The Best Chant To Come — Instead Of "Rain, Rain, Go Away," The Refrain Should Be "Horse's A$$, Horse's A$$, Begone & NEVER RETURN!"

Luckily, Dana Milbank lives in a city with no scarcity of Otolaryngologists who can help him remove his tongue that is so deeply embedded in his cheek. This is masterful snark delivered again and again. The Horse's A$$ in the Oval Office probably was in a snit over the midterm election results — made even more painful with the Arizona senatorial results that flipped the seat blue with the election of US Representative Kyrsten Sinema (D-AZ). Arizonans remembered the Horse's A$$'s refusal to lower the White House flag to half-staff after Senator John McCain died. It would be fitting on some fine day when the Horse's A$$ bought the farm and the POTUS of that grand day ordered all flags in the United States of America to fly at the top of the staff. And further ordered that the Horse's A$$'s remains be thrown in the nearest trash dumpster, not the Arlington National Cemetery. If this is (fair & balanced) contempt for worst occupant of the Oval Office in US history, so be it.

[x WaPo — DC Fishwrap]
Donald Trump Knows The True Meaning Of Sacrifice
By The Snarkmeister (Dana Milbank)


TagCrowd Cloud of the following piece of writing

Americans battling Belleau brave cemetery Champs-Elysees country days despite drenched end endured field Forge France French getting hair held House John kept leaders Macron marched meaning memorial military motorcade ordered Paris patriotic poison President protect rain recall received sacrifice soldier Suresnes think troops Trump Valley war Washington weather white world

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“We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

In Flanders fields.”

—Canadian soldier [military surgeon] John McCrae, remembering the sacrifice of fellow World War I troops.

“We’re getting drenched."

—President Trump, noting his own sacrifice during World War I centennial observance Sunday.

On Veterans Day, Americans recall the sacrifices of those who served our country.

We think of the bayonet charge of Maine’s 20^th Regiment on Little Round Top, the young men battling through rain and poison gas in the Argonne, the soldiers in the frozen Ardennes Forest in the Battle of the Bulge.

And we think of President Trump, battling rain for not one but two days in France this weekend.

Other presidents had made sacrifices. George Washington camped with his frozen troops in Valley Forge. William Henry Harrison died after a two-hour inaugural address in the rain.

But these were as nothing compared with the elements Trump battled in Paris.

On Saturday, the White House, citing “logistical difficulties caused by the weather,” canceled Trump’s trip to a memorial at Belleau, where 2,000 US Marines died a century ago. It was raining — and Trump opted to remain at the US ambassador’s residence, watching TV and tweeting.

The next day, when other world leaders marched down the Champs-Elysees to the Arc de Triomphe for the centenary of the Armistice ending World War I, Trump instead took his motorcade. The reason this time: security. Once again, it was raining, and Trump stayed dry in his armored limousine.

These were brave decisions, because they meant Trump would have to endure the hurtful images of other world leaders visiting other memorials around France despite the rain, then marching in soggy solidarity without him. His excuses for skipping the war memorial earned ridicule because the cemetery was just an hour’s drive (less than half the time the White House claimed) and Trump had previously boasted about ordering his pilots to fly him despite bad weather — to a campaign rally.

But Trump’s behavior, not unlike Washington’s winter at Valley Forge, should be seen in a patriotic light — a selfless sacrifice for the good of the country. Consider the international disgrace the United States would have suffered if his hair were to have become matted by rain without adequate measures to protect it. Or if wind gusts had whipped his mane into an orange tornado swirling above a sparse white scalp. A soaking could have been calamitous. (This explains why he sent his bald chief of staff, John F. Kelly, in his place.) Trump, therefore, absorbed the losses at Belleau Wood and on the Champs-Elysees to prevail later, at Suresnes American Cemetery, after receiving hair spray reinforcements.

Such shrewd strategic thinking has been Trump’s hallmark since high school at New York Military Academy, where he received “more training militarily” than many get in the actual military. Bone spurs sadly kept him from Vietnam, but he said that avoiding STDs was “my personal Vietnam” and that he was “a great and very brave soldier” in this cause.

Some say Trump doesn’t know the meaning of sacrifice, particularly because he resisted lowering flags after the death of John “Not a War Hero” McCain. But as Trump himself told one Gold Star family, “I’ve made a lot of sacrifices.” And the Paris voyage highlighted Trump’s powers of self-abnegation, coming after he abandoned a $100-million military parade he ordered to honor himself.

He endured French President Emmanuel Macron’s “very insulting” proposal that Europe build up its own military. He endured a topless woman disrupting his motorcade with the words “fake peacemaker” on her chest. He endured mockery in the French press for confusing the Balkans with the Baltics. He endured Macron’s speech declaring that “nationalism is a betrayal of patriotism.” And he endured the obvious impression that other leaders didn’t want him at their “Peace Forum,” which began as Trump left.

Through it all, Trump kept his powder dry — and his hair. In the end, his sacrifice was rewarded.

It was still raining Sunday afternoon when Trump went by motorcade to Suresnes. But this time Trump did not retreat. He heroically cast aside his umbrella and spoke — for 10 moist minutes.

He recalled the sacrifice of Americans in the Great War (“through rain, hail, snow, mud, poisonous gas, bullets and mortar, they held the line”). And he invoked his own sacrifice, telling a group under a tent: “You look so comfortable up there, under shelter as we’re getting drenched.”

The lectern dripped. His overcoat glistened. And yet his hair, under protective lacquer, held firm — like the burning bush that was not consumed.

The valiant polymers that fell defending his hair from the rain seeped into the soil at Suresnes. Now it truly can be said, as the poem goes, that there’s some corner of a foreign field that is forever Trump. ###

[Dana Milbank is a nationally syndicated op-ed columnist. He also provides political commentary for various TV outlets, and he is the author of three books on politics, including the national bestseller Homo Politicus (2007). Milbank joined The Post in 2000 as a Style political writer, then covered the presidency of George W. Bush as a White House correspondent before starting the column in 2005. Before joining The Post, Milbank spent two years as a senior editor at The New Republic, where he covered the Clinton White House, and eight years as a reporter with the Wall Street Journal, where he covered Congress and was a London-based correspondent. He received a BA cum laude (political science) from Yale University (CT).]

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