Trump Hurls Crap at Supporters

Special Report by Trebor Legov, Abe Milkforce and Stosh Anderson

 

            Milkforce and I snuck into the Trump Rally at Two Forks, Tennessee. We brought Stosh Armstrong with us for protection in case they started throwing punches. Stosh kept a low profile, staying about ten feet behind us in the crowd. It’s not that he wasn’t noticed. It’s hard not to notice a six foot seven Canadian lumberjack with bad teeth and mediocre health. He just kept his distance from us so people wouldn’t think we were together.

Twin Forks, Tennessee, for those who don’t know, is a hotbed of Trump supporters in the southern section of the western part of the Northeastern District of Tennessee. It is anticipated that all their delegates will vote for Trump. We knew we were in for a treat and possibly physical threats. But we never anticipated what actually happened.

In front of the front rows milled the militia, whose duty including protecting Trump from the media and any liberal thugs who crawled in under the edge of the big top. The sawdust on the floor was a nice touch, especially when some of Trump’s supporters had a little too much of the peppermint flavored moonshine for sale at the snack stands. The sawdust absorbed everything and then the clean-up crews swept it up and hauled it away. It also made for a convenient place to throw our peanut shells and rinds. I told Milkforce not to eat the things they referred to as “cracklin’”, but he didn’t listen. When I told him what it was, before it was cracklin’, well, let’s just say that the clean-up crew was on the ball.

            Off to the right of the middle ring, in front of the stands, a brass band dressed in red pinstripes and flat straw hats with red, white and blue ribbons played a non-stop barrage of marching tunes. It really lifted the spirits of the folks there. I have to admit that Milkforce and I were caught up in the martial mood.

When the parade started, we jumped in behind the third elephant, right in front of the half-naked eastern European girls standing on horses. It turns out elephants are no more modest than horses when it comes to certain bodily functions and, once again, Milkforce and I had reason to be thankful for the sawdust covered floors and the clean-up crews. Between the elephants and the horses, they had their hands full.

            At the back of the parade was a rather stubborn donkey. He wore a blond wig and bore on his back a bald clown dressed in a wrinkled and oversized suit. It kept trying to circle clockwise when the rest of us were circling counter-clockwise. Sometimes, it bolted to the front of the line.  

Apparently, the lead elephant was ready to breed (we learned later that her name was Nancy). The donkey ran to the front of the line, jumped up and tried to do his duty. The fact that he was four feet too short didn’t stop him from wearing out the elephant’s back left heel. She had to shake him off a couple of times. At one point, the bald clown on the donkey’s back got stuck under her tail and some other clowns had to pull him out. Everyone, except the skinny bald clown, had a healthy guffaw over that – even the donkey with the blond wig.

            Trump himself straddled Nancy’s neck. Like a good horse, the elephant was sensitive enough to be guided by his knee pressure. No one had explained that to Trump. Every time Trump turned around to wave at the eastern European girls on the horses, Nancy tried to follow his direction and turn around. Her trainer would then have to pull her back to the front of the parade. After the third time, she started to get pissed off. Now, it’s one thing to have a little fun dry humping an elephant like the donkey with the blond wig and bald clown, but you don’t ever want to piss one off because you can’t make up your mind about the direction you want to go.

            Trump inadvertently kept trying to go one way and the elephant the other. It became a battle of wills. Fortunately for Trump, Nancy would not pull her lead rope out of her trainer’s hands. Later we learned from the trainer that while Nancy was a little pig headed, in the end she followed her training. She had learned her lessons well as a young elephant and never challenged authority no matter how mad she got or how stupid the person trying to direct her movements was.

However, she did shake Trump off her back halfway through the second time around the big top. As previously reported, the clean-up crews had their hands full and were very busy. Well, they hadn’t gotten to all of the elephants’ leavings. If you’ve never seen what an elephant leaves behind, well, you’ve missed quite a site.

Nancy twisted and shook her head, and Trump found himself flying through the air. There was a communal scream by the populace who thought their favorite might break his neck. Luckily, his fall was cushioned by a large pile of Nancy’s leavings. Trump fell in head first and was instantly covered from head to toe with the elephant’s excrement. Somehow, this smell was too enticing for the donkey with the blond wig and skinny bald clown on its back to resist. Abandoning all decorum, while Trump was on all fours trying to extract himself from the excrement, the donkey leapt on him with all of the amorous energy it could muster.

Fortunately, there were no shots fired. The militia rushed over from its position between the press and everyone else and were able to discourage the rigidly determined donkey with a fire hose. Said hose was then used to wash down Trump as his adoring fans applauded. It should be noted, to the discouragement of all in opposition to Trump that, in spite of being coated from head to toe with excrement from an elephant and then being soaked to the skin with a fire hose, he never lost his characteristic aplomb nor did his suit lose its crease. His hair, however, appeared to shrink several inches.

We were fortunate enough to be near the spot he landed. I can tell you that upon his revival he pointed to his crowd of fans, smiled and then laughed. They laughed with him. Then he reached down, took a big handful of elephant excrement, wadded it up like a snowball and heaved it at the crowd. He pointed at his advisors and even the militia and ordered them to grab handfuls, too. Eventually, even the clean-up crew joined.

Amid spasms of laughter, Trump and his entire entourage pelted the crowd with elephant excrement balls until all the ammunition was exhausted. I have to admit that Milkforce and I also threw a few “crap balls” at the crowd. Stosh remained his stoic self, refusing to dirty his hands. He watched over us, ready to protect us if needed.

His crowd of supporters was delighted to be covered by so much crap delivered in such a jovial manner and left the Big Top swearing allegiance to Trump. We will continue to report on these rallies and other election highlights right after we take a shower.

 

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Trebor Legov is an undercover investigative journalist. His ability to do his job is based, in some part, on his ability to remain unknown and unnoticed, even in a crowd. He and his team may be contacted only through this website. Please direct all comments to him here as he is generally in the field. He prides himself in responding to his fans within three to six months at the latest.

A Princess Died

 

 

By Robert L. Vogel – in response to the senseless slaughter of a Navajo Woman in Winslow Arizona on Easter Sunday, 2016

 

A Princess of the People died in the Dismal Swamp today,

lost among the rot, dead trees and odorous decay.

Lost on the trails that twist through the darkness,

lost on the pathways that bear no promise,

a twisted maze where truth is a lie,

and the lies are as many as gnats in the sky.

 

Deep into the demon infested decay

she wandered, unguided, her soul at bay,

beleaguered by hounds on her heels

chasing her down to capture and steel

her soul lost on the twisted pathways, amid the dismal

waters of the festering swamp, the abysmal

creation of their demonic imagination

where they are sure all want inauguration

and participation.

 

It was sad to see

the dogs tear her down, when she was free,

they bound her, took her spirit, her rights,

tortured her, denied her even the light,

left her lost and alone, until she had to fight,

her spirit had to take flight,

her talon bared at her enemy’s face

was all the power she could embrace.

 

On that day, the demon’s power was greater.

He unleashed thunderbolts that tore into her,

smashed through her from outside in,

left her crumpled and destroyed, no sin,

just her talon bared and anger in her eye,

the face of a Princess, the Eagle’s defiant cry,

left by a swamp demon on the sacred earth,

whose fear can’t justify her tragic death.

 

Just one more princess who’s life the demons’ tore

away, just one more soul lost in a spiritual war,

The Spirits of those slaughtered first,

come to gather her up, to prepare her for rebirth.

The demons shudder at what is to come soon,

when their doleful swamp finally falls to ruin.

Goodbye now, Princess, it is well to mourn you,

To the Spirit and the Light we will ever be true.

 

 

Veterans Day 2014

On Veterans Day 2014

 

Hot led balls from volleys of musket fire rip through the lines,

men fall on either side, some scream at the searing pain,

cannonballs tear arms and legs from bodies,

faces you know vaporize, still you struggle on,

 

across battlefields, through bayous, across plains and deserts,

freedom secured here, now go, into tropical mush

where malaria rises like steam, out across the world,

where screaming men thrust steel into your hearts,

 

cavalry charges give way to rolling tanks, rolling thunder

and thunder from the skies, death from above and

death from the juggernauts at sea, defiant, adamant,

you own the waves, the air, the land, in the name of hope,

 

freedom, of the people, by the people, for the people,

don't lose hope when the people don't remember,

they do, some do, enough to stand up, salute,

enough to shake your hand and say thank you.

 

 

Robert L. Vogel

Knoxville, Veterans' Day 2014

 

 

Writing in the Moment - Sculpting the Elephant

"Did you ever hear a guy telling a long wild tale to a bunch of men in a bar and all are listening and smiling, did you ever hear that guy stop to revise himself, go back to a previous sentence to improve it, to defray its rhythmic thought impact?" — Jack Kerouac on writing in the moment.

I'm not a planner. I hate control so much that when I make my own list of to do's, I avoid it. Over the years, I've had many teachers and fellow writers who talk about outlining their plot, building the novel planned piece by planned piece.

I've written all my life, but in the last two years, I've finished two novels and am revising them now. I have a third underway. What has inspired me is learning to allow my characters to tell the story. Rather than be a puppeteer who hopes that no one notices the strings - or the man behind the curtain exposed by the little dog, I try to let the story evolve and grow as the characters evolve and grow.

I recently read Stephen King's book "On Writing. I highly recommend it to all of you. He talks about putting characters into a situation and seeing what they do and writing it down. When I read that, a chime went off in my head. I do that. And the more I do that, the better my story becomes.  I may go as far as thinking about a thumbnail sketch of what happens next, but I never do more than announce to my characters that this is next obstacle you will have to overcome if you want to reach your goal.

I do have a fairly clear picture of what my character wants to accomplish by the end of the story. However, how he gets there, and how I might get there, how Dorothy would get there, or how any other character I've ever created would get there are all different matters.

For me, this is where the joy in the creative process comes from. I can get lost in these events as they happen for hours at a time. Mornings, afternoons and evenings disappear as I watch characters emerge as people and the people make their own decisions about what they should do and why.

The crafting process - which is how I think of editing. Has become a pleasure, too. When I go back, I can sculpt the raw scene and make it look more and more truthful for my character. I can take away the flaws that popped up through my inaccurate fingers. If I allow the character and his  purpose to remain true - real - truthful - then the story emerges as I cut out the stuff that doesn't belong.

I think of the editing process in terms of an old joke I heard:

"Do you know how to sculpt an elephant?"
"How?"
"Get a big block of stone and chip away anything that doesn't look like an elephant."

That's how I approach the crafting process, but only after the story is written - only after I possess the big block of stone.

Bob Vogel
Knoxville
October 5, 2014

Great Article - a writer walks into a bar - and he stays

http://www.themillions.com/2014/09/a-writer-walks-into-a-bar-and-stays.html

An American Beauty

 

 

She curves with feline grace and evokes

pangs of painful passion so powerful

the boys don't see her face and bushy hair

on steamy dark nights on lonely roads back seat, front seat,

it's always the same, and some come back, steadies;

but no parties, ever, no bright lights, no people gaily dressed,

no wedding receptions with tossed bouquets and white garters,

no church pot luck dinners or a cousin's backyard barbeque;

but sometimes in the shadowed huddles of a crowded bar,

the swill and smell of spilled beer in the back corner,

on a date, she lets them touch her, sometimes more than one,

she lets them; her father told her she took after her aunt,

his ugly sister, right before he left forever, her mother

told her makeup might help and low cut dresses, short skirts;

but the boys like her in the swirling maelstrom of lights,

in the far corner on the small stage she dances,

and sometimes she lets them touch her, and the pills help,

and she prays her baby girl will be pretty.

 

 

Robert L. Vogel

Knoxville, 2014

Testimony = a poem by Bob Vogel

Testimony

 

You know, I am a sinner.

And, don’t hear, “too” at the end of that

I am a sinner, but yes,

Like you.  Everyday, I am a sinner.

 

It makes me sad,

To be, because I want not to be

A sinner, like me, everyday, but how,

To be free, I know, really, I do.

 

But first, I must also tell you

That just because free is there

Does not allow me to go and do

What I do that I don’t want to

 

Oh, no, no, I do it in spite

Of the fact that I know better,

What I’ll say in a moment

Will set you free but it is not

 

A permanent hall pass, a get out

Of jail free card, the short line,

The lottery ticket, ace in the hole,

The whole enchilada, oh no, no

 

Because like all things, you know

For every action there is an equal

An opposite reaction, its not just true

In the physical world, God

 

Is consistent: things fall down when dropped,

Hands are slapped away from the cookie jar,

Ripples roll away from a pebble dropped in a pond,

Hate begets hate, gossip begets gossip, death begets death,

 

Truth is that truth is best and, sin

When confessed can be washed away,

I told you I would tell you how,

So, yes, washed away, and its free

 

Yes, its free, you can’t earn it, buy it,

Rent it, or pay it off, but there is a late fee,

That someone you don’t want to meet

Will collect after you die

 

Sorry, but you needed to know

It all, before you know the final truth

That your sin, like mine, can be washed away

And faith in Jesus Christ can save

 

Even me, so certainly, you, and He loves

Even me, so certainly, you, and can you just

Be loved? Can you just let Him love you?

Its okay, you deserve it.

 

I know, it doesn’t feel that way.

It feels like we are wayward children

Whose father would not forgive us

Even if we went to him to ask

 

Because we have done so many bad things

We can’t think of the bad things

Without feeling bad, so we try to hide

Us and them from Him: but don’t.

 

Really, you can’t, anyway.  If He is real,

And He is, He can see all things, so,

It is futile to hide what is already seen,

Just confess it and let it go.

 

And, if you were in front of your father now

And he knew all the bad things you did

Would you not go down on your knees in tears

And beg his forgiveness and, if you did…

 

Wouldn’t he forgive?  It is the same.

God forgives, just tell Him you want it

And why you need it and, it is okay to cry,

Because it hurts but it’s a happy

 

Hurt the kind of hurt that clears you head

And heart and life from burdens and you

Suddenly feel like you can jump up and run

And laugh, while the tears dry on your cheeks

 

So, go ahead, and cry and then laugh

Dance and celebrate, for as you are faithful

To confess, He is faithful to forgive,

Both of us, He is, and does, thankfully, Amen.