not Ok Corral

Sir Sean Connery
Wyatt Earp
Wyatt Earp
In Wichita, Kansas, Wyatt Berry Stapp Earp (Born: March 19, 1848, Monmouth, Illinois, Died: January 13, 1929, Los Angeles, California) was an American Old West gambler, a deputy sheriff in Pima County, and deputy town marshal in Tombstone, Arizona Territory, who took part in the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, during which lawmen killed three outlaw cowboys. | Wyatt Earp, Sheriff, Gambler, Cowboy, Law Enforcement, Police, Old West, O.k. Corral, Kansas,

If they bring a knife, you bring a warm Sun

This just in: NRA upset at media's dubbing Trump Transition as 'knife fight'

Where have you gone, Old West simplicity, our nation turns its bloodshot eyes to you; can you hear it, that latest cover of Paul Simon's seminal tune about loss of innocence in America?

And there's no Mrs. Robinson, a.k.a. Clinton to be found, the latter too busy coo-coo-ca chooing about the cancellation of the wedding of her 'stronger together' plans to America's 'Forward' progress (?). Instead, owing to her serial indiscretions with that icon of millennial demography, Benjamin Braddock. Seems the latter representative refused to more than once be seduced by the cougar of cougars, pants suit and all.

So, here we sit, not unlike the rescued couple, all back of the bus, wondering about what's next.

Oh, to be sure, that Mrs. did her level best to alienate those young ones, Berning with a desire to break away from the plastic (recall that poolside scene of old school advice for Ben about the future) stasis of suburban, alcohol/golf infused America. Happy motoring over, the Alfa-Romeo convertible out of gas, here we are, awake the morning after wondering if we've just traded it in for a future of bus tours of the Trump-eted real estate empire also known as America, and beyond--maybe even Moscow.

To make matters worse, our sacred Second Amendment is, once again, being mistreated, put at risk of banishment if it's up to that meretricious media by which that empire has been held up to ridicule along with its mega-builder President Erect. (No, not a typo, ladies). That's right, there's trouble, right here in our riven city on a hill, where the puerile press has taken to mouthing such phrases as 'knife fight' and 'so's your no plan.' To boot, the Trump-eting music man seems to have convinced his supporters and the inner band of strutters surrounding him in his shiny tower that they can actually play, and to his marching tune. (See: 'Music Man' while you're googling that other film, 'The Graduate').

But it seems that his hit parade ('hit', as in Bann(on)ed) is tens of trombones short, the big 'guns' of expertise having been turned back, their backs now sporting those aforementioned knives.

Yes, we've got trouble, right here, and it's no good looking to Sean Connery's copper in 'The Untouchables', he's retired, and all that's left is Wayne LaPierre wondering angrily how it is that we've only got these lousy knives to rescue us from our not O.K. corral.

For those of calmer wiser bent we'll call upon John Lennon's warning about Mother Superior's jumping of the gun, that Mother being a happy medium between Mother Jones and a warm Sun, under which we hold each other, and warmly.

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Updated Jan 2, 2019 12:27 PM EST | More details


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