I notice that US President Donald Trump has taken a snide shot at Admiral William McRaven, who supervised the Seal team that killed Osama bin Laden.
Trump’s gripe: It took McRaven too long to catch him; he should have done it sooner. This is fine stuff coming from a man who has done nothing with his life but screw hot women and build tacky hotels with his name on them. What has he done to catch villains still on the loose like Ayman al-Zawahiri of al-Qaeda and Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi of ISIS? What has he done to catch the killer of Nicole Simpson and Ron Goldman, since we know OJ didn’t do it?
In the tradition of his role model, H Ross Perot, Trump does nothing but complain. I’m surprised he doesn’t go after the late Mother Teresa. I can hear him now: “She’s supposed to be helping the poor people of Calcutta. So why does Calcutta still have poor people? They should all be living in condos and riding around in Benzes by now.” If we object, “But, Mr President, sir, Mother Teresa is dead,” Trump will skewer us with an irrefutable comeback: “Doesn’t matter, she’s a saint now, she could do it posthumously.”
I am also disturbed by the disappearance of several old stalwarts whose wisdom used to grace this column. Where are John Arnone, Chanchai Prasertson, Dr Charles Frederickson (I always suspected that he and Chanchai were the same guy), and JC Wilcox? We know that the Beasleys were hounded into silence by the misanthropic ravings of Paul of Khon Kaen. Let’s see a revival of rhetorical muscle in this column. By that I don’t mean a continuation of the bleatings of Eric Bahrt or the frothing attacks on Nigel Pike by that chronically rabid pit bull Dr Frank. We want rhetoric with class, not interpersonal bile. Let’s up our game, people.
Vermyn R Carrion (Reverend)