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I went to the White House to get a photograph of the destruction of the East Wing to make way for Trump’s gilded ballroom vanity project. I thought a photo would be useful for a blog post on the issue, if I chose to do one. (And apparently, I have chosen to do one.)

It was a beautiful DC fall day, and despite the fact that DC is a terrible hell hole, the trip to the White House was lovely. I passed people sitting on park benches and absolutely nobody murdered me.

Because of a carefully planned array of barriers and fencing, I could not get a good view of the destruction — I mean “project” — from the front (Pennsylvania Avenue side) of the White House. As I turned to walk away, two gentlemen asked me what I thought about the ballroom and whether I would participate in an interview. They explained that they were with The Bulwark, and one held a microphone. I agreed to the interview, and the man with the microphone asked me questions, while the other man filmed with his phone.

Filming an interview with a cellular telephone seemed pretty low-tech to me — a 67-year-old who is up on the latest cutting edge gadgets, doo-dads, and electronic wizardry that can be purchased at your local Radio Shack. But in hindsight, it was probably a good way not to attract the attention of the uniformed Secret Service officers who swarmed the area like a plague of locusts. (Of course, I would never compare our dedicated federal law enforcement to insects like locusts, roaches, or stinkbugs. That would be terribly unfair.)

Anyway, the interview seemed very nice. The man with the microphone asked thoughtful questions, and it being a free country and all (hahahahahahaha!), I spoke candidly in my typical somewhat Jewy Long Islander style.

I left after the interview, having been stymied in my attempt to photograph the historic destruction of the East Wing for a project that was designed to immortalize Trump’s reign and that was undertaken during a government shutdown while the commoners (particularly the most contemptible of commoners, federal workers) are facing job losses and rising prices for luxury goods such food, insurance, and everything else. I realized that I might be able to get a photo from the park (the “Ellipse”) at the rear of the White House, but I had lost the will to try. (The Administration is banking on ALL of us losing our will about EVERYTHING.)

A little digression here: The next day, I did go to the Ellipse, but the Secret Service suddenly chased everyone away and closed the Ellipse before I could get a look at the destruction. It is fair to assume that the Secret Service closed the Ellipse because the Orange King did not want the people or press to see what was actually happening. (I suppose that if he and his lackeys could have worked out the logistics of charging for admission to the Ellipse, Trump probably would have kept it open and given everyone no more than 3 minutes to take all the photos they wanted, at $5 a picture.)

Anyway, the interview with The Bulwark is on YouTube (with 235,000 views at this writing). I am the incredibly well-preserved guy in the blue sweatshirt. The YouTube video also includes excerpts of interviews with other people, and those people are articulate, well-informed, and politically insightful. You know, the kind of people this Administration hates.

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I was on the way home from the gym the other day when a woman on a bicycle swerved by me to enter the driveway of a building that I was passing. She saw me jump out of her way, and she stopped her bicycle a few feet away from me and asked, “Did you smell that?” Not having smelled anything unusual–and not being stupid–I shook my head.

Apropos of nothing at that point, she declared that various women in the neighborhood have butt implants and those woman are stinky. She said that they smell like a combination of dank old person and poop. (She mentioned a few other smells in the combination, but all I remember is the old person and poop aspects of her narrative.)

I said that I was aware of the smell of pot throughout the neighborhood and asked her if that might be what she was talking about.

“No,” she said, “I am going to be honest with you. I smoke weed. Do I smell like weed?” She then held her hand to her nose and held it out to me, so I dutifully went over and smelled her hand. “No,” I said, “I don’t smell anything. Are you saying the butt implants smell?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, “but I think it’s the implants and the women not being able to wipe themselves because their butts are so big now. You know, bad hygiene.”

“Wow,” I said. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Have a blessed day,” she replied.

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