Hush Money for porn stars

Donald Trump allegedly paid porn star Stormy Daniels the sum of $130,000 before the presidential election to keep her mouth shut. The Wall Street Journal broke the story.

Paying hush money is nothing new. It’s alleged that Trump wives, students screwed over by Trump University and plaintiffs in various lawsuits have been paid handsomely to shut up.

Who else is on the mute list? If Stormy is worth a king’s ransom in hush money, how much more in unmarked bills are his Russian connections demanding?

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Donald J. Shithole

Donald Trump has given us Lyin’ Ted, Crooked Hillary, Crazy Bernie, Little Marco and Low-Energy Jeb.

This week he may have stumbled upon a word appropriate for himself.

You may think that tacking “Shithole” unto his name doesn’t show the respect appropriate to the Office of the Presidency. It’s a year too late to worry about that.

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Tax Cuts Billboard

The tax cuts just passed for middle-income wage earners are temporary. They’ll be phased out in a matter of years. It’s the old teaser-rate come-on.

Meanwhile cuts for multinational corporations, financial entities and real estate developers like Donald Trump will be permanent.

A couple can now inherit a fortune of almost $22 million without paying a penny in taxes. But a kid working to save for college is nailed on the first dollar earned.

More money in fewer hands. They planned it that way.

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Buttocks

Our son was born without buttocks.

The bone structure of his ilium was perfectly normal and his “gluts” were standard-issue. What he lacked was the meat most folks have on their coccyges. I’m sure I’m misusing these words but you get the picture.

The boy was unaware he was skin and bones until well into grade-school when he came to realize that certain boys commanded the playground. They got to choose the teams during recess and twist the rules however they wanted. They were invited to parties. Girls liked them.

For some reason my son got it into his head — do not laugh — that it was the fit of his pants that was holding him back from joining the alphas.

He became obsessed that the seats of his trousers were baggy. He studied himself in the 360-degree mirror in our back bedroom — something he’d never done before.

It so happens that I sew. Not to brag but I can rip a seam and take in a crotch with the best of them. I strapped on my wrist pin-cushion, grabbed my reading specs and performed miracles on the saddle of that boy’s pants.

Over time he shot up and put on a little flesh on his frame. His face cleared up nicely and he took to wearing contact lens.

During a Sunday supper just after he started a full-time job, he told our family an older woman at the office — she was twenty-two if she was a day — patted him on the bottom and told him she was “into” men with tight little tushes.

We still laugh about that from time to time. But the fact is that the memory of young woman’s come-on would come in handy when a bald spot began to show on the back of his head.

What’s a mother to do?

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Firefighter Tom

You’ll find the ladder truck from Fire Station Two double-parked outside our corner coffee shop some mornings.Tom Howard will run in to pick up a round for his crew.

You might think idling a hugely expensive firefighting vehicle for a coffee run is a waste of taxpayer dollars. It’s not.

Think of it as readiness training. Every minute on the street sharpens the team’s knowledge of traffic patterns, access points around town and behavior of equipment under weather conditions. Every emergency call sets off a mesh of calculations and responses.

Tom is part of an eight-member team that pulls a 24-hour shift. They stand ready at all hours to hit that pole and engage with sixty pounds of gear, tools and breathing packs.

Two meals are prepared each shift. You get your fussy eaters, restricted diets and meat-and-potatoes holdouts. It seems that leftovers don’t play well on Sundays.

There are occupational hazards. Firefighters seldom talk about fear but they worry about mistakes. A drop in adrenaline between shifts can feel like a loss of purpose and camaraderie, an isolating work cycle doesn’t help. Tom manages a hotline to deal with exactly those problems.

As an engineer he drives ladder trucks and fire engines and is certified in medical response and Hazmat. His thing is opening cars with kids locked inside. “Good enough to be a cat burglar.” he laughs

The 25-year-veteran firefighter earned a master’s degree in divinity after a deepening of his faith and has been asked to preach at various congregations. There’s that quality about him.

Physical realities catch up with even the fittest firefighters. Tom will be ready for the next chapter of life. “I believe the Lord has called me for something.” he says. And the good Lord willing a ‘98 Harley and a Yamaha Motocross will be part that something.

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