Saturday, December 20, 2025

What I've Learned


 

1. Stay in your Lane

2. Mind Your Own Business

3. Don't Get Caught up in other people's drama

4. Mind The Business that pays you.

5.Everyone has to experience a Dark Night of the Soul at least once.

6.Go with yourself, the world is full of others..There is only one you

7.Do the work, it will set you free.

8.You think you have money until you're in a room with people who have more money than you.

9.Passion is momentary, Love is enduring.

10.You can't really have a testimony until you've been tested.



PEACE!


Monday, December 15, 2025

Iihan Omar-Trump's Worst Nightmare

 

Donald Trump’s beef with Ilhan Omar is not political. It is psychological. It is not disagreement. It is fixation. It is the kind of obsessive spiral normally reserved for men who see their own reflection in a mirror and decide the mirror is the problem. 

This story starts in 2018, when Trump looked at Haiti, El Salvador, and African nations and decided the most presidential thing to do was call them “shithole countries.” He said it in the Oval Office. Senators heard it. The world heard about it. And then Trump did what he always does when caught with his mouth wrapped around the truth. He lied. He denied saying it. He insisted everyone else was wrong. He pretended the sentence had never existed, even as it burned itself permanently into the historical record.

 Ilhan Omar, then not yet in Congress, responded the way adults respond to racism. She called it what it was. She defended the dignity of the places Trump trashed. She refused to play along with the idea that cruelty becomes policy if you say it loudly enough. That was mistake number one, as far as Trump was concerned. Trump does not forget people who translate his insults into clarity. He catalogs them.

 By 2019, IIhan Omar was in Congress, and Trump finally had a face for his resentment. A Somali refugee. A Muslim woman. A lawmaker who didn’t lower her voice or soften her words to make him comfortable. She was everything his worldview couldn’t metabolize. So he did what bullies do when they feel small. He escalated. He tweeted that she should “go back” to where she came from. At rallies, crowds picked up the cue and began chanting “Send her back,” while Trump stood there, basking in it, pretending later that he hadn’t really heard it. He heard it. He always hears it. That’s why he sets it up.

 Here’s the thing Trump never figured out: Ilhan Omar doesn’t scare. She doesn’t fold. She doesn’t disappear. She doesn’t apologize herself into silence. Trump’s entire political persona is built on humiliation as dominance. Point, insult, wait for collapse, repeat. Omar refuses to collapse. That short-circuits the whole machine. You can see it in his behavior. The insults get cruder. The fixation gets louder. The facts get thinner.

 Fast forward to 2025, and the mask is no longer hanging on by a thread. It’s gone. In a Cabinet meeting, Trump wasn’t asked about Ilhan Omar. He brought her up anyway. He described Somali immigrants as “garbage.” He said they “contribute nothing.” He declared he didn’t want them in the country. Then, because cruelty loves symmetry, he called Ilhan Omar “garbage” too, expanding the insult outward like a man throwing Molotov cocktails at an entire community because one person keeps reminding him he’s full of shit. 

At a recent Pennsylvania rally supposedly about the economy, Trump did what he always does when numbers fail him. He reached for Ilhan Omar. He said she had done “nothing but bitch” since arriving in the United States. He said she had to “get the hell out.” The crowd responded on cue, chanting “Send her back” like it was 2019 and nothing had changed except Trump’s willingness to say the quiet parts into a microphone. He didn’t correct them. He never does. Conductors don’t stop the orchestra. 

Then came the moment that turned this from ugly pattern to outright indictment. 

Trump resurrected the phrase he once swore he never used. “Shithole countries.” He said it again. Out loud. Proudly. No denial. No walk-back. No fake confusion. The lie he told in 2018 finally collapsed under the weight of his own mouth. What was once “fake news” became applause bait. That’s not a slip. That’s a confession. That’s a man admitting the racism was never accidental. It was just temporarily inconvenient.

 And here’s the punchline Trump will never understand: every time he attacks Ilhan Omar, he exposes himself. He isn’t arguing with her policies. He isn’t debating her ideas. He’s arguing with the fact that America produced someone he can’t dominate. A refugee who became a congresswoman. A Muslim woman who won’t shut up. A lawmaker who doesn’t need his approval to exist. Ilhan Omar isn’t Trump’s nightmare because she tweets well or criticizes him sharply. She’s his nightmare because she stands there, unmoved, while he unravels. Because she proves the hierarchy he believes in is bullshit.

 Because she represents a future that does not ask him for permission, forgiveness, or validation. Trump keeps saying her name because he thinks repetition will make her disappear. Instead, it just makes the record clearer. From “shithole countries” to “garbage people,” from denial to bragging, from coded racism to open contempt, the story never changed. 

The man just stopped pretending. Ilhan Omar doesn’t haunt Trump because she attacks him. She haunts him because she survives him. Because she stands there, elected, unbowed, unafraid, while he keeps circling the same insults like a man pacing at the edge of a bad dream he can’t and won't wake up from.


Monday, December 8, 2025

The Boobie Prize


 

Let’s take a moment, just a brief breath before the nausea kicks in, to marvel at the grotesque spectacle of Donald J. Trump, the self-proclaimed “peace president,” strutting around the Kennedy Center with a fake peace prize draped around his Turkey neck like a third-place ribbon from a county fair hog show.

 Yes, in a moment so tacky it should’ve come with a complementary spray tan and a coupon for hush money, FIFA’s Gianni Infantino presented Trump with an award that is not only fake, but professionally, institutionally, internationally fake, handcrafted for one purpose only: to keep the world’s most fragile ego inflated long enough to cash another check on behalf of his billionaire buddies. 

Infantino, groveling like a man who’d barter his spine for a seat at the grown-ups’ table, actually said:

 “Mr. President, this is your prize, this is your peace prize… you can wear it everywhere you want to go.” 

And of course Trump, the human embodiment of a participation trophy, slapped it on immediately, beaming like a toddler who finally got a sticker for not biting his classmates. Then Infantino read some Hallmark card nonsense about unity and hope, as if invoking dead children and grieving mothers somehow sanctifies giving a fake medal to a man who has spent his entire public life weaponizing cruelty for applause. 

Unity? 

Hope? 

Trump?

 Give me a break. This is the same orange cretin who tears the world apart by breakfast and calls it “leadership.” The same man who would sell peace by the pound if he could skim a finder’s fee off the top. A man whose guiding philosophy is: If it enriches my billionaire friends, it must be good for America. 

My disgust isn’t rooted in politics. It never has been. 

I’m not repelled because you vote red and I vote blue. I don’t think less of you because we disagree on taxes or trade or zoning laws.

 I think less of you because you watched an adult man mock a disabled reporter on live television and called it “refreshing honesty.” I think less of you because you heard him spit racism straight into the microphone and decided that was “telling it like it is.” 

I think less of you because you listened to him advocate for war crimes, for torture, for killing families, and still whispered, “Yes, that’s my guy.” I think less of you because you watched him reduce women to decorative objects, judged solely on appearance, and you nodded along like that was normal. I think less of you because you aligned yourself with cruelty when decency mattered. 

It’s not your politics that are repulsive. It’s your personal willingness to champion a bully, to excuse corruption, to cheer for division and hate because it scratched whatever itch was festering in the dark corners of your conscience. 

You and I won’t be “coming together.” Not forward, not backward, not ever. Not in this lifetime or the next. Trump disgusts me. But what will echo long after his gilded circus collapses is the simple, unforgiving truth: 

He didn’t disgust you. 

And that, that moral void, that ethical vacancy, is what I will remember in perpetuity, long after the fake medals tarnish, long after the grifters scatter, and long after the self-anointed “peace president” finally disappears back into the obscurity he always feared and always deserved. 

-Michael Jochum, Not Just a Drummer: Reflections on Art, Politics, Dogs, and the Human Condition. -Michael Jochum

Thursday, December 4, 2025




KEEPING THE FAITH: RANDOM PRAYERS "ON THE DOWNLOAD"










































































"Mommy, can I go to Timmy's blog and play?"



































Click on image to enlarge for reading






Click on image to enlarge for reading



Click on image to enlarge for reading