Thank You President Trump.

Good morning. It's Monday where you are. It's Thursday morning where I am currently scheming out my weekend plans. 

And with any luck I will be attending the No Kings Protest with Ms. Muse and thousands of other "Real Americans" fed up with the ascending fascism that is sweeping the country like so many overzealous masked ICE agents and misguided Marines. 

And with even more luck I will be enjoying toasted Everything bagels and lox as well as some tasty White Fish Salad, on Father's Day with my two vocationally-misguided daughters who have chosen a career in advertising.

If things don't go as planned, and one of my custom made T-shirts makes me a target for the Thought Police, both here in the digital world as well as the real one, please consider setting up a Go Fund Me to get yours truly out of Critical Thinking Jail.

These are indeed scary times we live in. 

Scarier even, for people like me who like to rock the boat and exercise my First Amendment Right that Red Hats say is so precious. Funny how these Constitutional-fetishists claim the Second Amendment -- the one that guarantees their right to play G.I. Joe -- is sacrosanct, but other parts, like Habeas Corpus and Posse Comitas, are outdated. 

And fluid. And can be ignored.

"Why are you using those foreign Latin words? You some kind of Mexican-lover? This is 'Merica, speak 'Merican, damnit, you radical commie!"

As I just stepped away from my sarcastic rhetorical persona, wherein I give voice to the dimwitted ugly Americans who support our Bleach Blonde Fake Bronzed Fuhrer, to refill my cup with coffee, I had a disturbing thought.

In the 10 years since this billionaire-asshat came down the gold-plated escalator, nothing in America under his nonstop cretinism, has improved. Literally nothing. And in fact, it can be safely argued that he made us all the worse. So much worse. In every aspect. 

Well, not one.

I now have two drawers full of anti-Trump T-shirts that I proudly made via CafePress. And each day, I take out a clean one before taking my 3 mile constitutional to downtown Culver City. I like to think they're funny. And I like think they're smart, meaning I don't engage in spoon-fed or broad humor. You can safely argue they're neither. 

But the man or woman on the street says otherwise. In fact, I love strangers stopping me and dishing out the compliments. Or requesting photographs. But I like it even better when they don't. 

They walk by and I can hear one person say to the other...

"Didya see that guy's T-shirt? It said..."

There's a BEAT. 

And then they both start laughing. Often out loud. That is worth its weight in gold.