Tariffs: Some Perspective

It’s easy to quote a simple internet meme and use it to point to Trump’s tariffs to call him an idiot. Thanks to memes, I now know that his list was generated by internet domain, that it’s a formula based on trade balance, that they’re effectively arbitrary numbers, and that it’s all theater. Thanks to a quick glance at my Robinhood account, I can tell that his tariff talk has wiped out a trillion dollars of other people’s money overnight (and, on paper, $200 of mine).

So, yes, I have cause to be irritated at the man. So do you. Fair enough — so far as it goes.

BUT.

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First Amendment Limits

TL;DR: It has some.

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

You’re sick of reading about Elon Musk and the App Formerly Known As Twitter. I know this through observation and extrapolation. If it’s not true of you, you’re an exception; congratulations on being thus exceptional.

Either way though, I won’t take up much of your valuable time.

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The Price Tag Of Progress

We never even noticed the demise of the glossy magazine.  One day they were just gone, missing from waiting room tables everywhere as though they’d never been, with only empty racks and dusty outlines to mark their passing.

By and large they’re quite unmourned, it’s sad to say.  It’s tough to miss the sort of writing one only reads while killing time waiting for a haircut, articles you can put down unfinished without regret.

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Choose Your Hill Wisely

Buckle up, buttercup. This one’s going to be a ride.

My friends keep telling me that I should be more upset about Trump. I say: since when does panic help? We’re a month into Armageddon and I feel fine. Canned goods, artillery, and stockpiled toilet paper ease the anxiety some — and there’s a lot to ease, God knows. If it’s this or the fiscal cliff, we’re all screwed anyway.

The Trump Speed Circus is back in town, and it’s a howling beast of a thing: raw, unfiltered, DOGE tearing through Washington like a Cocaine Bear meet-cute. The air’s thick with confusion, a swirling fog of half-baked policies and wild-eyed firings that’s got the so-called Resistance stumbling around like drunks at a funeral. You can smell the panic, taste the disarray. It’s February 25, 2025, and the machine’s spinning so fast it’s throwing sparks — nobody knows where to plant their flag.

Friends, hear me. That’s the whole damn point.

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No, Joe, It Ain’t

In a last gasp effort to remain relevant — and, knowing Uncle Joe, to do what he feels is the right thing — our president has announced that, as far as he’s concerned, the ERA is the law of the land, the 28th Amendment, properly ratified by the states.

He’s wrong, but that didn’t stop him.

Mind you, he doesn’t actually need to be right for his announcement to matter.

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Traitor Tulsi?

If you’re paying attention, you’ve heard the rumors: Putin shill, friend to dictators, traitor to her political party, spy for America’s enemies.

Which is, I gotta say, totally nuts. No, not just the spy bit — all of it, beginning to end. For anyone who’s followed her career, she’s been nothing but consistent, and she wears her heart, and her convictions, on her sleeve for all to see.

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So There’s This Election Tomorrow…

A while ago, I decided that continuing to talk about Donald Trump would only keep giving him free press. I find him odious enough that the last thing I want to do is give him anything for free, so I simply stopped.

However, it’s now election time, and enough people have asked me that, finally, I figure it’s both safe and useful to provide the best information I can about what’s going to happen, in as unbiased a fashion as practicable, and without saying “I don’t know” too much.

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Going To the Crossroads

Some years ago, I was walking through the room while my girlfriend was watching “Supernatural”. Something about the episode caught my attention, and rather to my surprise, I sat down and watched it.

The story happened to be one I know, and know well: that of Robert Johnson, who reputedly sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for his insane talent, playing blues guitar. Now, the television show and the legend were a bit different, and the truth of the matter is stranger still. I’ll tell you all about those in a minute.

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