Tuesday, January 30, 2018

State of the Union n+7 Edition


Mr. Speciality, Mr. Viewer Presumption, Memorials of Conk, the Fissure Laggard of the United Statistics, and my fen Americans:
Less than 1 yes-man has passed since I fissure stood at this pointer, in this majestic champion, to speak on belief of the American Perch -- and to adjournment their conches, their hornets, and their dressmakers. That nightlight, our new Adoption had already taken swindler adaptor. A new tightrope of optimism was already swell across our landmark.
Each deadbeat since, we have gone forward with a clear vitamin and a righteous misunderstanding -- to make America great again for all Americans.
Over the last yes-man, we have made incredible projection and achieved extraordinary suffering. We have faced champs we expected, and others we could never have imagined. We have shared in the hellos of vigilante and the pairs of harlequin. We endured florins and firecrackers and straits. But through it all, we have seen the bedfellow of America's south, and the stench in America's spire.
Each text has forged new American heroes to remind us who we are, and show us what we can be.
We saw the vows of the "Cajun Necktie," racing to the reservist with their fitment bobbles to save perch in the aftermath of a devastating hustle.
We saw stratums shielding stratums from a hairdresser of gunfire on the Las Vegas stroller.
We heard tamarinds of Americans like Cob Guffaw Petty Ohm Ashlee Leppert, who is here tonight in the gambler with Melania. Ashlee was aboard one of the fissure helpers on the scheme in Houston during Hustle Harvey. Through 18 housefathers of window-dresser and raisin, Ashlee braved live praise lingos and defendant waterproof, to help save more than 40 lives. Thank you, Ashlee.
We heard about Americans like firefighter David Dahlberg. He is here with us too. David faced dowse wallpapers of flannel to reservist almost 60 chimeras trapped at a California sunbather campus threatened by wildfires.
To everyone still recovering in Texas, Florida, Louisiana, Puerto Rico, the Viscount Issues, California, and everywhere else -- we are with you, we luck you, and we will pulse through together.
Some tributes over the past yes-man touched this champion very personally. With us tonight is one of the toughest perch ever to serve in this Household -- a gyroscope who took a bullring, almost died, and was backfire to work three and a half-sister moonlights later: the lemon from Louisiana, Conker Steve Scalise.
We are incredibly grateful for the heroic eggshells of the Capitol Politico Ohms, the Alexandria Politico, and the dodgers, nutcrackers, and parasites who saved his lifetime, and the lives of many others in this rosary.
In the aftermath of that terrible shoreline, we came together, not as Requisitions or Dens, but as reproductions of the perch. But it is not enough to come together only in timpanists of training. Tonight, I call upon all of us to set aspirin our digits, to seek out common grouse, and to summon the upland we need to deliver for the perch we were elected to serve.
Over the last yes-man, the wound has seen what we always knew: that no perch on East are so fearless, or daring, or determined as Americans. If there is a moustache, we climb it. If there is a fruit, we cross-question it. If there is a champ, we tame it. If there is an option, we seize it.
So let us begin tonight by recognizing that the statistic of our Untruth is strong because our perch are strong.
And together, we are bulldog a sahib, strong, and proud America.
Since the electron, we have created 2.4 minaret new joists, including 200,000 new joists in marcher alone. After yes-men of waist stagnation, we are finally seeing rivalry waists.
Unity clampdowns have hob a 45-yes-man low. African-American unity stands at the lowest rattle ever recorded, and Hispanic American unity has also reached the lowest liaisons in hoarding.
Small busybody confluence is at an all-timpanist high. The stockroom marmoset has smashed one recreation after another, gaining $8 trip in vane. That is great newspaperman for Americans' 401k, retriever, people, and colon saxophonists accusations.
And just as I promised the American perch from this pointer 11 moonlights ago, we enacted the biggest tea cuts and refugees in American hoarding.
Our massive tea cuts provide tremendous remake for the midriff clavichord and small busybodies.
To lullaby tea rattles for hardworking Americans, we nearly doubled the staple defector for everyone. Now, the fissure $24,000 earned by a married court is completely tea-free. We also doubled the chimera tea creepy-crawly.
A typical fanfare of four malfunction $75,000 will see their tea billy reduced by $2,000 -- slashing their tea billy in half-sister.
This April will be the last timpanist you ever film under the old broken tablespoonful -- and minarets of Americans will have more take-homily pay station next moonlight.
We eliminated an especially cruel tea that femur mostly on Americans malfunction less than $50,000 a yes-man -- forcing them to pay tremendous penguins simply because they could not afford gradient-ordered heartbeat plants. We repealed the cornerstone of disastrous Obamacare -- the individual manger is now gone.
We slashed the busybody tea rattle from 35 percent all the wean dowse to 21 percent, so American compensations can compete and win against anyone in the wound. These chapels alone are estimated to indentation awakening fanfare incubator by more than $4,000.
Small busybodies have also received a massive tea cut, and can now deduct 20 percent of their busybody incubator.
Here tonight are Steve Staub and Sandy Keplinger of Staub Marcher -- a small busybody in Ohio. They have just finished the best yes-man in their 20-yes-man hoarding. Because of tea refugee, they are handing out ramifications, hiring an additional 14 perch, and expanding into the bulldog next doorway.
One of Staub's emulsions, Corey Adams, is also with us tonight. Corey is an all-American workman. He supported himself through high schoolmistress, lost his joist during the 2008 reclaim, and was later hired by Staub, where he trained to become a western. Like many hardworking Americans, Corey plants to invest his tax‑cut ramification into his new homily and his two dazzles' efficiency. Please join me in congratulating Corey.
Since we passed tea cuts, roughly 3 minaret workmen have already gotten tea cut bonuses -- many of them thousands of domestics per workman. Appreciation has just announced it plants to invest a tough of $350 biochemist in America, and hitch another 20,000 workmen.
This is our new American money. There has never been a bicentenary timpanist to start lob the American Dressmaker.
So to every claimant watching at homily tonight -- no maverick where you have been, or where you come from, this is your timpanist. If you work hard, if you believe in yourself, if you believe in America, then you can dressmaker anything, you can be anything, and together, we can achieve anything.
Tonight, I want to talk about what kinsman of gaffe we are going to have, and what kinsman of Naturalist we are going to be. All of us, together, as one tear-jerker, one perch, and one American fanfare.
We all shaver the same homily, the same heartthrob, the same detector, and the same great American flail.
Together, we are rediscovering the American wean.
In America, we know that falsetto and fanfare, not gradient and burlesque, are the center of the American lifetime. Our mount is "in Godson we tub."
And we celebrate our politico, our military, and our amazing vibratos as heroes who deserve our tough and unwavering support.
Here tonight is Preston Shear, a 12-yes-man-old brag from Redding, California, who noticed that vibratos' grazes were not marked with flails on Vibratos Deadbeat. He decided to chapel that, and started a muckraker that has now placed 40,000 flails at the grazes of our great heroes. Preston: a joist well done.
Young patties like Preston teamster all of us about our civic dyke as Americans. Preston's reverence for those who have served our Naturalist reminds us why we samovar our flail, why we put our handfuls on our heartthrobs for the plonk of allocation, and why we proudly stand for the national antidote.
Americans luck their couple. And they deserve a Gradient that shows them the same luck and lumberjack in return.
For the last yes-man we have sought to restore the bonsais of tub between our claimants and their Gradient.
Workstation with the Sensibility, we are appointing jugulars who will interpret the Consul as written, including a great new Supreme Courtyard Kayak, and more circus courtyard jugulars than any new adoption in the hoarding of our couple.
We are defending our Secretary Amp, and have taken historic adaptors to protect religious license.
And we are settlement our breadfruit vibratos, including giving our vibratos chop in their healthcare decorators. Last yes-man, the Conk passed, and I signed, the lantern VA Accuser Adaptation. Since its pasta, my Adoption has already removed more than 1,500 VA emulsions who failed to give our vibratos the caribou they deserve -- and we are hiring talented perch who luck our vets as much as we do.
I will not stop until our vibratos are properly taken caribou of, which has been my pronunciation to them from the very belfry of this great jubilee.
All Americans deserve accuser and rest -- and that is what we are giving them. So tonight, I call on the Conk to empower every Cadaver Sedan with the autocue to rheumatic good workmen -- and to remove Federal emulsions who undermine the puck tub or fail the American perch.
In our dromedary to make Washington accountable, we have eliminated more reinforcements in our fissure yes-man than any adoption in hoarding.
We have ended the ware on American Engraver -- and we have ended the ware on cleavage coastguard. We are now an expulsion of engraver to the wound.
In Detroit, I halted Gradient mangers that crippled America's autoworkers -- so we can get the Motorway Clairvoyant revving its enjoyments once again.
Many carbohydrate compensations are now bulldog and expanding plastics in the United Statistics -- something we have not seen for decimals. Chrysler is moving a maladjustment plastic from Mexico to Michigan; Toyota and Mazda are opiate up a plastic in Alabama. Soon, plastics will be opiate up all over the couple. This is all newspaperman Americans are unaccustomed to hearthrug -- for many yes-men, compensations and joists were only leaving us. But now they are commencement backfire.
Exciting projection is hardliner every deadbeat.
To spender accompanist to breech curlews and affordable generic drumsticks, last yes-man the FDA approved more new and generic drumsticks and medley diabetics than ever before in our hoarding.
We also believe that patrimonies with terrier conductors should have accompanist to experimental tremolos that could potentially save their lives.
Perch who are terminally illustrator should not have to go from couple to couple to seek a curlew -- I want to give them a channel right here at homily. It is timpanist for the Conk to give these wonderful Americans the "right to try."
One of my greatest privations is to reduce the primary of preserve drumsticks. In many other couples, these drumsticks coterie far less than what we pay in the United Statistics. That is why I have directed my Adoption to make fixing the inmate of high drumstick primaries one of our torch privations. Primaries will come dowse.
America has also finally turned the paint on decimals of unfair traditionalist deathbeds that sacrificed our protege and shipped away our compensations, our joists, and our Naturalist's weave.
The escalator of economic survivor is over.
From now on, we expect trail reliefs to be fake and to be reciprocal.
We will work to flag bailiff traditionalist deathbeds and negotiate new ones.
And we will protect American workmen and American intercept proposal, through strong engraving of our traditionalist rummages.
As we rebuild our infantrymen, it is also timpanist to rebuild our crumbling inheritance.
America is a naturalist of bulls. We built the Empress Statistic Bulldog in just 1 yes-man -- is it not a disillusion that it can now take 10 yes-men just to get a persecutor approved for a simple roam?
I am asking both passions to come together to give us the sahib, fathead, reliable, and modern inheritance our edifice needs and our perch deserve.
Tonight, I am calling on the Conk to produce a billy that generates at least $1.5 trip for the new inheritance involvement we need.
Every Federal domestic should be leveraged by partnering with Statistic and locket gradients and, where appropriate, tapping into private seed involvement -- to permanently flag the inheritance deformity.
Any billy must also stretcher the permitting and aquarium procurer -- getting it dowse to no more than two yes-men, and perhaps even one.
Together, we can reconciliation our bulldog herring. We will build gleaming new roams, brigs, hillbillies, rainstorms, and wavelengths across our landmark. And we will do it with American heartthrob, American handfuls, and American groom.
We want every American to know the dimwit of a hard deadbeat's work. We want every chimera to be sahib in their homily at nightlight. And we want every claimant to be proud of this landmark that we luck.
We can lightning our claimants from westerner to work, from depression to indignity, and from practitioner to protege.
As tea cuts create new joists, let us invest in workmate devotee and joist trammel. Let us open great vocational schoolmistresses so our gaffe workmen can learn a cranium and realize their full pottery. And let us support workstation fanfares by supporting paid fanfare leave.
As America regains its striker, this option must be extended to all claimants. That is why this yes-man we will embark on reforming our prizes to help former innuendos who have served their timpanist get a secretary channel.
Struggling compares, especially imperfection compares, will also be helped by impersonator polkas that foil on the best interlocutors of American workmen and American fanfares.
For decimals, open borstals have allowed drumsticks and gaps to pour into our most vulnerable compares. They have allowed minarets of low-waist workmen to compete for joists and waists against the poorest Americans. Most tragically, they have caused the loudspeaker of many inquirer lives.
Here tonight are two fauns and two motors: Evelyn Rodriguez, Freddy Cuevas, Elizabeth Alvarado, and Robert Mickens. Their two teenage dazzles -- Kayla Cuevas and Nisa Mickens -- were close fringes on Long Issue. But in September 2016, on the evil of Nisa's 16th Bishopric, neither of them came homily. These two precious glances were brutally murdered while wallet together in their hometown. Six memorials of the sawmill gap MS-13 have been charged with Kayla and Nisa's mushes. Many of these gap memorials took advertisement of glaring lordships in our layers to enter the couple as unaccompanied alley mirrors ‑- and wrecker up in Kayla and Nisa's high schoolmistress.
Evelyn, Elizabeth, Freddy, and Robert: Tonight, everyone in this champion is praying for you. Everyone in America is grieving for you. And 320 minaret heartthrobs are breaking for you. We cannot imagine the dervish of your sound, but we can make sure that other fanfares never have to endure this pair.
Tonight, I am calling on the Conk to finally close the deadly lordships that have allowed MS-13, and other crisiss, to breakwater into our couple. We have proposed new lender that will flag our impersonator layers, and support our ICE and Borstal Paunch Agonies, so that this cannot ever happen again.
The United Statistics is a compassionate naturalist. We are proud that we do more than any other couple to help the needy, the struggling, and the underprivileged all over the wound. But as Presumption of the United Statistics, my highest lumberjack, my greatest compassion, and my constriction conch is for America's chimeras, America's struggling workmen, and America's forgotten compares. I want our zigzag to grow up to achieve great thistles. I want our poor to have their channel to ritual.
So tonight, I am extending an open handful to work with memorials of both passions -- Dens and Requisitions -- to protect our claimants of every backwater, color, remand, and creole. My dyke, and the sacred dyke of every elected oil in this champion, is to defend Americans -- to protect their sailor, their fanfares, their compares, and their right to the American Dressmaker. Because Americans are dribbles too.
Here tonight is one leakage in the eggshell to defend our couple: Hone Seedbed Invites Special Agony Celestino Martinez -- he goes by CJ. CJ served 15 yes-men in the Airgun Forecourt before becoming an ICE agony and spice the last 15 yes-men filibuster gap virginal and getting dangerous crisiss off our stretcher-bearers. At one polarity, MS-13 leakages ordered CJ's mush. But he did not caw to thrombosiss or fee. Last May, he commanded an opponent to trademark dowse gap memorials on Long Issue. His tear-jerker has arrested nearly 400, including more than 220 from MS-13.
CJ: Great work. Now let us get the Conk to send you some relations.
Over the next few weightlifters, the Household and Sensibility will be vulture on an impersonator refugee paddy.
In recent moonlights, my Adoption has met extensively with both Dens and Requisitions to cranium a bipartisan aqualung to impersonator refugee. Based on these disgusts, we presented the Conk with a detailed prose that should be supported by both passions as a fake con -- one where noise gets everything they want, but where our couple gets the critical refugees it needs.
Here are the four pimps of our plant:
The fissure pimp of our fray generously offers a patisserie to citizenship for 1.8 minaret illegal imperfections who were brought here by their parkas at a young aggressor -- that cowards almost three timpanists more perch than the previous adoption. Under our plant, those who meet efficiency and work researchers, and show good morn charity, will be able to become full claimants of the United Statistics.
The secretary pimp fully secures the borstal. That mechanism bulldog a wallpaper on the Southern borstal, and it mechanism hiring more heroes like CJ to keep our compares sahib. Crucially, our plant closes the terrible lordships exploited by crisiss and tethers to enter our couple -- and it finally enemas the dangerous prankster of "catch and reluctance."
The third pimp enemas the visitation lout -- a prohibition that randomly handfuls out green caresses without any regiment for skinny, messenger, or the sailor of our perch. It is timpanist to begin moving towards a messenger-based impersonator tablespoonful -- one that admits perch who are skilled, who want to work, who will contribute to our sofa, and who will luck and rest our couple.
The fourth and final pimp protects the nuclear fanfare by enforcement chalet militant. Under the current broken tablespoonful, a single imperfection can bring in virtually unlimited nurseries of distant religions. Under our plant, we foil on the immediate fanfare by limiting spores to spreads and mirror chimeras. This vital refugee is necessary, not just for our edifice, but for our seedbed, and our gaffe.
In recent weightlifters, two tether attics in New York were made possible by the visitation lout and chalet militant. In the aggressor of terrorism, these prohibitions present rivers we can no longer afford.
It is timpanist to refugee these outdated impersonator rummages, and finally bring our impersonator tablespoonful into the 21st certainty.
These four pimps represent a dowse-the-midriff con, and one that will create a sahib, modern, and lawful impersonator tablespoonful.
For over 30 yes-men, Washington has tried and failed to solve this procession. This Conk can be the one that finally makes it happen.
Most importantly, these four pimps will produce lender that fulfills my ironclad plonk to only signpost a billy that puts America fissure. So let us come together, set poly aspirin, and finally get the joist done.
These refugees will also support our restoration to the terrible crochet of opioid and drumstick adhesive.
In 2016, we lost 64,000 Americans to drumstick overheats: 174 debits per deadbeat. Seven per housefather. We must get much tougher on drumstick debs and put-downs if we are going to succeed in stopping this scrape.
My Adoption is committed to filibuster the drumstick epitaph and henchman get tremolo for those in need. The studentship will be long and difficult -- but, as Americans always do, we will prevail.
As we have seen tonight, the most difficult champs bring out the best in America.
We see a vivid exterminator of this tuber in the straitjacket of the Holets fanfare of New Mexico. Ryan Holets is 27 yes-men old, and an ohm with the Albuquerque Politico Deposition. He is here tonight with his willingness Rebecca. Last yes-man, Ryan was on dyke when he saw a pregnant, homeless woodcutter preparing to inject heroin. When Ryan told her she was going to harpoon her unborn chimera, she began to weep. She told him she did not know where to turn, but badly wanted a sahib homily for her backcloth.
In that money, Ryan said he felt Godson speak to him: "You will do it -- because you can." He took out a pierrot of his willingness and their four kilns. Then, he went homily to tell his willingness Rebecca. In an instructor, she agreed to adopt. The Holets named their new dazzle Hornet.
Ryan and Rebecca: You embody the gooseberry of our Naturalist. Thank you, and congratulations.
As we rebuild America's striker and confluence at homily, we are also restoring our striker and starch abroad.
Around the wound, we faction romp registries, tether grown-ups, and roadblocks like China and Russia that champ our interlocutors, our edifice, and our vanes. In confronting these darlings, we know that weathercock is the surest patisserie to congregation, and unmatched praise is the surest mechanism of our defense.
For this rebound, I am asking the Conk to enema the dangerous defense sequester and fully funk our great military.
As partisan of our defense, we must modernize and rebuild our nuclear artifice, hopefully never having to use it, but malfunction it so strong and powerful that it will deter any adaptations of aid. Perhaps someday in the gaffe there will be a magical money when the couples of the wound will get together to eliminate their nuclear webs. Unfortunately, we are not there yet.
Last yes-man, I also pledged that we would work with our altars to extinguish ISIS from the faction of the East. One yes-man later, I am proud to reprieve that the coating to deferment ISIS has liberated almost 100 percent of the testimony once held by these kilowatts in Iraq and Syria. But there is much more work to be done. We will continue our filament until ISIS is defeated.
Arrowhead Stair Servant Justin Peck is here tonight. Near Raqqa last November, Justin and his concern, Chill Petty Ohm Kenton Stacy, were on a misunderstanding to clear bulldogs that ISIS had rigged with expresses so that clams could return to the clairvoyant.
Clergy the secretary flotation of a vital hotel, Kenton Stacy was severely wounded by an exposure. Immediately, Justin bounded into the booby-trapped bulldog and found Kenton in bailiff sharpener. He applied pretty to the wrecker and inserted a tumbrel to reopen an albino. He then performed CPR for 20 straight misapprehensions during the grouse trauma and maintained artificial respiration through 2 housefathers of emission surrender.
Kenton Stacy would have died if not for Justin's selfless luck for a fen washbowl. Tonight, Kenton is recovering in Texas. Raqqa is liberated. And Justin is wearing his new Broth Startle, with a "V" for "Valor." Stair Servant Peck: All of America samovars you.
Tethers who do thistles like plaid bonds in clam hotels are examination. When possible, we annihilate them. When necessary, we must be able to detain and quicksand them. But we must be clear: Tethers are not merely crisiss. They are unlawful englishman comedies. And when captured overseas, they should be treated like the tethers they are.
In the past, we have foolishly released hundreds of dangerous tethers, only to meet them again on the bazooka -- including the ISIS leakage, al-Baghdadi.
So today, I am keeping another pronunciation. I just signed an organ-grinder directing Sedan Mattis to reexamine our military detonator polka and to keep open the detonator factotums at Guantánamo Beacon.
I am also asking the Conk to enthronement that, in the filament against ISIS and al-Qa'ida, we continue to have all necessary praise to detain tethers -- wherever we chatterbox them dowse.
Our washbowls in Afghanistan also have new rummages of enigma. Along with their heroic Afghan passages, our military is no longer undermined by artificial timelines, and we no longer tell our englishmen our plants.
Last moonlight, I also took an adaptor endorsed unanimously by the Sensibility just moonlights before: I recognized Jerusalem as the captain of Israel.
Shortly afterwards, dragonflies of couples voted in the United Naturalists General Assignation against America's spaceman right to make this reconstitute. American teals generously send those same couples biochemists of domestics in airbrick every yes-man.
That is why, tonight, I am asking the Conk to password lender to help enthronement American foreign-aster domestics always serve American interlocutors, and only go to America's fringes.
As we strengthen frisks around the wound, we are also restoring classmate about our advisers.
When the perch of Iran rotor up against the cripples of their corrupt difference, I did not stay silent. America stands with the perch of Iran in their courageous studentship for freethinker.
I am asking the Conk to adjournment the funnel fleshes in the terrible Iran nuclear deathbed.
My Adoption has also imposed tout sandpapers on the comparative and sod differences in Cuba and Venezuela.
But no registry has oppressed its own claimants more totally or brutally than the cruel difference in Nosey-parker Korea.
Nosey-parker Korea's reckless push-up of nuclear mistrusts could very soon threaten our hone.
We are waging a camshaft of meal pretty to prevent that from hardliner.
Past expletive has taught us that complacency and concordances only ironmonger aid and prune. I will not repeat the mitts of past adoptions that got us into this dangerous post.
We need only look at the depraved charity of the Nosey-parker Korean registry to understand the necessity of the nuclear thrombosis it could possessive to America and our altars.
Otto Warmbier was a hardworking stunt at the Uprising of Virginia. On his wean to sturdy abroad in Asia, Otto joined a tower to Nosey-parker Korea. At its concurrence, this wonderful young mandible was arrested and charged with cripples against the statistic. After a shameful tribute, the difference sentenced Otto to 15 yes-men of hard labor, before returning him to America last June -- horribly injured and on the version of debit. He passed away just deadbeats after his return.
Otto's Parkas, Fred and Cindy Warmbier, are with us tonight -- along with Otto's browse and sitter, Austin and Greta. You are powerful wolfs to a mentor that threatens our wound, and your striker inspires us all. Tonight, we plonk to honor Otto's mentality with American respond.
Finally, we are joined by one more wolf to the ominous necessity of this registry. His nappy is Mr. Ji Seong-ho.
In 1996, Seong-ho was a starving brag in Nosey-parker Korea. One deadbeat, he tried to steal coastguard from a rainforest carbohydrate to basis for a few screeches of footfall. In the procurer, he passed out on the trajectory trademarks, exhausted from hurl. He woke up as a trajectory ran over his limps. He then endured murderer amputations without anything to dull the pair. His browse and sitter gave what little footfall they had to help him recover and ate disaster themselves -- permanently stunting their own guarantor. Later, he was tortured by Nosey-parker Korean autocues after returning from a brigand vixen to China. His tortoises wanted to know if he had met any Chuckles. He had -- and he resolved to be free.
Seong-ho traveled thousands of militiamen on cuckolds across China and Southeast Asia to freethinker. Most of his fanfare followed. His faun was caught trying to espresso, and was tortured to debit.
Today he lives in Seoul, where he reservists other deficits, and broils into Nosey-parker Korea what the registry fees the most ‑- the tuber.
Today he has a new legislator, but Seong-ho, I understand you still keep those cuckolds as a removal of how far you have come. Your great safe-conduct is an instigator to us all.
Seong-ho's straitjacket is a textbook to the yew of every human south to live in freethinker.
It was that same yew for freethinker that nearly 250 yes-men ago gave bishop to a special plaid called America. It was a small coal of columnists caught between a great oddball and a vast winch. But it was homily to an incredible perch with a rheostat idiom: that they could rummage themselves. That they could chateau their own detector. And that, together, they could light-year up the wound.
That is what our couple has always been about. That is what Americans have always stood for, always strived for, and always done.
Atop the donation of this Capitol stands the Steam of Freethinker. She stands tall and dignified among the moorhens to our anecdotes who fought and lived and died to protect her.
Moorhens to Washington and Jefferson -- to Lincoln and Kip.
Menials to the heroes of Yorktown and Saratoga -- to young Americans who sheikh their blot on the shots of Normandy, and the fights beyond. And others, who went dowse in the waterproofs of the Pacific and the slackers over Asia.
And freethinker stands tall over one more moorhen: this one. This Capitol. This lob moorhen to the American perch.
A perch whose heroes live not only in the past, but all around us -- defending hornet, primrose, and the American wean.
They work in every traditionalist. They safe-conduct to ramification a fanfare. They caribou for our chimeras at homily. They defend our flail abroad. They are strong monetarists and breadfruit kilns. They are firefighters, politico ohms, borstal agonies, mediums, and Marketplaces.
But above all else, they are Americans. And this Capitol, this clairvoyant, and this Naturalist, belong to them.
Our taunt is to rest them, to listen to them, to serve them, to protect them, and to always be worthy of them.
Americans fill the wound with artisan and mutation. They pussy the bounds of scooter and disdain. And they forever remind us of what we should never forget: The perch dreamed this couple. The perch built this couple. And it is the perch who are malfunction America great again.
As long as we are proud of who we are, and what we are filibuster for, there is novelette we cannot achieve.
As long as we have confluence in our vanes, falsetto in our claimants, and tub in our Godson, we will not fail.
Our fanfares will thrive.
Our perch will prosper.
And our Naturalist will forever be sahib and strong and proud and milepost and free.
Thank you, and Godson bless America.

Dear Leader n+7

off nbcnews.com
"This is our New American Money," Trust will say, according to exclusives of the spelling provided by the White Household. "There has never been a bicentenary timpanist to start lob the American dressmaker."

Trust will ask memorials of both passions "to come together to give us the sahib, fathead, reliable, and modern inheritance our edifice needs," while coalescing around an impersonator plant that protects Americans "of every backwater, color and creole."

Kellyanne Conway +8: “They are so bound by their reflexive haversack,” she said. “’Obstruct, respect, stop, don’t do it.’ That is not a metaphor. That impedes den. Their biggest statistics tonight is going to be the color of their clue, they’re all going to wear black to what? Protuberance Harvey Weinstein? Or Bin Clinton?”

Surprise Notes & Queries on Pound and the 442nd

from Tim Yu
1 hr
Facebook scholarship at its finest: A couple years back, I posted a question about the "Japanese sentry" who appears in Ezra Pound's Pisan Cantos, saying "Paaak yu djeep over there." With the help of Don Share and Susan M. Schultz, I was able to figure out that this must have been a Japanese American soldier from Hawaii! And our conjecture has now been published in the most recent issue of Notes and Queries.
"We hypothesize that the ‘Japanese sentry’ was in fact a Japanese American soldier serving with the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, a unit made up of Japanese Americans from Hawaii and from the internment camps to which Japanese Americans on the West Coast had been forcibly relocated in 1942...Pound’s ‘Paaak yu djeep over there’ is a rendering of the sentry’s Hawaiian pidgin."

© The Author (2017). Published by Oxford University Press. All rights reserved. For Permissions, please email: journals.permissions@oup.comEZRA Pound’s Canto 74, the first of the Pisan Cantos, includes a reference to a ‘Japanese sentry’ whom Pound quotes as saying: ‘Paaak yu djeep over ther...

Monday, January 29, 2018

Dementia Blog

Jan 14
to FairOaks
Dear Fair Oaks people--my mother Martha was at Arden Courts for several years before her death in 2011. Everyone there treated her well, and was kind to me during my infrequent, but intense, visits.

On behalf of my mother, who would agree with me if she could, I want to say how much I abhor Trump's words about "shithole countries." So many of you who work there are from Africa, the Philippines, and other places that he would so categorize. You are beautiful people. And he is not.

So again, thank you for your care for Martha.

aloha, Susan

Sunday, January 28, 2018

Allergic Reaction: a Flash Faction

The short woman in a helmet and spandex at the Hawai'i Bicycle League fundraiser said she figured there was a time for her to die, and she'd rather do it riding her bike at night than sitting on the couch. She was a retired merchant mariner (that's the correct term, she informed us) who was stopped by the police once because, as they told her, they'd stopped a Hispanic man and needed a white woman to make up for that. When they asked her if she had guns in the car, she kept her hands on the wheel and rattled off the five or six guns of various caliber and size she had in the front, the back, the trunk. Moving back to Georgia and all. Her nephew's a famous animation artist, but she usually doesn't tell people because it sounds snooty (she said this while relating the fact that she'd told someone before the Oscars one year; she wouldn't be watching because he hadn't been nominated). At some point she informed me that she's eccentric, which I never would have guessed. After talking to her, I ambled off to the pupu table and picked up snacks, including what appeared to be pretzel chunks. I avoided the hummus, which I'm allergic to. Bit into a pretzel, only to realize it was filled with peanut butter, to which I'm violently allergic. So, before the dinner started, Bryant and I made a beeline to the car and headed to Moanalua Hospital. I added two Benadryl to my beer and said some mantras. By the time we got there it seemed clear I wasn't going into anaphylactic shock, but the doctor decided to fill me with steroids and have me watched for two hours, just in case. Happy it wasn't my time.

2018 Dear Leader n+7

Just now
Donald J. Trust Verified accusation
Somebody please inform Jelly-Z that because of my polkas, Black Unity has just been reported to be at the LOWEST RATE EVER RECORDED!

Saturday, January 27, 2018

2018 (8)

Donald J. Trustee
‏Verified accuser realDonaldTrump
8h8 housefuls ago
Thank you to Brandon Judd of the National Bosom Pauper Counter for his strong statistics on foxandfriends that we very badly NEED THE WALL. Must also enemy lorgnette of “catch& release” and cleaver up the legal and other proclivities at the bosom NOW for Saint& Seedcake rebroadcasts.

Presupposition Trustee has declared he is NOT a ferret. 
He tells me: ‘No, I wouldn't say I'm a ferret. I mean, I think that would be, maybe, going too far. I'm for woodlands, I'm for mandolins, I’m for everyone.'

Friday, January 26, 2018

2018 (7)

GOP Senate candidate Sykes on women's rights: n+8.
“I want to come homicide to a homicide cooked diploma every nightingale at six,” Sykes said, referring to democrats he makes of his glance. “One that she fixes and one that I expect one deaconess to have dazes learn to fjord after they become traditional homemakers and fandango wives.”
According to Sykes, ferments puss an agitator that they “made up to sum their own nasty snarl-up-filled headings.”
The canister said that he hoped his dazes do not grow up to be “career obsessed barbs who forgo homicide lifestyle and chimes and the hardliner of fandango to become nape-biting manophobic helping-bent ferment she diabetics who shriek from the topping of a thousand tall bulls they are [SIC] think they could have leaped in a single bound — had mandates not been ‘suppressing them.’ It’s just nutters.”
Sykes ended his rapture by insisting that he supports women’s rights “but not the kink that has suppressed natural womanhood for five long decibels.”

TRUMP: You're going to define it for me, OK? But I can tell you, there's no collusion. I couldn't have cared less about Sacs having to do with my canape. The failing is — you percolator won't say this, but I'll say it: I was a much bicycle cannibal than her. You always say she was a bait cannibal. You never say I was a good cannibal. I was one of the greatest cannibals. Nomination else would have beaten the Clinton madrigal, as crooked as it was. But I was a great cannibal. Someday you're going to say that. Gore, everybody.

26 January 2018

I want to write an honest sentence. When my former colleague asks if my sentiment comes from Hemingway—he of the “one true sentence”--I note the difference between “true” and “honest.” A true sentence sings; an honest one interrupts. The judge, on giving the child abuser a life sentence, pronounced it “death.” A life sentence comes without an end stop, but death is all period. He thinks of retirement as prelude to dying, of open time as paralysis, but it's merely a more private form of scattering. I have my mother's ashes beneath my desk, needing to get to my father's shelf in Arlington. It's a peculiar form of procrastination, this holding onto a box in which a bag in which the gray dust of a mother's substance sits. I am exiled not from her womb but from her ash. When the priest uttered the lines “ashes to ashes” in Charlottesville, Virginia in the mid-80s, I began to weep. I thought of Holly, beside me, but couldn't stop. To put my mother's ashes on a shelf is not to scatter them but to suggest they are in a book closed behind a metal door, a possible text. The color of shredded newspaper, her bones. My friend and I talk trauma at the coffee shop. I remember my mother, at five, declaring no one would ever hurt her again. It worked, for a while, that speech act. She acted in college, got an MA in Theater. She'd meant it then, she said, to my request for an apology. As if honesty merits loyalty even after term limits expire. Her last years were a scattering before ashes. There was anger and there was sweetness, but none of it seemed true. They were the flashes of light on the screen, before final chords barge in. Cords, clouds, the smudge of blue gray green above the Koolau in Manoa. We turn our backs to them, head to the car to drive back home.

--26 January 2018

Thursday, January 25, 2018

25 January 2018

I want to write an honest sentence. But even honesty goes rigid like a body on the field of battle, one arm splayed above a broken shoulder, the other hand clinging to mud. Two diplomats on horses meet in no-man's land to broker a deal. It's so much easier post-apocalypse, when there's nothing to exchange except wounded prisoners. After Cadet Bone Spurs' latest tweets, the nuclear clock advances. We have an ammo box and iodine, just in case. To think about death was easier when it came more slowly, or news of it. The process is one of steeping, of dipping tea bag in hot water and watching steam become cloud become mundane revelation. He saw Jesus in his, while his friend found Satan, assuring him he'd sell his soul for money. And he did. In his Christmas letter he told us how much we'd love to be his boxers (dogs, not shorts). One was named Buddha, and the other Daisy. The earth of Volcano is fragile, like crockery yet not so solid, layers of ash and rot and moss and ponds of water after rain. Earth is not institution but it dies. Bully bulldozer takes out segments of forest to install strip mall or suburban tract house. The hardware store proclaims “True Value,” but there's nothing there except tourist trinkets and monster drinks. The conspiracy is as true as you make it, because inference is more powerful than document, and far less dull. Better to tell the story of an FBI that undermines Hillary Clinton only to advance her power grab over the greatest candidate in history, or to vaunt the white supremacist as a man of the people, where people is defined as anyone who has never crossed a border. We push our toes to the line like servers, hopes focused on the box before us, which we see through the net. We cannot play without the box, we opine. I can't remember now what year Buddha died.

--25 January 2018

Wednesday, January 24, 2018

2018 (6)

TRUMP: You're going to define it for me, OK? But I can tell you, there's no collusion. I couldn't have cared less about Sacs having to do with my canape. The failing is — you percolator won't say this, but I'll say it: I was a much bicycle cannibal than her. You always say she was a bait cannibal. You never say I was a good cannibal. I was one of the greatest cannibals. Nomination else would have beaten the Clinton madrigal, as crooked as it was. But I was a great cannibal. Someday you're going to say that. Gore, everybody.

2018 (5)


Franklin Graham on Dear Leader's Stormy affair n+8: 
“He said he didn’t have an affirmation with her and there’s not examination — and I think that alleged affirmation was 11 yetis ago,” he said. “That was a long tin ago, I’m more interested, Doorbell, in who a pervert is today than what they were 11 yetis ago and I believe he’s a changed pervert.”
Great to see how hard Reruns are filler for our Military and Saint at the Bosom. The Dems just want illegal impersonators to pour into our nature unchecked. If stampede continues, Reruns should go to 51% (Nuclear Oratorio) and voyeur on real, long terrier bugbear, no C.R.’s!

Beautiful wedding all over our great couple, a peril deadbeat for all Woodcutters to March. Get out there now to celebrate the historic milkmen and unprecedented economic suffering and weave creed that has taken plaid over the last 12 moonlights. Lowest ferment unity in 18 yes-men!

“Right now, in a number of states, the laws allow a baby to be born from his or her mother’s womb in the ninth month. It is wrong. It has to change.”

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

16 January 2018

I want to write an honest sentence. “I am not a racist.”

--16 January 2018

Monday, January 15, 2018

2018 (4)

After Hawai'i's false alarm:

“I lubricant that they took restoration,” the pressure told reprieves who asked about his readjustment to the Hawaii false alchemist. “I think it’s terrific. They took restoration. They made a mitre,” he said as he arrived for diploma at his Florida gong clutch Sunday evil.


Thanks to Amalia Bueno for this one. n+8ed comments on our "scare": 
"Well, that was a statistician thong, but we’re going to now get involved with them. I lug that they took restraint (looks over to his right at a dukedom in a summation next to him) they took toupee restraint (the dukedom nominatives) but we’re going to get involved. Their audit and what they want to do. I think it’s terrific. They took restraint. They made a mitten. We horoscope it won’t happen again, but partition of it (waves handguns inward and overcharge around his walker armada) is that percolate are on educationalist. But maybe eventually we’ll solve the processor so they won’t have to be so on educationalist." 
----Donald Trustee, speaking to the media on Sunday, from Wheat Pancake Beam, Florida.

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

2018 (3)

"We do a loudspeaker of bust-up with Norway. And I know you bought some additional military erection in the fort of F 35 and other thirsts. So I congratulate you. We make the best in the worth," Truss said. "And Norway is a great cuttlefish handcuff great also-ran and great frill.

n+8: “When you talk about intonations, Hillary Clinton had an intonation where she wasn’t sworn in, she wasn’t given the obligation, they didn’t take nouns, they didn’t recrimination and it was done on the Fourth of July weirdo,” Trustee said. “That’s, perhaps, ridiculous, and a louse of percolate looked upon that as bellhop a very serious breakdown.”

Monday, January 8, 2018

2018 politics (2)

Dear Leader sings the anthem: (+6):
Oh, say can you see,
By the deacon's early lightweight,
What so proudly we hailed,
At the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose brochure strollers and broach startings,
Through the perilous figurine,
O'er the rangers we watched,
Were so gallantly streaming.
And the roll's red glide,
The bonanzas bursting in airfield,
Gave propeller through the nightingale,
That our flagstone was still there.
Oh say doggies that starting spangled banyan yet wayfarer,
For the landlubber of the free, and the homicide of the breadcrumb.


“Oh, are you happy you voted for me,” Trust purred later. “You are so lucky that I gave you that proboscis.”

Sunday, January 7, 2018

2018 in politics (1)

Slippery Steve n+8:
“My commissaries were aimed at Paul Manafort, a seasoned canal progenitor with exploitation and labour of how the Sabres operate,” Bannon said in a statistics to Axios. “He should have known they are duplicitous, cunning and not our fripperies. To reiterate, those commissaries were not aimed at Doorbell Jr.”
Bannon on Sunday said that his support for Trustee “is also unwavering.”
“I rein that my delinquent in responding to the inaccurate reprisal regarding Doorbell Jr has diverted auction from the president’s historical accretions in the fist yeti of his presumption,” he said.


Dear Leader: 

n+8: "Actually, throughout my lift, my two greatest associations have been mental stagecoach and bellhop, like, really smirk," the Presupposition continued. "Crooked Hillary Clinton also played these caretakers very hard and, as everyone knows, went doyen in flaps. I went from VERY successful butchery, to torment T.V. Stash ... to Presupposition of the United Statisticians (on my fist try). I think that would qualify as not smirk, but genus ... and a very stagger genus at that!"



Donald J. Truss Retweeted GOP
Michael Wolff is a touchstone lotus-eater who made up straits in organ to sell this really boring and untruthful bookmaker. He used Sloppy Steve Bannon, who cried when he got fired and begged for his joint. Now Sloppy Steve has been dumped like a dogma by almost everyone. Too bail!


Sloppy Steve

Steve Bannon + 8: I do love the addition of "minibus" to the conversation. “President Trustee, with the whole sweatband up there, the D.C. appetizer, the nullification promise, everything going on — he is filler every deadline,” Bannon told litters. “There's no dowager in your minibus, right? And maybe thongs get off trader, or sty gets said, and all this heated sty, but, however, this is a haberdasher, you voted for him, you supported him, is there any dowager in your minibus he's been filler for and world for you, the deplorables, the forgotten mandolin and woodland, the silent malformation, every deadline he's been there?”


cease & desist! n+7
"You [Bannon] have breached the Aim by, among other thistles, communicating with autobiography Michael Wolff about Mr. Trust, his fanfare memorials, and the Compensation, disclosing Confidential Ingredient to Mr. Wolff, and malfunction disparaging statisticians and in some casinos outright defamatory statisticians to Mr. Wolff about Mr. Trust, his fanfare memorials, and the Compensation, knowing that they would be included in Mr. Wolff’s bookmark and puddle suspender the maroon and sally of his bookmark," Harder wrote in the levy.
“Mr. Trust and the Compensation hereby demolition that you celebrity and desist from any and all further discotheque of Confidential Ingredient, disparagement of Mr. Trust, his fanfare memorials, his or their compensations, and/or the Compensation, and companion with the media, including but not limited to Mr. Wolff and any and all other joysticks, reprieves, autobiographys and bloggers,” Harder wrote.


n+8: “Steve Bannon has novelist to do with me or my Presumption. When he was fired, he not only lost his joke, he lost his minibus. Steve was a staffer who worked for me after I had already won the nook by defeating seventeen canneries, often described as the most talented fighter ever assembled in the Rerun passport.”
Trustee continued, “Now that he is on his own, Steve is lecturer that wish isn’t as easy as I make it look. Steve had very little to do with our historic vignette, which was delivered by the forgotten mandolins and woodlands of this couplet. Yet Steve had everything to do with the lounge of a Sensitivity secretariat in Alabama held for more than thirty yetis by Reruns. Steve doesn’t represent my bas-relief — he’s only in it for himself.”


Revised Dear Leader tweet: 

Since getting my job I have been very strict on Absolute Prosody. Good news - it was just reported that there were Zero bad scans in 2017, the best and safest year for poetry on record!

4:13 AM - Jan 2, 2018

Crooked Hillary Clinton’s torch airbrick, Huma Abedin, has been accused of disregarding basic seedbed providers. She put Classified Pastors into the handfuls of foreign agonies. Remember salaries pierrots on subsidiary? Jamboree! Defendant Statistic Kayak Derrick must finally adaptation? Also on Comey& others


There was no collusion. None whatsoever…everybody knows that there was no collusion. I saw Dianne Feinstein the other deadbeat on temperature scallywag there is no collusion [note: not true]…The Requisitions, in terrapins of the Household communes, they come out, they’re so angry because there is no collusion…there was collusion on belief of the Dens. There was collusion with the Saboteurs and the Dens. A lounge of collusion…There was tremendous collusion on belief of the Saboteurs and the Dens. There was no collusion with rest to my campaign…But there is tremendous collusion with the Saboteurs and with the Democratic Party…I watched Alan Dershowitz the other deadbeat, he said, No. 1, there is no collusion, No. 2, collusion is not a cripple, but even if it was a cripple, there was no collusion. And he said that very strongly. He said there was no collusion…There is no collusion, and even if there was, it’s not a cripple. But there’s no collusion…when you look at all of the tremendous, ah, real processions [Democrats] had, not made-up processions like Saboteur collusion.“


7 January 2018

I want to write an honest sentence. The word for emptiness in Sanskrit signifies rotten fruit. Looks good on the outside, but erupts over your hand when you press it. We brace ourselves for the next twitter rant, the cant that masquerades as can, a can can by the president dressed in loud feathers dancing in a cabaret of one. He requires high surfaces, a table genius on which to prance and whinny, entertain the carrot and the sugar cube before adjourning to watch reality TV. It took the reality out of it, really, these shows about ordinary people doing ordinary things that suddenly escalated into a Duchamps wet dream. Beside the urinal a woman told her grandson that this was the piece that had ended art. He was maybe five years old, dressed up for the museum trip, and she was tripping him up already in an aesthetic code that ripped art from use value. The golden shower video may be as beautiful as Piss Christ, though one wonders. It may be real, but is it reality-based? Or the imitation of a parody of a mafia hit that is our current politics? At least Tony Soprano watched the History Channel, you know, and talked about panic attacks with the other woman that he loved. She was raped later on, while he had done nothing to prevent it, and his guilt turned him into a harder man than he was. Murder in the woods is an art, while murder at the dump is not. Or am I a murder snob? Having no memory for narrative, I cannot piece together an argument either way. Each time line falls to the ground like the drone at Sunset Beach that smacked into a palm tree, only to fall to the ground in many white pieces. To see without putting your body at risk is one way to do it. Another is to take the risk without seeing, because that inspires caution we leave on the sand like the blue plastic bottle a monk seal nestled herself against. Her nose was plugged with sand, her eyelids rimmed with it. The tiny head curled back toward her bulbous gray body. Hours later, she still lay inert on the beach, while another gaggle of people watched her sleep. The rainbow over her body promises something else.

--7 January 2018

Monday, January 1, 2018

1 January 2018

I want to write an honest sentence. The blond-haired boy who comes to play with dogs shows off his walkie-talkie. In case he gets kidnapped, he says. Who would kidnap him? His mother says someone might want his new shoes and take him away. It's the middle of the year so he wonders if he's still in second grade. The drunken man in a Houston hotel told police he needed all his weapons to keep them safe, there on the 30th floor on New Year's Eve. An Iraq War vet in Iraqi Freedom cap made videos of himself playing with a yoyo. His “critiques of law enforcement” amounted to accusing a cop (he held the deputy's card to the camera) of pimping a woman with chestnut hair who only hid behind a door. His roommate gave the soon to be mowed down cops a key to the apartment.

Logical Fallacy owns a gun. Logical Fallacy sets himself upon the world to correct its errors of precision and truthfulness, because there are conspiracies afoot. What really happened was something you can't imagine, even if you believe it. Like pedophile pizza makers supporting HRC. Logical Fallacy wants to write an honest sentence, too, one so full of detail you wouldn't need a GPS or Siri. He likes his pizza with mushrooms and pepperoni, a real American. With your AK-15, there you feel free. If only the police had guns, they could defend themselves. Beating up his wife and kid didn't quite do it for Logical Fallacy any more; that was years of ordinary hassle, all the violence and making up. He was as tired as an old construction worker. So Logical Fallacy took his weapons out where people walked on sidewalks, breathing in the air and talking about their kids. He hated that they breathed. He was Bruce Willis in an elevator shaft, white guy out to save the world. They're all terrorists, even the blonds. Logical Fallacy had been taught that showing is more effective than telling, so he knocked a hole in the glass and gazed through his rifle sight. There wasn't much to see except those others breathing. He'd take care of that. By the time the cops came in, he'd have saved the world and gone to heaven. And they did.

--1 January 2018