Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth

In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.

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Cows Coming Home to Roost

Brexit chickens come home to roost ...

 

So: someone took a potshot at Donald Tr*mp and winged his ear.

As a friend of mine observed this morning: “Half the country are saying, 'Thank god he's OK,' and the other half, 'Damn, he missed.'”

Hearing the talking heads mouth the obligatory words last night and today, decrying the violence, I couldn't help but think that they're maybe saying what has to be said in public. Fortunately, being myself a nobody from nowhere, I at least have the freedom to be more honest.

If anyone has done more to foment political violence in the US than Donny-boy himself, I can't think who. In many ways, he's been given a taste of his own medicine. Call it—fully savoring the mangled metaphor—cows coming home to roost.

Don-don, you brought it on yourself.

If the twice-impeached convicted felon/presumptive Republican presidential candidate (!) is smart, he'll ramp down the violent rhetoric from here on in.

Don't count on it.

 

 

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Poet, scholar and storyteller Steven Posch was raised in the hardwood forests of western Pennsylvania by white-tailed deer. (That's the story, anyway.) He emigrated to Paganistan in 1979 and by sheer dint of personality has become one of Lake Country's foremost men-in-black. He is current keeper of the Minnesota Ooser.

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