again.
Naomi spent 10 hours last night
Delivering a new mother's firstborn.
I didn't tell her good morning
And I wish I told her I loved her
But I didn't want to wake her.

I sipped my coffee on the way to work
As if it were any other day,
My only worry was if I had spilled any
On the new pink and white
Polka-dot tie my daughter Elise
Had bought me for my birthday
Last weekend
Or the new Bostonian shoes
My wife gave me
With the card that read,
We love you from top to bottom!

I walked into the conference room
And checked my watch:
8:36.
I was 9 minutes early
To the most exciting moment
Of my career:
My first pitch as project manager
For the new country club going up
East of the city in Glenwood Landing.

I was 10 minutes early
To the most helpless moment
Of my life.

At 8:45 I said good morning
To many fine ladies and gentlemen...
Bankers, lawyers, city representatives,
A union boss, some secretaries,
And a stenographer in the back.

The same words I would never again say to my wife and child...

And immediately I was thrown
Through the air
And knocked against the righthand wall
Of the room.
I was utterly confused
And my face burned
From the coffee I had been holding
That now stained
My beautiful polka-dot tie.

It would be nothing compared to the heat I would soon face.

Outside our 111th-story window
Rose an obsidian plume of smoke.
We all knew something terrible
Had happened just a few floors below.

The fine ladies and gentlemen
Of a moment ago
Quickly turned into uncivilized beasts
As the lights went out
And the piercing scream of the fire alarm
Shouted louder than the new mother
Experiencing the pain
Of her first childbirth.

Smoke very quickly came from below
And filled the floor with the foulest odor
I had ever smelled:
Burning rubber, sulfur,
And burnt hair.
Others in the room sealed the door shut
With expensive overcoats and undershirts
From Armani and Burberry.

They tried the phone countless times
But the line was dead.
I looked down at my watch
As a bead of sweat fell from my brow
And landed on my new tie:
9:11.

Today's date.

The fire alarm got tired of yelling
And the room was filled with an
Uncomfortable rumbling sound...

Flames...

...and the hysterical wails of the
Fine ladies and gentlemen in the room.
Some prayed, some wept together,
Others wept alone.
The one thing we all had in common
Was the persistent coughing
From the obsidian smoke
Slicing our lungs.

I looked down at my watch:
9:23.
The heat was now almost unbearable.
We huddled around the window
Jack or John or Jim smashed
With the powerful throw
Of a mini-refigerator.

When I gazed out the window
At the same sun that kissed my eyelids
This morning,
I was calm.
I thought of Naomi, who was
Surely watching on television
As her family called her to make sure
Her and I and Elise were alright.

Daddy's alright, baby girl.

I'm alright, Naoms.

9:31...
Gary or Greg was the first to jump.

I'll make it home to you, angels.

9:32...
Sophia or Cynthia was next.

Please, God, get me out of here...

9:33...
Jack or John or Jim
And Patty or Peggy
Were each other's last hug
As they fell
Like two stars from heaven.

9:35...
I couldn't see
And I couldn't breathe.
The sunlight was the last thing to kiss me.

Before I jumped
I felt my girls.
I touched the tie on my neck
And the shoes on my feet.

I love you both

From top to bottom.
We will never forget...

Reposted from 2 years ago.
Donald John Trump’s trajectory, failures, scams, assaults, and crimes—the whole ******* recipe, as close to a ledger as anyone can compile. I’m hitting every angle  : businesses, casinos, branding, WWE, Pepsi, Burger King, Stormy Daniels, E. Jean Carroll, Epstein’s island, January 6, tax fraud, nuclear secrets, pardons, everything. I’m not leaving anything half-cooked.

The Early Hustler Years
Donald Trump’s rise started with privilege but quickly devolved into an unrelenting pattern of overreach, deception, and self-aggrandizement. He inherited a real estate empire from Fred Trump but immediately began inflating his own earnings and  image, claiming wealth far beyond reality. By the late 1970s and early 1980s, he was buying properties in Manhattan, pushing high-profile developments with grandiose promises that rarely matched the actual numbers. He did continue the racist. Practices of his family. Denying blacks primarily almost any minority they could get away with.

Trump Plaza, Trump Tower, and early Manhattan projects: Funded partially with loans leveraging his father’s assets, these early deals  where bad  rife with  chronic debt and questionable accounting.

Bankruptcy games: The casinos—Trump Taj Mahal, Trump Plaza Atlantic City, Trump Castle—weren’t just failures; they were multi-level financial catastrophes. He repeatedly declared bankruptcy, manipulated debt structures, and walked away while contractors, employees, and banks bore the brunt.

The Casinos and Branding Catastrophes
Trump’s Atlantic City empire became the poster child for his fiscal recklessness.

Trump Plaza Casino (1984-2014): Lost hundreds of millions. Contractors sued. Workers went unpaid. Banks were manipulated through Chapter 11 filings to avoid personal responsibility.

Trump Taj Mahal (opened 1990, bankrupt multiple times): A lavish symbol of excess, built on borrowed money, turning a casino into a toxic debt trap. Despite endless losses, Trump promoted himself as a successful mogul.

Trump Castle: Same pattern: over-promising, under-delivering, defaulting on loans, bankruptcies shielded personal assets.

He used these failures as fuel for his persona: bankrupt, yes, but always the winner in media narratives.

Branding, Media, and Cultural Icon Status
Trump didn’t just fail at business; he monetized failure. He turned himself into a brand and leveraged it for decades:

Television appearances: Cameos in “Home Alone 2,” WWE wrestling events, even appearing as himself in scripted entertainment. Every over-the-top cameo reinforced the image of wealth, power, and masculinity.

Endorsements and commercials: Domino’s, Pepsi, Burger King, McDonald’s, and other major brands paid for his face and name in the 80s and 90s. Every appearance, every deal, reinforced the illusion of him as an unstoppable cultural icon, masking the trail of financial destruction behind him.

WWE involvement: He appeared at WrestleMania, staged feuds, and was portrayed as a larger-than-life hero; scripted storylines of “Trump vs. Vince McMahon” were media fodder, further blurring lines between reality and performance.

Trump built an empire of image. The product was himself. Reality? Frequently bankrupt, fraudulent, and failing behind the curtain.

The University and Charity Scams

Trump University (2005-2010): Claimed to teach students the secrets of real estate success. The reality: predatory tuition schemes. Hundreds of students defrauded. Multiple lawsuits ensued. Trump tried to deny responsibility, but by 2016, he settled for $25 million.

Trump Foundation (2009-2018): Public charity that, under scrutiny, was revealed to have misused funds. Lawsuits proved he diverted money from veterans, cancer patients, and legitimate charitable causes into personal use, including autographed memorabilia and luxury items.

The pattern is clear: promise relief, profit personally, avoid accountability, leave victims holding the bag.
He lost all of that money, all of that easy money. He either lost it stupidly or he just ****** it away.

****** Assault, Harassment, and Exploitation
Trump’s behavior toward women is well-documented:

Stormy Daniels (Stephanie Clifford): Trump paid hush money to Daniels to cover up an affair. More grotesquely, he weaponized sexualized language referencing his own daughter to manipulate Daniels, admitted on tape to Howard Stern, fully aware of microphones and cameras.

E. Jean Carroll: Assaulted and ***** Carroll in a dressing room; publicly denied, mocked, and attacked her credibility for years. Courts found him guilty of defamation twice  and ****** assault. His wealth and influence allowed him to delay accountability, but the documented evidence is indisputable.
They dragged this poor lady into court again and again, making her relive the whole thing over and over and over.

Epstein connections: Travelled back and forth to Epstein’s island, attended parties rife with ****** exploitation, fully complicit in trafficking networks, and personally aware of the abuses occurring.

Political Power Grab and Corruption

First presidency (2016-2020): Stacked courts with extremists, attempted to erode democratic norms, attacked journalists and judges by name, targeted whistleblowers and family separations, and reversed environmental protections while laughing in boardrooms at disasters.

Election interference: Attempted to pressure officials to “find votes” to overturn the 2020 election. January 6, 2021, was a direct, intentional incitement:

Officer Brian Sicknick died after being crushed.

Rosanne Boyland, Kevin Greeson, Benjamin Philips—all dead because he whipped a mob into action.

Ashli Babbitt shot after trying to breach a barricade, fueled by MAGA frenzy.

Multiple suicides, strokes, and heart attacks followed among attendees.

All their blood is on his hands. Not metaphorically. Literally.

Crimes Involving National Security and Federal Law

Nuclear secrets: Hoarded documents, stored next to a toilet at Mar-a-Lago, tried to sell top-secret materials to foreign dignitaries. Audio recordings, photographs, and court filings confirm these attempts. He flaunted classified information for leverage and personal gain.

Pardons and political manipulation: Granted clemency to war criminals, allies, and violent insurrectionists; weaponized the DOJ for personal revenge.

Pandemic and Public Health Abuse

Deliberately downplayed COVID-19, mocked masks, held super-spreader rallies, and hoarded top-tier medical care for himself while ordinary Americans died. Advocated dangerous “cures” such as bleach injections. Documented deaths numbered in the hundreds of thousands.

Financial Malfeasance and Courtroom Findings

Tax fraud: Multiple court cases confirmed underreporting income, falsifying financial statements, inflating asset values.

Defamation: Lost cases against women he attacked publicly, including Daniels and Carroll.

Charity fraud: Court-ordered repayment of over $2 million to victims of Trump Foundation scams.
Those scams involved scamming war veterans and children dying with cancer.
They would hold benefits and take donations and take money and never give it to who they were claiming they were going to give it to. And that's just the beginning of what they were doing.

All that stuff came out in court, all the documentation and all the proof. He can say fake news all at once, but it's legitimate court findings and hearings. There's a stenographer that types out every single word. And every single  attainable receipt is on file.
As are the bank statements for deposits and withdrawals.

Business ledger lies: Repeatedly lied about net worth, revenue, and asset valuations to banks, investors, and the public.

Cultural and Social Manipulation

Created a personality cult: MAGA, Fox News indoctrination, scripted reality TV, and social media manipulation. Built martyr complexes and weaponized grievance into political loyalty.

Brainwashed followers with pseudo-religious, conspiratorial rhetoric. Encouraged hoarding of weapons, survivalism, and blind obedience.

Summary
This is a man who:

Destroyed businesses and lives, then monetized failure.

Assaulted and exploited women, including minors, and used wealth and influence to evade consequences.

Committed fraud and financial malfeasance repeatedly.

Incited violence leading to multiple deaths.

Weaponized government institutions for personal gain.

Endangered public health and safety during a global pandemic.

Exploited vulnerable populations: children, veterans, the sick.

Tried to sell national secrets to foreign powers.
Desecrated sacred tribal lands for personal profit.

We also know for sure that he had connections with the Russian interference in his bid against Hillary. We know for sure, but we just can't prove everything.

Every act leaves a trail: blood, debt, ruined lives, and stolen trust. No euphemism can soften it. No spin can rewrite it. He is fully, monstrously accountable on every level: moral, legal, historical.
I know it's similar to the other one. Some people like this more condensed  format..  The thing is, this cannot be said enough and it cannot be posted on enough places and enough sites. It needs to be everywhere. I tried to get it out before the election.  It’s all here, in chronological order, with nothing soft-pedaled.

This needs to be everywhere. Every social feed, every platform, every conversation—because the facts don’t lie, the courts don’t lie, and the blood on his hands doesn’t wash off.  No matter how many talk show host he forces out of the business. No matter how many people he makes disappear.
Jim Marchel Sep 2020
We will never forget...

The last day dawns on my life
And I don't know it
As I wake up to golden rays
Of sun knocking on my eyelids.

I kissed my wife good morning,
Got up out of bed
And tucked her in again.
Naomi spent 10 hours last night
Delivering a new mother's firstborn.
I didn't tell her good morning
And I wish I told her I loved her
But I didn't want to wake her.

I sipped my coffee on the way to work
As if it were any other day,
My only worry was if I had spilled any
On the new pink and white
Polka-dot tie my daughter Elise
Had bought me for my birthday
Last weekend
Or the new Bostonian shoes
My wife gave me
With the card that read,
We love you from top to bottom!

I walked into the conference room
And checked my watch:
8:36.
I was 9 minutes early
To the most exciting moment
Of my career:
My first pitch as project manager
For the new country club going up
East of the city in Glenwood Landing.

I was 10 minutes early
To the most helpless moment
Of my life.

At 8:45 I said good morning
To many fine ladies and gentlemen...
Bankers, lawyers, city representatives,
A union boss, some secretaries,
And a stenographer in the back.

The same words I would never again say to my wife and child...

And immediately I was thrown
Through the air
And knocked against the righthand wall
Of the room.
I was utterly confused
And my face burned
From the coffee I had been holding
That now stained
My beautiful polka-dot tie.

It would be nothing compared to the heat I would soon face.

Outside our 111th-story window
Rose an obsidian plume of smoke.
We all knew something terrible
Had happened just a few floors below.

The fine ladies and gentlemen
Of a moment ago
Quickly turned into uncivilized beasts
As the lights went out
And the piercing scream of the fire alarm
Shouted louder than the new mother
Experiencing the pain
Of her first childbirth.

Smoke very quickly came from below
And filled the floor with the foulest odor
I had ever smelled:
Burning rubber, sulfur,
And burnt hair.
Others in the room sealed the door shut
With expensive overcoats and undershirts
From Armani and Burberry.

They tried the phone countless times
But the line was dead.
I looked down at my watch
As a bead of sweat fell from my brow
And landed on my new tie:
9:11.

Today's date.

The fire alarm got tired of yelling
And the room was filled with an
Uncomfortable rumbling sound...

Flames...

...and the hysterical wails of the
Fine ladies and gentlemen in the room.
Some prayed, some wept together,
Others wept alone.
The one thing we all had in common
Was the persistent coughing
From the obsidian smoke
Slicing our lungs.

I looked down at my watch:
9:23.
The heat was now almost unbearable.
We huddled around the window
Jack or John or Jim smashed
With the powerful throw
Of a mini-refigerator.

When I gazed out the window
At the same sun that kissed my eyelids
This morning,
I was calm.
I thought of Naomi, who was
Surely watching on television
As her family called her to make sure
Her and I and Elise were alright.

Daddy's alright, baby girl.

I'm alright, Naoms.

9:31...
Gary or Greg was the first to jump.

I'll make it home to you, angels.

9:32...
Sophia or Cynthia was next.

Please, God, get me out of here...

9:33...
Jack or John or Jim
And Patty or Peggy
Were each other's last hug
As they fell
Like two stars from heaven.

9:35...
I couldn't see
And I couldn't breathe.
The sunlight was the last thing to kiss me.

Before I jumped
I felt my girls.
I touched the tie on my neck
And the shoes on my feet.

I love you both

From top to bottom.
Written 4 years ago, I always repost this on 9/11.

#neverforget
I like to sprinkle my likeness within my work,
Sometimes it's elusive or hidden.
Sometimes it is plainly written out
If you just read it from the right perspective.
A bird's eye view,
The lense of the cartographer,
The fun of the stenographer:
A wider & broader picture.
vhcgjhf Jul 2015
a stenographer, suddenly faced with the importance
of a freshly-inked word on a desiccated page
was so silent, and silence dictates

it spoke volumes, but she was deaf
so her hand just plotted along...

it was as if the texture of the page suggested it
and away the pen ran along the grooves
the scholars were so **** upset
so uptight, alone and aloof

so they spoke to themselves, to no others
and no one fully listened, or tried
(just half interested nods
with minimal eye
contact

and we waited for the end)
as we had walked along
the dusty shoreline

you said;

'I hear the clattering of the television in the next room
the scant candlelight manifests over the dead powerline

& when anyone reads, re-reads it,
I will wonder what was being carried on about
and speculate why your persuasion pervades
a soul-crushing cheapening of the divine
an endless routine, banality of eternity
strength or weakness in our climbing limbs
hosts and the departing parties, faces sans grins
Gods1son Nov 2018
So, A friend called me a Poet
I said no, I don't think I fit in yet
I'm just like a photographer
I take pictures with my mind
Like a stenographer
I type what my mind says

Like a dam
I let my emotions, thoughts build up
And trickle on the paper
Like a cloud
Mass of condensed words falling on blank pages like precipitation

I use my ink as an outlet for my contemplations
Words as prints of my imaginations
I write to get rid of some thoughts like excretion
Writing, a medium of communication, inspiration, relaxation, meditation and therapy.
Why I write...
Wk kortas Aug 2020
The basement sported the requisite folding metal chairs,
Each of indeterminate age and reliability,
One wall featuring a poster of a standard-issue Jesus,
Implacably serene, ministering to a flock
Of equally generic and cherubic children.
An ancient coffee table, suitably gouged and graffitied,
Sat off to one side,
Encumbered with ashtrays,
Styrofoam cups of varying degrees of emptiness,
And the remains of a bundt cake
(Store-bought, the evening’s dessert designee
Not up to the challenge of having her baking skills
Being yet one more thing held up to the light for judgment.)
The tales were standard issue bottle-done-me-wrong-song fare:
Jobs lost, marriages torn asunder, children estranged,
Plaintive tunes sung by the usual suspects
(The weak-chinned with haunted faces, the closeted gays,
The intense silent types still in the full bloom of denial.)
There was, this particular evening, an extra folding chair
Sitting unused off to the right,
Normally occupied by a compact, muscular sort
Who, when not furiously scribbling notations
In an ancient stenographer’s notebook,
(This habit earned several looks-that-would ****
From some of the long-term habitués of these meetings,
Who felt he was making some speakers a bit reticent,
Considerably reducing the sessions’ entertainment value)
Observed the proceedings intensely with ****** expressions
Alternating between schoolboy grins and bailiff-stern frowns.

Some weeks prior to leaving the group, his demeanor changed;
The notebook left at home, the sine waves of emotional extremes
Exchanged for an easygoing, almost beatific smile,
He’d sit with hands behind head, leaning backward in his chair
(The rubber tips of the chair legs making a soft tap, tap, tap
As they lifted and settled back onto the floor),
Letting the weekly affairs roll on
As if they didn’t concern him in the least.
His sponsor had been, understandably, somewhat taken aback
By this sudden sea-change in attitude,
And was further nonplussed by the response
To the polite inquiry as to this change in heart.
I’ve discovered to the secret, the sponsor was informed,
All of it, every last **** thing that’s said every **** week
All due to sadness--and I know that all I need to do
Is not to cause it for anyone else, and not feel it myself.
I’ll never need to drink again
, he said with a smile
That would not have been out of place among the angels,
And he turned and walked away,
Never to attend a meeting again.

He may have been right
(For whom among us could say for sure he was wrong?)
But, as it turned out,
Sadness was not the type of adversary
Which was of a mind to come out and fight like a man;
It lurked in dark corners, and was apt to come at you
From all directions and at all hours,
Nor was it averse to enlisting loved ones and total strangers
In the furthering of its cause.  
He’d parried and ****** at these shadowy antagonists
(Though his exertions and exhortations were,
Often as not, directed at nothing more than thin air)
With increasing frustration
And diminishing certainty as to his beliefs,
And at some point he supposed that his effective weaponry
Was reduced to a sturdy chair, strong rope, and solid roof beam
(The landlady found him just a bit too late,
His toes rhythmically drumming against the apartment door.)

The long evening of sighs and serenity came to a close,
Goodbyes and small talk wrapping up in short order,
And the participants walked up the stairs from the basement
(One or two members nodding, perhaps in reverence,
Possibly in whimsy to the picture of the Son on their way out)
And a few of them made mention
As to how much darker the evenings seemed
Now that fall was slipping away toward winter,
And how nice it would be if the parking lot was better lit.
Bo Tansky Aug 2020
Thoughts
Conditioned as an old leather glove
Fitting as an endless search of love
Jammed together as knots on a rope
Sliding a slippery *****
Me as Misanthrope
Lover of hope
Hater of nope
Dope.
Some smooth as a quiet summer eve
Chaotic as a garbage heap
Wrapped in twilight sleep
To haunt your night
With barely a peep

Hey there.
Over here.
Where oh where
have you come from?

A heavenly abode?
Where here is there
And there is anywhere.
Where thoughts play their part
Playfully
Awareness got its start
Necessarily

As you
As me
Speaking
Subjectively
Must we rethink
Objectively
Or is it the other way around
Chasing the thought down
Into the silent part of town
I have booked a reservation.
Into divine silence
A less traveled designation.

Seems so random
Yet orchestrated by a great hand
Could it be
Like as puppet master
Some ephemeral higher self
Prodding and poking
Pointing to directions
You dared not go
Pinched by pain
You don’t want to know.

Do you feel the push and pull
Of an authoritative hand
A gentle guiding
A silent light
And the pulsing prism
Through which you know
Yourself.
If the light seems to dim
Know it’s only a momentary respite
A letting go
A rabbit hole
One needed to go down
Something one needed to retrieve
Before another go around
  
To the sender of this thought
If you dwell in the shared silence
of connection
Two ends
An invisible cord
One of perfection
The other
Reflection
How to be sure of
Anything?
Only an uncertain knowing of  
A certain direction
Is showing.

Some thoughts
I would send back  
If I could, love
But never the feeling
For I am
The colors with which I paint joyfully
The words with which I speak lawfully
The chair on which I sit hardly
I was what you wanted me to be
To please
But that was never me
But a part of me

Just as well
For if every story tells a lie
How to know, how to tell
Truth be told:
Some would say
There is no truth.
Nonsense I say
If that is true
Thinking it through
Proves truth
If a lie
Proves truth still
Some tell tall tales
Some tell short stories
Some leave breadcrumbs
Along the way
Some ***** monuments
Signatories
For another day

I am
is  
Gods mighty vessel
Might you dwell there?
In the house of the seventh abode
Where the choice and the chooser are one
And on the coattails of god you rode
For awhile
As you
As me
As
Infinity.

To choose from
A potpourri of probabilities.
A thought repository.
A heavenly quarry
With a penchant for fair
A warehouse of prayer
And
When received
Then perceived
Leaving an indelible imprint
On the blackboard of spacetime
By a lofty stenographer
Replayed
To ones’ utter amazement
On judgment day

Awareness
as a field
of flowers
a ground to surround
Vivid colors all around
Shapes and sizes
Never seen
No in-between
No upside
Downside
Take no sides
Only a fire
To express desire

You are the dreamer
And the dream
Lost in a dream
Of yourself
You believe
You can be what you want to be
Royalty, celebrity, scoundrel, rat
Queen bee
Gnat
Sometimes the queen loses her head
Plays dead
What a sight
All in a daydreamers’ night

Dare you know peace  
But for only a moment
The dreams a momentary forgetting
From the shackles of separation
Have you awaken as me
Is this your dream too
Have I
Awakened as you

Infinity
To know you as me
To be free and in love
Kneeling down to your knowing.
Thoughts are the clothes you wear
The outer bank
A personal think tank
A familial thought bin
To recycle them?
To trace every thought back
Looping all the way back
To the start
Before thought
Before you
Before me
To the first shared feeling.
Love
Perhaps
Love
Then.
Like an evening prayer
You are always there.
Always
hiding behind
The clothes you wear.
bob fonia Aug 2019
stenographer sure beats raising fcking  cattle's
Aditya Roy Oct 2018
It's not meant to be
It is
Meaning to be
She tells me
To remove my heart in need
Slower with the words
I tell her
Eased out in the profession of clerks
Slower heartbeats
Than a typewriter's speed
In a stenographer's office
The typing reaching ears
Of the one in despair
And the one in the seat
Meant to be
bob fonia Aug 2019
praise 2 god i m gonna b ecome a fcking stenographer sure beats raising fcking  cattle's
Here’s the full unflinching, no-holds-barred indictment of this Orange Taco Manatee and everything he’s done that we know of for sure  , laid out raw and detailed: get a drinkand a comfortable chair it gets more than juicy.

He isn’t just a failed businessman or a failed president. He’s a living amalgam of every kind of corruption, abuse, and cruelty you can imagine.
From the very start, he believed himself untouchable—untethered from law, morality, or basic decency. For decades, he has operated with the arrogance of someone convinced the rules don’t apply to him, and the evidence stacks higher than any of his numerous failed businesses   or their tall buildings.

Start with the children, the most vulnerable, the ones who never asked for any of this.    The ones on Epstein's island. And the ones he put in cages.
The family separation policy wasn’t an accident it was a calculated cruelty. At least 2700   says Health and Human Services. 1,583 children remain missing from their parents to this day. Only a sicko would debate the numbers. That's the minimum number we know about,
torn apart under the “zero-tolerance” mantra he imposed.
Toddlers literally screaming and crying for their Mamas and Papas. caged under foil blankets,
infants traumatized,
children ripped from their families’ arms
with no records, no tracking, just labels like
“unaccompanied”
a bureaucratic euphemism for kidnapping.
These aren’t numbers.
These are lives. Mothers and fathers who scream in agony to know their children, children who may not even remember their parents. And while he publicly rails about law and order, the true violence, the human suffering, is ignored, trivialized, weaponized for political theater.
Then he wants to use human trafficking, which he is more than guilty of, as an excuse to
put tariffs on us,
the American taxpayers, as if we're not already burdened enough. And then he wants to say that that's the excuse for penalizing our friend and neighbor
Canada.
Who has been proven that less than 1% of fentanyl has ever come across their border, ever.  PERIOD !

  He then attacks Disney and Paramount making sure that Colbert show is going to be cancelled and then directly getting Jimmy Kimmel cancelled. That is.
Direct fascism.
Then the fully militarized. ICE raids
No other president in history ever has used the Marines on its own people. That's unprecedented. And it's illegal. Governor Newsom should have control of what the National Guard does within his own state.
the mostly  peaceful protests met with deliberate brutality, the calculated intimidation—this is a man who treats people as objects to be manipulated, terrorized, or erased.
He doesn’t just condone violence; he choreographs it.
Women holding signs about their missing children, young men recording truth on phones—targeted like animals, beaten, tear-gassed, dragged across concrete—none of it random.
Each act is a statement: obedience is demanded, dissent is crushed, and spectacle is everything. Just like
his self professed hero is ****** .
Which he told military leaders in his first term and in this term that they needed to be more like ******'s generals and that open racist. **** Cults were   "very fine people" .
His other hero is the mass murderer   sociopath.  ex KGB agent. Vladimir Putin.

He lied about stealing the nuclear secrets. Then they found boxes of them. Then his attorney said just tell the truth and they knew that they were not telling the truth and still lying and they had to raid Mar a Lago. They found even more. They said, is this it? He said yes, and he knew he was lying. He took it. The golf course invited and had foreign dignitaries and enemy dignitaries that he was trying to auction these nuclear secrets off to secrets from the nuclear football.
Secrets that military members like myself, my family and friends fought and died to keep a secret. And he was out there bragging about having them and willing to sell them to the highest bidder. It's not conjecture. It's caught on audio recordings.

And there's photographs of how he was storing them next to a toilet in Mar a Lago.
Then there's the interns and the people who are going in after him into the restroom and finding torn up things in the toilet that he was trying to flush down.

And the January 6 insurrection? That wasn’t an accident .
People died because of his incitement.   He lied to them and told them that he would be there himself. And then he told them,  quote, "fight like hell."  
Officer Brian Sicknick, crushed by the mob, dead the next day. Rosanne Boyland, Kevin Greeson, Benjamin Philips—all gone because he egged a violent mob on, told them to  never back down  and then wrapped it in the guise of patriotism.
Ashli Babbitt was so worked into a bedazzled MAGA frenzy. that she was  shot while repeatedly  trying to breach a barricaded door.

Others traumatized to the point of suicide, heart attack, stroke.

ALL that blood is on his tiny little  hands.

Not metaphorically.
Literally.
He summoned them, armed them, told them they were heroes, and then stood aside while the violence played out.

****** predation?
Absolutely. He didn’t just brag about grabbing women without consent on camera—he weaponized that same sense of entitlement against Stormy Daniels, telling her, explicitly, about his daughter’s body in a ****** context to arouse himself.  Understand that this was in between years of going back and forth to Epstein's island. Systematically choosing, abusing and ****** children over the course of years and years. The flight logs of Lonita expressed extend from the day Epstein purchased the plane and had a custom painted till the very end. Trump was there. He was fully aware of what was happening. He and  Maxwell were close friends. He helped fund the whole project. and manipulated her into compliance,

a violation of every moral boundary imaginable. He admitted this  daughter lusting behavior on Howard Stern, fully aware of microphones and cameras.
The assaults on E. Jean Carroll are equally unflinching: ****, then years of denying, mocking, and attacking her credibility while using his wealth and status to avoid accountability. Epstein’s island trips weren’t social calls—they were active participation in a network of trafficking, *******, and exploitation, mingled with the worst abuses of power.  He was so drunk on power and assure of himself dead, he believed that he could corral any **** star he wanted, **** and ****** and ***** anyone that he's ever wanted with complete impunity. And now that he has the Supreme Court in his pocket, he's absolutely right.
Not because of skill, but because of money and manipulation and power and shameless lying con man grifting.

Then there’s the financial and social exploitation.
Veterans with disabilities,
dying children with cancer,
ordinary Americans working their ***** off—
defrauded,
scammed,
left destitute, left to die while he flaunted wealth, bribed judges, and gamed the system.  He knowingly and willingly lied to prospective donors and actual donors, telling them that he was going to use the money from the Trump Foundation to help veterans, in particular veterans with issues and disabilities. They didn't see a dime of that money. Then as if that weren't enough, in between going back and forth to the **** island

****** E Jean  Carroll

setting up all of the **** star ***. Which he promised to pay for and never did. That's why Stormy had to take him to court 3 * 2 of the times she won.
.Laughing to his buddies that he just walks up to women and  "grabs them by their *******". Which we know that he absolutely did and was doing and would still be doing.

As if that weren't enough, then he comes back. Runs the casinos into the ground.
The only idiot ever in the history of gambling.
A system where 8 out of 10 bets lose to the house.
This ***** runs the casinos into bankruptcy
and actually loses money.

That's how bad a businessman he really is.

As if that weren't enough, though, then he goes and says with the same Trump foundation that he's gonna raise more money for

dying cancer children
. Kids whose families are destitute
because of their medical bills. Like the veterans, those people don't see a dime of the money.

None of this is
"fake news."
None of this is made-up.

2018-2019 court transcripts.

A stenographer in the court types out every single word
that he says.

he is quickly found guilty.
On every single count,
the judge says he must repay all of that money,
a little over $2,000,000 that they know about.

They know for sure that he spent some of that money on an autographed Tim Tebow football helmet.

He spent others of it on self aggrandizing self portraits that made him look like he had a big bulge.

Foundations meant to help the vulnerable were twisted into cash machines, lining his pockets while people suffered in real time.

Despite losing the court cases, what it actually teaches them is how to correctly scam Pandemic profiteering,
He undermines Fauci and he actually tells people that it's all a big scam perpetrated by the left. Then he actually has the gall to tell people
  " just drink bleach".

I don't know, maybe they should inject the bleach.
undermining science, forcing super-spreader rallies, all while hoarding the best care and resources for himself.
H They said the frozen cadaver trucks that were overflowing with bodies was a lie and a scam and didn't actually happen. He could have passed legislation to help with the respirators that people desperately needed, but he refused to do it.  He himself got COVID, as I did numerous times, but unlike me, he got the best care money could buy at the expense of the taxpayers, while at the same time. Intentionally holding super spreader rallies.  
The elderly, the obese, people with comorbidities literally died because of COVID.
Meanwhile, he's backing every single stupid harebrained conspiracy theory. That has no scientific backing whatsoever. While at the same time attacking legitimate science that actually could have helped.

Political corruption?
Beyond comprehension.
Pardons for criminals, incitement for cult-like followers, manipulation of the courts,
stacking SCOTUS with extremists   setting up an orchestrating the bribes to Clarence Thomas.

Contacting and helping fund church leaders hostile to basic human rights.   Ensuring that long standing policies like

Roe versus Wade were overturned.

Not just child ****, not just the **** and groping of grown women, not just defiling **** stars and not paying them, but also literally and physically ****** the planet itself.

Deregulation and environmental **** while laughing in boardrooms, profiting off disasters, stripping protections from workers,
Native lands,
He overturned years of protective regulations on known Native American burial sites. Just slapping those people in the face and said, yeah, we're gonna go in there and literally dynamite and drill these places as much as we like to extract whatever resources we want, whenever we want without regulation and there's. You can  do about it.

Targeting trans individuals, women, LGBTQ+ people, and anyone who threatened his worldview or base.
Threatening journalists,
judges,
the judges in cases against him,
he put out their personal information,
tweeting it and putting it on his psychotic little Truth Social thing

and his other Twitter accounts and things before they were banned,

he said. Their specific names and addresses.
He gave their wives names and their children's names,
threatening them explicitly.

witnesses, and their families. A campaign of intimidation and cruelty codified into policy, law, and culture. Both before and after completely gutting the DOJ of any semblance of righteousness or justice and using it as his own personal vindictive attack machine.

Then in between getting dragged into the defamation cases, which he lost because the evidence was overwhelming against him, then he gets dragged into the Stormy Daniels cases. Then he gets dragged back into the tax fraud and business Ledger, which he lost all of those. Every single one just  lost, lost, lost, lost, lost and and also getting impeached twice.
We almost thought we had him on the roads. And then he makes an appeal to Apple, Google, Zuckerberg, and then out of nowhere, idiot Elon jumps on the scene and literally tells people that he's going to buy Trump votes. If you vote for Trump, I will give you money.
  Then they set up the whole more than likely false assassination thing, which they immediately just swept under the rug. He conveniently only gets hit in the ear at a distance that anyone with  A  scope shouldn't miss. But that cements him his chosen by God's stature and nature, with the psychotic MAGA base that he's been building. That was the turning point in which he could not lose.
I won't go into hear the death of Justice Scalia. I won't go into the supposed accidental death of his wife where she falls down the stairs after transversing those stairs, all peeled up and drunk for years and years and years, then all of a sudden, right when she's about to speak to some people about their. All of a sudden she dies. I'm not gonna go into that here. I'm not gonna go into Epstein. I'm not gonna go into Epstein's lawyer.
We could talk about how he assaulted his own members of the Secret Service trying to grab the wheel, demanding that they give up their phones, demanding access to their personal text and emails so that he could try to remove his behavior both before and after. January 6th.
We could talk about him and the whole voter fraud thing. Demanding that they come up with the 11,700 whatever votes to give him the presidency that he didn't win.
Then the constant thing about lying and saying he did win when he clearly and obviously lost.
The whole thing with leaky old Rudy Giuliani and how he just used him and threw him under the bus and then Rudy loses his defamation case against those black women who live in Georgia that he lied about and lied about and would not stop lying about. And he did all that for his buddy Trump.

Then the fat, bloated, ******* idiot loser Bannon.
totally turned his back on him.

Then he and his boyfriend, boy toy Eli Elon, can't be around him without literal lethal doses of ketamine. Elon's on so much ketamine that not only his kidneys are shutting down, but his liver is failing and his doctors have to step in and say, well, buddy, if you don't. Slow your roll, you're gonna be dead. And then once he sobers up, he's like, Oh my God, I did what I got. Who elected?


And the constant egocentric. theater of it all. Claiming that even before he was running for presidency that somehow

  He now  claims the Democrats created and faked the Epstein files,

  yet Hillary didn't try to use it against him.

Biden didn't try to use it against him.

Kamala didn't try to use it against him

.But yet somehow the Democrats knew that they needed to fake all this stuff.

   The MAGA cultist idiots from the Deep South states have three channels to choose from.
They don't read,
they don't visit their libraries.
The only thing they see with letters on it are NRA stickers.
They believe that. The Apprentice is and was a real show that showed how Donnie could run these businesses successfully.

They've been brainwashed with all their church crap for so long that they cannot separate fantasy from reality. They believe that some magical floating sky daddy listens to them even if  they don't Speak aloud
and it's gonna come solve all the problems.
They believe that this invisible sky daddy chose Donnie To bring about the end of the world
, and they want that, That's why they hoard all the guns, the MRE's, That's why you got Alex Jones talking, all those supplements and the Sandy Hook deniers and all of that.


So  scripted shows,
rallies,
Fox News indoctrination
social media manipulation
it’s not just deception; it’s a full ecosystem of lies designed to convince millions that chaos, cruelty, and incompetence are genius,

that the man who scammed, assaulted, and defrauded can be trusted with power.
Cult dynamics, martyrdom complexes, armed obedience. MAGA isn’t just a movement; it’s a fully weaponized personality cult, and he’s the architect.

Layered on top of this is the pattern: decades of unchecked behavior, where ****** assault, fraud, theft, incitement, and exploitation aren’t aberrations—they’re his modus operandi.

Untouchable since his early 20s,
believing law and morality were toys for him to play with,

then bringing that same attitude into the highest office in the nation.
The result? Dead  school kids gunned down almost every other day  

traumatized Americans, missing children, ***** and assaulted women, exploited veterans, failing democracy, and a country held hostage by lies, greed, and cruelty.

His idea of tariffs are sheer math stupidity

and everyone in the world told him that.
It's like trying to run a lemonade stand when your inventory is literally a desert.

America doesn't produce anything. We have not produced anything since slightly before. The Reagan era tax cuts. And now none of those multi billion dollar corporations pays anything in taxes. The entire tax burden was shifted onto the already strained middle class and we've been carrying it ever since. And then he wants to put even more on us with these whole ridiculous idea of tariffs.

This isn’t hyperbole. It isn’t opinion. It’s a litany of documented crimes, cruelty, and human suffering, stacked into an avalanche that can’t be ignored
. He didn’t just fail
. He didn’t just break laws
.  The bodies, the broken, the suffering—they are all the fingerprints of a man utterly untethered from conscience consequence, or reality.

This is the man. The crimes, the assaults, the deaths, the exploitation, the incitement, the lies, the culture of cruelty

they form a seamless, relentless narrative. And the truth is raw:
he must never be allowed to hide behind
, spectacle,
or theater.
Every person hurt, every life destroyed, every innocent victim
his hands are on it all.
Nothing softens it, nothing erases it. He is fully, monstrously accountable, morally, ethically, and historically.
This isn't all of it by any means, but I just got sick of it and I'm sure that you're sick of it too. If you read through all of this, then you deserve a medal.

— The End —