Tuesday, August 20, 2019

It's a Hard Knock Life

When I was in my twenties a co-worker told me the captivating story of where he was when Elvis died. Former co-worker had purchased tickets to an upcoming Elvis concert which did not occur due to the untimely death of Elvis. His dumbfounded response to the news of the King's death was, “But I have tickets...” I was about to ask if he got a refund when he asked me if I remembered where I was when Elvis died. I said, “I don't remember where I was, but I'm sure I shit my pants. Because I was four months old.” Former co-worker then got all kinds of mopey because I made him feel old. And he'd been mourning the loss of Elvis for twenty five years.

I miss the days when being born the same year Elvis died meant I was young. However, it does mean I always know how long Elvis has been dead. Which is forty two years for the record. Knowing this leads me to wonder why Trump awarded Elvis with the Presidential Medal of Freedom late last year. He also awarded Babe Ruth, who I believe has been dead longer than Elvis. But I'm not sure because Babe Ruth didn't die the year I was born.

To be fair he did award some living people. Like Orrin Hatch who won’t drop dead despite my repeated pleas for him to do so. And someone like Orrin Hatch, who won't die already, showed up to receive his award from Trump because it’s his only chance to receive such an honor. Because who the fuck else would give Orrin Hatch an award? You know, unless the senate gives out certificates of participation. 

Anyway, living entertainers and athletes probably would have boycotted the awards. At least, the A-list ones would have. I’m sure he could have booked appearances by Kid Rock or the non-Alec Baldwin who’s a super Christian Trump supporter. Stephen maybe? The one who’s decided dick riding Trump is a better career move than riding Alec’s coattails. It’s not. If it were I would have gone to the effort of Googling him to make sure I’m talking about the right Baldwin. He’s not worth a Google. 

Regardless, I'm assuming that's why Trump chose to award dead entertainers and athletes. And I find Elvis to be the most fascinating dead choice Trump made.

You may be thinking to yourself, “Donna, why are you talking about Baldwins and Elvis when there are much more important matters to discuss? Trump is still forcibly orphaning children and locking them in cages.” Don’t be so fucking impatient. I’m building to a point.

Remember how Trump avoided the draft because his foot hurt or something? Excuse me, I mean, because he was rich and his foot hurt or something. Elvis was drafted shortly after hitting it big and becoming a rock star. Although no one knew to call him a rock star because that phrase hadn't been invented yet. Instead of using his fame and fortune to avoid the draft, Elvis walked away from his career for two years while he served in the U.S. Army. People with only a passive interest in Elvis believe this is because he was super patriotic or because the fifties was a simpler time when people didn't dodge the draft. But hardcore Elvis fans know the real reason Elvis wasn't a draft dodger. And that reason was Colonel Tom Parker. 

Most people know about Elvis and the Colonel, however, if you're very young or simply never cared, I'll break it down for you. The Colonel was a dirty carnie who first saw a teenage Elvis playing state fairs and crap like that. Girls went crazy for Elvis because he was hot and he could kind of sing. The Colonel quickly realized he could cash in on this young hick who was hot and could kind of sing. The Colonel convinced Elvis he should manage his career, which he did until the day Elvis died in 1977 of either a heart attack, an overdose, or constipation.

Through all those years Elvis was the Colonel's only client and the Colonel totally ripped him off. He took half of his money and made all kinds of side deals so he could make money off of Elvis without actually having to pay Elvis. Basic dirty carnie stuff. He was still pulling this shit after Elvis died. The Colonel sold stolen Elvis property back to the Presley family. 

This brings us back to the fifties and the draft notice that took away the Colonel's only source of income for two years. It was the Colonel who insisted Elvis report for duty and not try to dodge the draft. It was the Colonel who insisted Elvis donate his entire army pay to charity. You may be wondering why a dirty carnie who literally stole from a dead man would be willing to lose his cash cow for such a long period of time. The Colonel didn't want the government poking around in his business. Because Colonel Tom Parker wasn't a colonel and his name wasn't Tom Parker. His name was Andreas Cornelis van Kuijk and he was an illegal immigrant. And no one knew until he died in 1997.

Despite his celebrity status and weird accent, the Colonel managed to keep his immigrant status secret. I'm assuming because he was white. I've never heard of anyone wanting to build a wall to keep the Dutch out. Although, we may want to consider it. There is speculation the Colonel fled the Netherlands because he was the suspect of a murder. 

To this very day, we all know the name Elvis Presley due to the shady actions of one Colonel Tom Parker, aka Andreas Cornelis van Kuijk. By awarding the Presidential Medal of Freedom to Elvis Presley, Donald Trump endorsed the conduct of Colonel Tom Parker, who is quite possibly the most successful illegal immigrant in U.S. history. And possibly a murderer. But definitely a dirty carnie.

And with that ostentatious display of Trump’s immigration hypocrisy, I shall now address the plight of babies in cages.

Sarah Fabian is an attorney for the Office of Immigration Litigation. A video of Sarah ineffectively arguing against the benefits of providing soap to forcibly orphaned immigrant children went viral last month. A link to the video was sent to me by a friend, along with a two word directive: Finish Her.

Now please excuse me while I finish the bitch.

Dear Sarah,

Was your mother one of those teen moms who gave birth in a bathroom stall, then dropped you in a Dumpster so she could go back to the prom? Then Baby Sarah was discovered by a janitor and dropped off at a fire station, where you were then turned over to foster care, then went through a series of trailer trash foster parents like the girl in “White Oleander?” Because that’s the only reasonable scenario I can come up with to explain how you turned out so cartoonishly evil.

Or are you just terminally fucking stupid? Who thinks to cover children in aluminum foil? Did you just confuse where you heard the aluminum foil idea? Like maybe your mother, or trailer trash foster parent, said something to you about aluminum foil once and you were only half listening, and what you thought were childcare instructions were actually directions for baking a casserole.

Or perhaps you’re just greedy and selfish. Are you afraid the price of soap and toothbrushes will cut into your six figure salary? This is the richest nation in the world and we can’t buy a toothbrush? Dentists are literally giving them away. I’m past due for a cleaning. My dentist is seriously stalking me. I’m sure I could negotiate a handful a toothbrushes in exchange for allowing the dentist to remove my plaque as he so desperately desires.

You can’t provide better sleeping conditions for children than concrete floors accompanied by florescent lighting? Dog beds is a thriving industry in this nation for fuck’s sake.

Speaking of dogs, you feckless cunt, this isn’t the first time you’ve made the news for something stupidly cruel. Last summer you were supposed to appear in court for litigation on the reunification of families separated at the border. You told a federal judge you were unavailable because you had to go to Colorado to dog sit. Children in your care died while you were taking care of someone else’s dog. So in addition to this pile of child murdering bullshit you’ve created, I have to worry about the dog’s safety as well.

Eight year-olds are changing diapers. When a second grader recognizes the immediate needs of a baby and you don’t, it should really suggest to you that you’re in the wrong line of work. Although, I don’t know what line of work is good for a child neglecting, dog abusing, senseless, self-indulgent, waste of a human organism her white trash mother should have aborted with a rusty coat hanger.

Warm Wishes,
Donna Troy

I know the rusty coat hanger thing may be a bit harsh, but Sarah throws infants in cages to die in their own filth. She may get her feelings hurt, but to quote the First Lady’s wardrobe, “I really don’t care. Do you?”

Namaste, Bitches

Wednesday, August 14, 2019

What White Nonsense Is This?

My Twitter account was temporarily suspended because I called Bill O’Reilly a cracker-ass cracker. To be fair, I knew I was violating Twitter rules. However, knowing this racist sex offender is free to roam the earth violates my rules.

Also, it’s kind of hysterical that I, a middle-aged white lady, had my account suspended for using a derogatory term for white people.

Anyway, I called the racist sex offender a cracker-ass cracker because he tweeted this:

I replied several times with images of Trump’s racist tweets. I have a file full of them for just such an occasion. 

I called Bill a cunt in one of the trolling replies I posted. That tweet is still live on Twitter while the cracker-ass cracker tweet has been removed.

You may be wondering why cracker-ass cracker is worse than cunt. It’s not. Twitter is a cracker-ass cunt. Case in point:  They haven’t suspended Trump’s Twitter account and I have a file full of his racist tweets. And I report that racist sex-offending cracker-ass cracker for violating Twitter rules all the time. 

I know it was probably a Fox News viewer/cracker-ass cracker who reported my tweet, but I choose to believe that Bill himself read it and I got under his skin. That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. In fact, it made me feel so good I logged into one of my other Twitter accounts and continued trolling Bill O’Reilly. I will not be silenced by a sex offending cracker-ass cracker.

Nor will I be outsmarted by something called Twitter. Therefore, I shall continue to use the term, cracker-ass cracker, with wild abandon in this blog. Then I shall tweet a link to this blog for all the Twitterverse to see. Suck on that, Twitter, you cracker-ass cracker.

Now let us take a look at some of the greatest cracker-ass cracker moments in Bill O’Reilly history.

Bill O’Reilly on Trayvon Martin: “The reason Trayvon Martin died is because he looked a certain way. It wasn’t based on skin color, if Trayvon Martin had been wearing a jacket…and a tie…I don’t think George Zimmerman would have had any problem with him. And that way is how “gangstas” look and therefore he got attention.”

Please excuse me while I write an open letter to Bill O’Reilly.

Dear Cracker-Ass Cracker,

I don’t know a single teenage boy of any race who would be wearing a jacket and tie while hanging out in his own backyard. You can’t shoot someone for wearing a hoodie. That is not justifiable homicide.

You also can’t shoot someone for looking “gangsta.” Imagine if we started shooting people who look “rapey.” You are a known sex offender so you’ve got that rapey look about you. You might want to think that through before you advocate shooting people based on their looks.

Also, don’t say “gangstas” because it makes you sound like a cracker-ass cracker.

Warm Wishes,
Donna Troy

Bill O’Reilly on Rape Victims: In 2006, O’Reilly referred to an 18-year-old rape and murder victim, as “moronic” for getting her car towed in New York City while she was drunk. He said, “She was 5-foot-2, 105 pounds, wearing a miniskirt and a halter top with a bare midriff. Now, again, there you go. So every predator in the world is gonna pick that up at two in the morning.”

Please excuse me while I write an open letter to Bill O’Reilly.

Dear Cracker-Ass Cracker,

Where were you at two in the morning on the night in question?

I find your detailed description of the victim combined with your bizarre need to defend the rapist quite suspect. And, of course, the peculiar way you defended the murderer of Trayvon Martin isn’t helping your case. And also, as I’ve previously established, you are a rapey sex offender. You better have a solid alibi because I intend to troll you on Twitter until you confess, you cracker-ass cracker.

Good Luck,
Donna Troy

Bill O’Reilly on Bill O’Reilly, Sex Offender: “You know, am I mad at God? Yeah, I’m mad at him. I wish I had more protection. I wish this stuff didn’t happen. I can’t explain it to you. Yeah, I’m mad at him.”

Please excuse me while I write an open letter to Bill O’Reilly.

Dear Cracker-Ass Cracker,

I’m not a religious person, but I was quite perplexed as to why you expected some mystical supreme being to protect you from the consequences of your own actions. Therefore, I decided to ask God what would lead a rapey cracker-ass cracker to believe he was entitled to special godly protection.

Much to my surprise, a voice in my head replied to my query. I don’t know if the voice was God or my own imagination, but let’s just say it was God.

First of all, you should know God is a woman. I know this for a fact because her voice sounds exactly like mine. And she was kind of pissed that you kept referring to her as a him. She was all like, “I know Bill is a white man in America, but not all powerful beings are white men. And he needs to know that.”

And then God said unto me, “Donna, you and I both know Bill O’Reilly is kind of a rapey prick and a total cracker-ass cracker. You were right to call him that and I’m more powerful than Twitter, so you’re good. My job as God is to protect the victims of Bill O’Reilly, not the sex offender, Bill O’Reilly. Bill was a rapey prick to a considerable amount of women and he comes crying to me because he lost his job. I’m all like, dude did a lot of nasty things and he still gets to be a rich white man in America. He needs to stop whining like a little bitch or I shall hail my wrath upon or something all vengeful God-like. And he needs to know that.”

Then I thanked God for taking the time to answer my question because I know she’s really busy with all your victims. But now you know why God didn’t protect you. I hope this clears things up for you, you cracker-ass cracker.

Kind Regards,
Donna Troy

Moving on to other cracker-ass crackers, last week I was in West Virginia visiting family. My sister and I were traveling along Route 7 when we saw this sign in a yard.

We found this most ridiculous as Route 7 is literally in the middle of nowhere. And I’m not exaggerating. The people who live there have to drive an hour just to buy groceries. Or maybe they just fry up some roadkill. I don’t know. Anyway, I’m completely baffled as to why the Route 7 people want or need the wall. Hispanics make up one percent of the population of West Virginia. And that’s rounding up. Even if that percentage was higher the Route 7 people have nothing to worry about. People who come to America looking for a better life aren’t going to find it on Route 7 frying up roadkill.

Continuing down the road, we came across an area where someone actually mowed, “TRUMP 2020” into the hillside. I made my sister pull over so I could get a picture. I didn’t think anyone would believe it if I didn’t have photographic evidence. I don’t know if there’s anything more cracker-ass crackerly than using a riding mower to make a political statement.

This brings me to my sister’s run in with a distant cousin. Though I doubt said cousin will ever read this I’m changing her name to avoid a family feud. I shall hereinafter refer to her as Rae Rae.

Rae Rae: Where are you living now?

Sis: Ashburn, VA

Rae Rae: We lived in Manassas for three years. I hated it there because of all the Mexicans. Well, I don’t have to tell you. You know what they’re like.

Sis: No. I don’t. What are they like?

Rae Rae: Well, I was at the laundromat one time and there were about seven of them in there. And they kept trying to talk to me.

And that is Rae Rae’s entire issue with the Mexicans of Manassas. Seriously. That’s the whole story.

Now please excuse me while I write an open letter to the Mexicans of the Manassas laundromat.

Dear Mexicans of the Manassas Laundromat,

I’m sorry my white trash cracker-ass cracker cousin mistook your genuine friendliness for an act of aggression.

Also, I know there’s a better than average chance you’re not even Mexican. My white trash cracker-ass cracker cousin assumes all brown people are Mexican.

So, just deepest apologies for my white trash cousin’s cracker-ass cracker ways to all people who frequent the Manassas laundromat.

Warm Regards,
Donna Troy

Namaste, Bitches


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