. . . when people start asking for their gifts back, because you no longer deserve them. And when that gift is . . . well . . . this:

. . . then you begin to realize that you are indeed in deep:

At a rally on Sunday, French member of the European Parliament Raphael Glucksmann — representing a left-wing party known as Place Publique — said that some Americans “have chosen to switch to the side of the tyrants.” [Jack Guy, CNN, March 18, 2025.] He then suggested:

“Give us back the Statue of Liberty. It was our gift to you. But apparently you despise her.” [Id.]

Oh, dear!

“Lady Liberty,” as she is often called, is one of the most recognizable monuments in the world. She was a gift of friendship from France to America in 1886, and represents Libertas, the Roman goddess of liberty. For nearly a century and a half, she has welcomed refugees and emigres from around the world fleeing oppression and seeking a better life — including my grandparents.

As every school child of my generation learned, there is a bronze plaque mounted inside the statue’s pedestal containing an engraving of Emma Lazarus’ poem, “The New Colossus,” which reads in part:

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

For five generations, those words have inspired millions to believe in America as the land of opportunity. And indeed, that is the America in which I grew up.

But the world today is watching Donald Trump, in a xenophobic frenzy that defies comprehension, destroy all that is best in this country — not merely closing the doors to new arrivals, but unilaterally revoking the status of thousands who are already here legally. And in that sense, I couldn’t blame the French government if it were to decide to listen to M. Glucksmann and attempt to bring Lady Liberty back to France.

Still, we cannot let that happen. To do so would be to admit that Donald Trump’s madness is representative of the entire nation, when we know that is not true.

Obviously, the White House had to respond to the hand-slap from M. Glucksmann. But . . . in a statement issued on Monday by the 27-year-old so-called White House press secretary, Karoline Leavitt . . . it was done in a manner that served only to reinforce France’s opinion of us:

“My advice to that unnamed low-level French politician would be to remind them that it’s only because of the United States of America that the French are not speaking German right now, so they should be very grateful to our great country,” she said. [Id.]

Well, I have a few words of advice for Ms. Leavitt: First, apologize for the “unnamed low-level French politician” insult; you sound too much like your boss, which is about as low-level as you can get. Second, get your facts straight — the politician wasn’t unnamed; his name is Raphael Glucksmann.

Third, be careful. Your references to M. Glucksmann as “them” and “they” sound disturbingly like pronouns approved by proponents of DEI. A lot of people have recently lost their jobs over less.

And last, but definitely not least, it wasn’t the United States alone that was responsible for defeating the Nazis in World War II. If you’ve read your history, you might recall that we had a bit of help from our allies, who had already fought for two long years before we even joined the battle. And may I remind you of the contributions and sacrifices of the French Resistance . . . ?

Naturally, M. Glucksmann could not let Ms. Leavitt’s unforgivably rude comment pass unanswered. He came back with a statement of continuing gratitude to those U.S. forces who fought in the war, but then contrasted those actions with Trump’s recent treatment of Ukraine and his friendship with Vladimir Putin:

“The America of these heroes fought against tyrants, it did not flatter them. It was the enemy of fascism, not the friend of Putin. It helped the resistance and didn’t attack Zelensky.

“It is precisely because I am petrified by Trumps [sic] betrayal that I said yesterday in a rally that we could symbolically take back the Statue of Liberty if your government despised everything it symbolizes in your eyes, ours, and those of the world.

“No one, of course, will come and steal the Statue of Liberty. The statue is yours. But what it embodies belongs to everyone.

“And if the free world no longer interests your government, then we will take up the torch, here in Europe.” [Id.]

Well said, M. Glucksmann. Well said indeed.

*. *. *

If I am beginning to sound like someone who doesn’t love my country, that is most assuredly not the case. I am, and always have been, proud and glad to be an American . . . but a citizen of the real America, and not the bastardized version of it being created by Donald Trump, by the South African immigrant Elon Musk, and by all of their mindless sycophants.

No one — least of all, yours truly — knows what the next few years will bring. But on behalf of my fellow Americans — those of us who truly love our country as it has always been — I beseech the world to stick with us and help us to stay the course. It’s only for another three years and ten months.

But who’s counting?

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
3/20/25

On the lighter side of the news today, it is my pleasure to present to you New Zealand’s Fish of the Year for 2025: the Blobfish.

In 2013, it was dubbed the world’s ugliest animal and installed as mascot for the Ugly Animal Preservation Society.

(I’m not sure I entirely agree with the “ugliest” description, having also just found this photo of a Naked Mole Rat. But I suppose it’s all subjective.)

Anyway, we’re talking about fish, not rodents. So, back to The Blob From Beneath the Sea.

Apparently, when in its natural habitat some 2,000-4,000 feet (600-1,200 meters) underwater, where the pressure is 60 to 120 times greater than at sea level, it takes on the recognizable shape of a fish, approximately 12 inches (30 cm.) in length. But because it is basically a gelatinous mass with very little muscle, at sea level it becomes . . . well . . . a blob.

And here is a rare photo of the only known blobfish in captivity, dubbed simply “Bob” . . . apparently taken on a day when he has chosen not to shave. Actually, he reminds me a bit of a blind date from my much younger days, whom I had chosen to banish from memory until I laid eyes on Bob . . . but that’s a whole other issue, and I’ll deal with it.

I have no idea why the lovely people of New Zealand decided to elect a Fish of the Year, but I suspect it’s a natural outgrowth of their love and respect for nature, as they also have a Bird of the Year event. And they’re quite passionate about the whole thing.

In this year’s contest, second place was awarded to the orange roughy, a deep-sea fish in the slimehead family, known for the mucous canals on their heads. (Oh . . . yecchhh!)

According to Kim Jones, co-director of the Mountains to Sea Conservation Trust, it was “a battle of the deep sea forget-me-nots . . . a battle of two quirky deep sea critters, with the blobfish’s unconventional beauty helping get voters over the line.” [Koh Ewe, BBC News, March 19, 2025.]

Proving, once again, that “beauty” truly is in the eye of the beholder.

Anyway, it seems that a couple of local radio station hosts — Sarah Gandy and Paul Flynn — began a campaign for the blobfish, telling listeners that “We need the blobfish to win.”

And when it did emerge victorious, Gandy and Flynn had this to say:

“The blobfish had been sitting patiently on the ocean floor, mouth open waiting for the next mollusc [sic] to come through to eat. He has been bullied his whole life and we thought, ‘Stuff this, it’s time for the blobfish to have his moment in the sun,’ and what a glorious moment it is!” [Id.]

I’m not sure what an actual moment in the sun would do to the deep-water blob’s anatomy, but they were obviously speaking rhetorically. And I’m very happy for them, and for all of the Blobsters in New Zealand.

*. *. *

And while writing this, I was reminded of an experience of my own with what I had — until now — considered the world’s ugliest fish: the Arctic Char.

I realize that this guy doesn’t hold a candle to Bob the Blob in the ugliness department. But try to picture it dead, covered head-to-tail in coarse salt and hot off the grill, staring sightlessly up from a platter with a garnish of lemon slices and sprigs of parsley. Take it from me, it ain’t a pretty sight.

I was dining with a group in a lovely seafood restaurant in downtown Washington, D.C. a number of years ago, when I saw something on the menu that was entirely new to me: Arctic Char. I asked the waiter what it was, and he described a firm-fleshed fish, pink in color, similar to salmon but milder. Being a salmon lover, I immediately ordered it, picturing a lovely grilled fillet bathed in a lemon-butter sauce.

When our orders arrived, I was engaged in conversation with the person seated to my right as the waiter placed my serving in front of me from the left. I turned to look at the plate, and — as is my unfortunate tendency — spontaneously blurted out without thinking:

“Holy shit! What the hell is that??!!!”

And the whole restaurant went silent.

Dead silent.

As I tried to compose myself, muttering “Sorry,” I took in the view in front of me of the aforedescribed monstrosity . . . which appeared to be daring me to attack it with a knife and fork. And all I could think was that it would probably take a bite out of my arm if I tried.

I was rescued by the quick-thinking waiter, who removed the platter and — thank the merciful gods — began very skillfully to behead, skin and debone the beast, finally presenting me with the fillet I had originally anticipated.

I never understood why I first had to undergo shock treatment, but I can tell you that that creature from the Blue Lagoon (or wherever) was worth it. It turned out to be one of the most delicious — and memorable — meals I have ever eaten.

And everyone in the restaurant had a story to tell at work the next day about the crazy lady with the uncontrolled tongue, and the ugliest fish they’d ever seen.

*. *. *

Which brings me back to the even uglier subject of this monologue: Bob. In my research today, I have not seen a single mention of whether the blobfish is actually edible by humans. I doubt it, considering its inconvenient location and the descriptions of its “gelatinous mass.”

And frankly, I hope it isn’t. With all of the bullying to which it has been subjected, it deserves — at the very least — to be left in peace.

So enjoy your year of reign as the best in show, Bob. You’ve earned it.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
3/19/25

One of the best things about birthdays is hearing from old friends who, because of distance, aren’t in touch as often as we’d like. And I heard from a bunch of them yesterday.

Yes, it was my birthday . . . and no, I’m not going to tell the world how old I am. Let’s just say I’m at that age when reminiscing becomes more difficult — not because I can’t remember, but because so many of the people with whom I shared those years have already passed on.

But they’re not all gone, and those who are still around showed up yesterday, either by email, text or phone call . . . and quite a few through the magic of Facebook.

One even called on Monday to apologize for being a day late. I could almost see her over the phone, blushing like the proverbial blushing bride (is that still a thing?), when I told her she was actually a day early. Then we talked for a half hour about what we’d done during the weeks since we’d last chatted, but mostly about things like ninth grade English class and our very first airplane trips.

At 8:20 a.m. on Tuesday (my actual birthday), my phone rang. I knew it wasn’t a family member, because they all know I’m a night owl and they must never call before noon unless someone has died or is about to. When I looked at my phone, I saw that it was a dear friend of nearly 40 years’ standing who now lives overseas, but happened to be in the U.S. this week. That was another 20-minute call, after which I had a hard time getting back to sleep, though I finally did . . . just in time for my daughter to call and wake me again.

And so the day went. Spent some time in the afternoon with a local friend, then family time in the evening with gifts and cake (just a few candles, thank you).

When all was finally quiet, and I was the only one in the house still awake, I began thinking back on all those old friendships, the innocent fun of the school years, the jobs, the travels, the years of raising children . . . and I realized that it’s not my (or anyone’s) imagination. Those of us who have lived for more than half — all right, three-fourths — of a century really did live in better times.

The world of, say, the 1950s wasn’t perfect; it never has been, and never will be. But we danced the jitterbug at school sock hops, gathered at local soda shops and pizza parlors, and read the latest movie magazines. We didn’t have Google, or Siri, or computers with spell check; so we did our homework by hand, often at the library. We belonged to the “Y” (YMCA and YWCA), and vied to make it into the Honor Society in high school. For spending money, we mowed lawns, washed cars, and babysat with other people’s children. And we knew that, when the school years were behind us, we would find good jobs in whatever field we had chosen to pursue.

We had journalists who reported the news without skewing it toward their own viewpoints. We had honor, respect and patriotism, and faith in the future.

*. *. *

What we didn’t have then were things like rampant bullying, drugs, police officers and metal detectors in our schools and churches, people shooting each other over ridiculous differences of opinion. And we didn’t have a government trying to destroy all of the good things that our parents and grandparents had worked so hard to create.

So, am I glad to be the age that I am? In all honesty, I’d like to be able to reclaim my youthful vigor, perfect health, and shiny hair. Who wouldn’t? But I will forever be thankful to have been young at the time that I was, and to have known the innocence of those years.

They really were the good old days.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
3/19/25

Well, the long-awaited phone call took place today as scheduled, and after more than 90 minutes of back-and-forth, the result is . . .

“We’ll talk some more.”

That’s oversimplification, of course. But — as anticipated — Putin gave up practically nothing when he agreed to call a 30-day halt to strikes on Ukraine’s energy sector and infrastructure. That is not the cease-fire that Trump was proposing; there is still plenty left for Russia to aim at, such as residential and commercial buildings, churches, schools, historical monuments, and individual civilians walking along the street.

On March 16th, I predicted that Trump’s post-call statements would be — my exact words — “We had a really good, really productive call. I am really very optimistic . . . really.”

In his actual comments on his Truth Social platform today, he described the call as — his exact words — “very good and productive.” [RFE/RL, March 18, 2025.]

No, I don’t claim to be psychic; he’s just so predictable in some ways.

He did go on to say, “We agreed to an immediate Ceasefire on all Energy and Infrastructure, with an understanding that we will be working quickly to have a Complete Ceasefire and, ultimately, an END to this very horrible War between Russia and Ukraine. Many elements of a Contract for Peace were discussed, including the fact that thousands of soldiers are being killed, and both President Putin and President Zelenskyy would like to see it end.” [Id.]

I’m sure he’s right about Zelensky wanting to stop the carnage; but Putin . . . well, that’s a whole different story. Because he immediately came forward with his usual litany of requirements, including an end to all military aid and intelligence sharing on Ukraine’s behalf, abandonment of Ukraine’s goal of joining NATO and/or the European Union, and a prohibition against all military presence in Ukraine from any NATO or NATO-friendly country.

Of course, Russia’s not being a member of NATO would leave the door wide open for their troops to set up camp wherever and whenever they choose, on one pretense or another.

The statement from the Kremlin included the following:

“It was emphasized that the key condition for preventing the escalation of the conflict and working towards its resolution through political and diplomatic means should be the complete cessation of foreign military aid and the provision of intelligence information to Kyiv.” They also said that peace talks would need “to take into account the absolute need to eliminate the root causes of the crisis, and Russia’s legitimate interests in the area of security.” [Id.]

In other words, the bully takes all.

*. *. *

Meanwhile, back at the war, Ukrainian President Zelensky reported continued attacks on infrastructure, including at least 40 drone strikes today alone.

So what did the marathon phone call accomplish? Thus far, it seems to be little more than an agreement to continue discussions.

Whoop-de-doo!

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
3/18/25

If he were speaking Russian instead of Hungarian, you would think you were listening to a speech by Vladimir Putin. But the inflammatory words were issuing from the lips of Hungary’s Prime Minister, Viktor Orban, reiterating his hard-line stance on what he calls a “shadow army” of political opponents and others allegedly working for foreign powers.

He compared his detractors to “insects [that have] survived for too long.” And he accused “politicians, judges, journalists, pseudo-NGOs and political activists [of taking] corrupt dollars” at the country’s expense, vowing to “eliminate the entire shadow army.” [Hanne Cokelaere, Politico, March 15, 2025.]

He also went on to reinforce his opposition to any further aid being given to the defense of Ukraine, or its consideration for entry into NATO or the EU:

“The rulers of Europe decided that Ukraine must continue the war at all costs, and it will get a fast EU membership in exchange, using our money. We can only have one answer to that: a Union but without Ukraine.” [Id.]

*. *. *

Orban’s sharp right turn toward Russia has been obvious for some time. But, since the last election in Hungary that returned his Fidesz Party to power, opposition has been growing, led by the Tisza party, ironically headed by a former Orban ally, Peter Magyar. On Saturday, some 50,000 backers of Tisza rallied in the capital city of Budapest, where Magyar said he would release a popular survey on twelve key economic and political issues in order to hear the “voice of the nation.” [RFE/RL, March 15, 2025.]

Some hours after Orban’s speech about the so-called “shadow army” of oppositionists, Magyar told the crowd:

“Those who cheat on their own nation should end up in the dustbin of history. Our time has come.” [Id.]

Magyar’s Tisza Party has gained in the recent polls, running neck-and-neck with Orban’s Fidesz Party at about 40 percent each. But there is still a year before Hungary’s next general election, and anything can happen before then.

In the meantime, Orban remains in power, comfortably seated between two like-minded — and powerful — friends:

And don’t let those “wings” fool you — they’re not his.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
3/18/25

Even before his phone call with Donald Trump — now scheduled to be held tomorrow, March 18th — Vladimir Putin has proven me (and a whole lot of others) right when we predicted that he would remain intransigent in his demands for any peaceful settlement with Ukraine.

He no more wants peace on reasonable terms than I want a boil on my rear end.

This morning (Moscow time), Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Aleksandr Grushko told state-aligned media outlet Izvestia:

“We will demand that ironclad security guarantees become part of this agreement. Part of these guarantees should be the neutral status of Ukraine, the refusal of Nato [sic] countries to accept it into the alliance.” [George Wright, BBC News, Mach 17, 2025.]

One would think the U.S. response to that would be, at the very least, a bit of tough talk about further sanctions or other counter-measures. But no-o-o-o-o . . . Instead, this is what Donald Trump had to say while jetting back to D.C. aboard Air Force One from his weekend at Mar-a-Lago (costing the American taxpayers . . . how much?):

“A lot of work’s been done over the weekend. We want to see if we can bring that war to an end. We will be talking about land. We will be talking about power plants.” He added that he was already discussing “dividing up certain assets” between Russia and Ukraine. [Id.]

It’s not clear who “we” are — the people who have been doing the discussing and the weekend work. But one thing is blindingly clear, even before the “official” discussion between Trump and Putin:

Ukraine has already lost this war.

Despite all of the support from its Western allies, the grit and courage of its people, and the sanctions and other measures taken against Russia over the past three years . . . in spite of all of that, Russia is on the verge of accomplishing what it set out to do in the first place (although it’s taken longer than originally anticipated). And that is to “reclaim” another portion of Ukraine’s sovereign territory as its own, leaving the door open to the next phase of its westward expansion.

*. *. *

One could argue that, throughout the history of mankind, wars and alliances have brought about geopolitical shifts: borders have been moved; nations have collapsed under their own weight, or fallen under the greater strength of other countries. And, hundreds of years later, it makes great reading for the student of history.

But not so for the current victims. Some may call it geopolitical reality; I call it gang rape.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
3/17/25

It’s the day of the year when everyone is a little bit Irish.

May you find your pot of gold today.

Just sayin’ . . .

O’Brendochka

No one actually speaks Shakespeare; in fact, only a small percentage of people truly understand it. Perhaps, in Elizabethan England, people went around rhapsodizing in sentences such as, “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” (“Romeo and Juliet”). But I doubt that line would get you many dates today . . . unless you’re looking for a quick trip to the funny farm.

However, if you know me at all, you’ve probably noticed that I have a tendency to quote other, far more eloquent personages than myself. And one of my favorites is old Will Shakespeare, who has provided us with such bits of wisdom as “This above all: to thine own self be true,” and “It [life] is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” I particularly like that last one.

So when I happened upon an article referencing other of the Bard’s original phrases — most of which I had heard, but had no idea of their origins — I immediately clicked on the link (shakespeare.org.uk) and was fascinated to learn just how much of today’s conversational English dates back to the late 16th and early 17th centuries, and to Mr. Shakespeare himself.

For example, how many times have you cleaned out a closet and discarded something that has “seen better days”? That one is from “As You Like It.”

And in the same play, we learn that there can be “too much of a good thing.” (Although, in the case of my favorite guilty pleasure — Haagen Dazs ice cream — I’m not sure that’s true.)

Have you ever thought there was “neither rhyme nor reason” (“The Comedy of Errors,”) why you “have not slept one wink” (“Cymbeline”). I certainly have — although there usually is a reason, like too much of that Haagen Dazs late at night.

“Hamlet” is just loaded with pearls of wisdom. In Act 3, Scene 4, Shakespeare talks about something we now call tough love . . . but he calls it being “cruel to be kind.” Perhaps he was criticizing someone’s apparel, because earlier, in Act 1, Scene 3, he commented that “People are judged by the way they dress.” I used to believe that; though seeing the way most people dress these days, “in my heart of hearts” (Act 3, Scene 2), I’m not so sure. I even wonder whether “my own flesh and blood” (Act 1, Scene 5) would agree with me.

Shakespeare was really on a roll when he gave birth to Hamlet!

*. *. *

Now we come to “Henry IV,” which I confess I’ve never even tried to read. It introduces characters with names like Falstaff, Hotspur, Mistress Quickly (the less said about that, the better), Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, and someone called Doll Tearsheet . . . which makes me wonder what Shakespeare had been smoking during that period of his life. But he did come up with one lasting phrase when one of his characters complained that someone “hath eaten me out of house and home.”

To me, the highlight of “Julius Ceasar” is Marc Antony’s soliloquy at Caesar’s funeral, which is just dripping with sarcasm worthy of the harshest of today’s political commentators. But there are a few others that have stood the test of time, such as “a dish fit for the Gods,” “It’s Greek to me,” and being made of “sterner stuff.”

And my personal favorite — “Macbeth” — brings us such immortal phrases as “the be-all and the end-all,” and “What’s done cannot be undone” (when Lady Macbeth goes completely off her trolley).

“Othello” is certainly worth reading, as it talks of “Jealousy is the green-eyed monster,” “[a] foregone conclusion,” and someone who “wear[s] my heart upon my sleeve.” And in “The Merchant of Venice,” we learn that “All that glitters isn’t gold,” and how to recognize “a blinking idiot” (by the blinking, I should think).

The list goes on and on, so I’ll just close with a few more and leave it to the more curious of you to check out others for yourselves:

“The world is my oyster” (“The Merry Wives of Windsor”)
”Short shrift” (“Richard III”)
“A tower of strength” (“Richard III”)
”Star-crossed lovers” (“Romeo and Juliet”)
”Wild-goose chase” (“Romeo and Juliet”)
”Break the ice” (“Taming of the Shrew”)
”Brave new world” (“The Tempest”)
”Melted into thin air” (“The Tempest”)

*. *. *

Whew! I’m exhausted just from reading all of this; I can’t imagine how much effort must have gone into coming up with that much original thought and wisdom.

And I am gobsmacked (British slang, mid-20th century) at how many of our most common colloquialisms date back 400 years — and all to one man with ink-stained fingers, who really knew how to turn a phrase.

And so, with that, “I shall say good night till it be morrow.”

(“Romeo and Juliet,” of course.)

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
3/17/25

There are probably no more unpredictable individuals on the international scene these days than Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin. While one speaks and acts spontaneously — from the gut, as it were — the other schemes and plots quietly before making his move, much like a chess player thinking a dozen moves ahead.

Either way, trying to prepare for what will come next is nearly impossible. But I’m going to give it a try anyway.

It is anticipated that the two will have a conversation this week on the subject of Russia’s “special military operation” in Ukraine, and how to end it with a minimum of further death and destruction and a maximum of face-saving for both Putin and Trump . . . Ukraine’s “face” seeming to be of minimal concern to either of them.

Based on the three-year history of the war thus far, and the recent preliminary meetings in Saudi Arabia and Moscow, I am going to go out on a limb and predict the following rough scenario. While this may seem foolish and even a bit risky, I figure I have as much chance of being at least partially right as anyone else at this point. So here goes nothing . . .

Setting the scene: A time for the call will have been established — taking into account the seven-hour time difference — when Trump will not be on the golf course and Putin will be in the mood to talk. Interpreters will be in position, and aides will have made the phone connection.

Vying for dominance: Both Trump and Putin will try to delay long enough to force the other one to pick up the phone first. (I’ve seen this done by lawyers trying to negotiate a settlement on behalf of their respective clients, and it’s really quite comical.) To avoid this awkwardness, I would suggest that the aides do a countdown — three, two, one, now — and hand their respective bosses the phones at the same instant.

Behind the scenes: In the Kremlin, seated at the far end of a long table with Putin but distant enough to avoid breathing any germs in his direction, will be the likes of Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov, a couple of security gurus, and the ever-present (and ever-charming) Kremlin spokesman, Dmitry Peskov.

In the White House, standing next to Trump’s desk and wearing his signature tee shirt and baseball cap (which apparently have been deemed dignified enough for the Oval Office), will be the ubiquitous expert-on-everything Elon Musk, most likely with four-year-old son “X” on his shoulders or hanging onto his leg.

Substance: Now, here is where it gets a big murky because, as I said, you never know what to expect from these two. But Vlad will no doubt reiterate — for perhaps the hundredth time — his preposterous demands that Ukraine give up everything, while insisting that he really does want peace . . . but on his terms. Donnie will then repeat — I’ve lost count of the number of times — his half-hearted threats of sanctions . . . although assuring Vlad that he really doesn’t want to resort to such drastic measures.

Duration: Unknown. It all depends on who gets pissed off and slams down the phone first.

Outcome: Statements will immediately be issued from both sides of the Atlantic. Trump will say something like, “We had a really good, really productive call. I am really very optimistic . . . really.” And Putin — or possibly his mouthpiece Peskov — will say that Ukraine doesn’t want peace, they want the death and destruction to continue, as evidenced by their refusal to simply hand their country over to Russia. And then Putin will order up another missile launch on Kyiv to show the world what a peace-loving s.o.b. he really is.

Prognosis: Turkish President Erdogan and China’s Xi Jinping will each step in with an offer to negotiate a truce between Putin and Trump, because . . . from their positions as Guinness-Book champion fence-sitters . . . they’re the only ones who can truly bring peace to the world.

And Ukraine will continue to fight for its life.

*. *. *

I repeat . . . this is all just a wild guess. But somehow, it almost sounds plausible, doesn’t it?

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
3/16/25

A gloomy Sunday down here in the Southland, and I’m feeling like this:

Gonna let the world spin without me for a while, watch a movie or two, and maybe come up for air and check the news a bit later.

It’s not an indulgence; it’s more of a survival technique that I highly recommend to everyone now and then.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka

P.S. In case you’re wondering about the picture, I do not have six toes on one foot and four on the other. The magic of AI. 😂