Keep Your Dirty Keyboard Paws Off My President
Tomorrow there will be new leaks and lies, half-truths, and garbage.
by Dov Fischer
September 9, 2020, 12:03 AM
I am so sick of it. I am so sick of it. I just want to shout to the sky at every sleazeball, cretin, and liar in the Fake News Media: “Keep your dirty keyboard paws off my president.†They type lies and innuendos, print and publish calumny and slander, day after day. They have it figured out that no president of the United States will sue for libel or slander, so they are safe to type one lie after another, day in and day out, to market in defamation and to trade in character assassination. As we know from those among them who already have been exposed, they cannot withstand judgment under the standards they claim. It is like Kamala Harris, who cavorted publicly for almost two years with the very married California Democrat Kingmaker Willie Brown, 31 years her senior, at soirees and parties, posing in remarkably revealing garb that exposed as much of her mammary glands as possible — and then trying out for the presidency by persecuting Brett Kavanaugh on false charges and attacking other Catholics nominated for the federal bench when her own immorality long ago was exposed no less than those glands.
In 2016 the corrupt media came out with that secret audio of Donald Trump in that TV-studio trailer sharing improper and unbefitting comments about women. Yes, indeed, the banter was appalling. In fact, it sounded like the same exact banter I was shocked to hear when I started practicing law at the world-prominent law firm of Jones Day. I had been a practicing Orthodox rabbi for 10 years and then had transitioned careers by attending a fine law school, serving as Chief Articles Editor of law review, and then clerking for a world-class federal appellate judge. Now I began law practice, and several of the more experienced mid-level associates invited me to join them for lunch.
My quandary was that I would not fit in. My diet is strictly limited exclusively to kosher food, and frankly, if I can avoid doing so, I do not even walk into non-kosher restaurants, although I probably could find some acceptable cold fruit salad on the menu and have them hold back the berries. I wanted so much to fit in. So I accompanied them, my new professional role models, fellows who successfully had been practicing law at this prominent law firm for several years. We sat and ordered, and then the banter began — an hour of fellows, some single and some in relationships, sharing their tales of woman conquests. The tone and tenor was similar to the Trump banter in that trailer. Conquests, strategies, and techniques for conquering women, the wonders of alcohol, occasionally crude lingo. I found that the kosher-food issue suddenly had become the least of my problems in trying to fit in. I buried my face downward through most of lunch, focusing on my cantaloupe amid fellows who nobly can’t elope but instead found glory, team pride, and much laughter in objectifying women among each other in the most coarse terms. As I privately recited grace after lunch, I contemplated that the saving grace of the afternoon was that almost surely none of them actually had done one-tenth of the things they described. It was my last group lunch with that bunch. And I thought to myself, “Gee, they all are experts in women’s body parts. It was like having lunch with gynecologists on steroids.†Meantime, I, the only one who focused on eating my salad instead of describing my salad days, at the time had four kids, and they did not arrive via Amazon.
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https://spectator.org/keep-your-dirty-keyboard-paws-off-my-president/
