The surprisingly delightful musings of a humble Virginian whose satiric paeons to a plausible utopia implicitly shame the cynical zeitgeist of our times, causing it to cry, as 'twere, 'Damn, what was I thinking?' or words to that effect.



Quass.com

August 2018

My Verdict on Donald Trump




Dear reader (kind reader, O NICE reader!):

It has just occurred to this cute little brain of mine that I have never yet used these hallowed pages to unequivocally proffer my viewpoint on this Donald Trump fellow who is currently in the Kremlin -- er, I mean the White House.

Mind you, I have reason to believe that only nosy enemies of mine ever read these pages ("I wonder what that fool is up to now?"), but should these posts survive me, there may come a day when NORMAL, fair-minded people will finally canvass my views as well, in which case I want to make it perfectly clear from the get-go where I stand on Rodrigo Duterte -- oops, I mean on Donald Trump.

Hopefully, of course, I stand right on his neck with my big black Nunn Bush Comfort Gel shoes until such time as he promises to play fair, at which point, of course, I will gladly let him rise and go about his business.

Editor's note: Brian is kidding of course. (sigh!) Why, bless him, he wouldn't harm even the nuttiest of right-wing fanatics, let alone a fly. Time out of mind, he has been known for the docility of his person. And it would do your heart good to read his nature poetry, girlfriend, I am telling you. True, he seldom publishes, but his "Ode to a Seahorse" caused something of stir when it appeared in the first edition of The Yorktown Crier back in 1976.


Levity aside, my problem with Vladimir Putin-- I mean Donald Trump, of course-- is that he recklessly derides democracy and the democratic process. I mean, propose any loopy policy you please, Don, even roll back environmental protections. God willing we'll undo the damage you cause at the next presidential election. But stop doing your darnedest to erode faith in the American system of government. If you don't believe in our democratic system, leave. Buy an island and rule it like a Banana Republic. We'll find a way to get along without you back home, trust me.

There, I've said it.

Now then, I know it's a bit of a non-sequitur, but suppose I "take us out of here" by treating you to a little of my humble versifying on the subject of a seahorse. It's a little thing I like to call "Ode to a Seahorse." Not to brag, but you guys are in for a treat... Ooh-hoo!

Editor's note: For a variety of arcane copyright considerations, we are unable to publish Brian's no doubt fabulous poem about a Seahorse. (OK, if you must know, the Yorktown Crier has long since been gobbled up by USA Today, whose busybody lawyers are sure to raise a stink if Brian attempts to publish his original peon in a new venue. Ah, the travails that genius must endure, right? It breaks your pea-pickin'. What does the Shellmeister say? "Through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode." You got THAT right, Shell-Shell.)






Copyright 2017, Brian Quass quass@quass.com (follow on Twitter)