A Donald Trump Presidential Library and Other Oxymorons

Note: First published in June of 2018

Oxymorons are words, or a group of words that are self-contradicting, according to Webster.
Rumor has it, however, the last syllable of an oxymoron applies to you-know-who, so the term may not be contradictory after all.

When he is no longer in office, there will be a permanent reminder of his reign of horror – i.e. a presidential library. Presidential libraries are privately funded, then turned over to the National Archives and Records Administration to operate and maintain.

Trump’s tenure could result in a location at Riker’s Island or Leavenworth and break with tradition.

Otherwise, my money says The Donald’s library will be on a Trump-owned resort property.

The facility will be as garish and tasteless as the Trump dynasty.

I envision a kiosk with  MAGA merchandise for die-hard supporters to purchase.

A jumbotron featuring various kinds of products such as hair color, gel, and tanning spray with a how-to diagram of the comb-over.

Museum-like film clips of his photoshopped inaugural parade with its huge crowds and rallies featuring his adoring followers would loop over and over.

Replicas of McDonalds and KFC family size buckets would replace official White House menus.

Credible proof of the stable genius’ awards, certificates of merit or other tributes are non-existent. In their place, bankruptcy filings, bogus tax returns, copies of fake news covers and a diploma from Trump University.

Alongside photos of interest during the Trump reign of terror, photos of his paramours will peak visitors interest. There will be no mention of a first lady, as she retired to a villa in Switzerland  and changed her identity.

Numerous photos of executive order signings will grace the walls replacing inspirational quotations, typically found in other president’s libraries.

The Trump Presidential Library will be just like the man himself – tacky and tasteless and the American Taxpayer will be stuck for paying for its upkeep through the National Archives and Record Administration.

“How Come People Get So Ugly When They Grow Old?”

This query uttered by my octogenarian dad made us laugh once we recovered from its impropriety. Dad was the model for political correctness in the presence of others, but at home it was a different story.

His comments often made us laugh; the kind where you know it isn’t nice to laugh, but you just can’t help yourself.

Unfortunately, it is a gift that he passed on. There are some occasions when I know it is best not to sit next to my sister or even look at her. Unfortunately, I passed on the flaw to at least two of my offspring and I am still waiting results for the remaining one.

Never having the burden of being a great beauty, I didn’t figure I had much to lose as I aged. I hoped healthy and strong would satisfy as modifiers for my appearance.

This all changed when we installed one of the new video doorbells. The ancient drone I observed leaving home was a shock. Even making allowances for pandemic hair, I resembled David Crosby after a bad acid trip. Moving away from the camera, my backside resembles a ski slope – a vast ski slope.

At that moment Dad’s observation struck home but it was not a laughing matter. My bathroom mirror had withheld full disclosure of just how bad the situation is.

I decided to be positive and count my blessings, until I received my new drivers license photo, confirming and memorializing the doorbell portrait.

My mother’s innovative solution of mastering “ugly” on her driver’s license was to paste a more flattering photo i.e. younger over the state issued one.

Words come back to haunt as I was reminded, I once comforted a friend, saying older women can be considered handsome and that is not a bad thing. I would be elated to observe handsome from the video doorbell; I hadn’t planned on butt-ugly.

Dad was right; and if I listen closely, I believe I can hear him laughing.

So, You Believe Wearing A Mask Is a Violation of your Civil Rights?

Most likely thinking of others is not part of your DNA; It’s every man for himself. If you get COVID-19, you will handle it.

Let’s assume you lose the coin toss; you get COVID-19. Exercising your rights earned you a spot in the ICU, if there is one available.

You can’t breathe and here you are stuck on a ventilator. Bet your bravado for exercising your civil rights is replaced by some pretty scary thoughts.

If you are anywhere near coherent, the thought that you may die must cross your mind.

I suppose one could say you are willing to die for your civil rights, in fact those words might be a fitting epitaph for your tombstone.

But what about the potential deadly fall out as a result of your selfishness?

The Doctor who treats you has plans for his future yet places your welfare above his own.

The nurse who treats you may have a family to go home to, or not if she gets sick.

The respiration therapist who treats you places your well-being above theirs.

Let’s assume you survive but were complicit in the death of those who save you.

The likelihood that you would ever know who died taking care of you is remote.

But if you did know, could you live with it?

Do the right thing and just put on the damn mask.