Who’s the vulgarian?

vulgar

DEFINITION OF vulgar, says dictionary.com:

Ignorance of or lack of good breeding or taste.

Another online source, thefreedictionary.com:

Deficient in taste, consideration or refinement.

Donald Trump is often accused of vulgarity. It’s a charge, I think, that springs primarily from his campaign reference to Megyn Kelly’s menstrual cycle, which decidedly was not The Donald’s finest hour.

But the charge of vulgarity rests on other things. He spouts politically incorrect phrases — I salute him for that — and his current politics run counter to the Democrat Party’s.

On Trump’s worst days, he would not be welcome at Miss Manners’ soirees. On his best days, he’d fit right in.

Let’s take a look now at how President Barack Hussein Obama — or Weepy Barry, as I always prefer to call him — measures on the same vulgarity scale.

Weepy Barry was expected to heal racial divisions before he took office. What he has done is exacerbate them.

Take the Trayvon Martin case. Weepy Barry opined that Trayvon could have been his son, a very inappropriate statement that lacked good breeding and taste.

In spite of Olympian efforts by locals and feds, they couldn’t convict George Zimmerman because Zimmerman shot Trayvon in self-defense as both witnesses and Zimmerman’s bloodied body indicated beyond any doubt.

Weepy Barry’s siding with Trayvon was vulgar because it was “deficient in good breeding and taste.”

It was also colossally un-presidential.

On the international stage, Israel has been America’s best ally in the Middle East for decades, which all presidents have acknowledged and embraced. Until Weepy Barry.

Israel is the eternally troubled area’s only free society. I and others define free society as one that embraces tolerance. Israel represses neither women nor other religions.

Weepy Barry’s turning his back to Israel is vulgar because it is “deficient in taste and consideration.” Flipping the finger to an old and faithful friend is extremely vulgar.

Weepy Barry skipped the funeral of Supreme Court Justice Scalia, which showed a “lack of good breeding.”

That Weepy Barry visits Mohammedan mosques while refusing to utter the phrase “Muslim terror” is something lacking in “taste, consideration and refinement.”

Vulgarity comes in all shapes and sizes.

If Trump replaces Weepy Barry in the Oval Office, we’ll simply swap a mulatto vulgarian from Chicago with a blond vulgarian from New York City.

Or if Hillary wins, a blonde vulgarian from Chicago. Yes, Chicago, not Arkansas.

Fettucchine and sugar donuts

grub

BIANNUAL CHECKUP yesterday. All numbers were good. There were only three numbers: cholesterol, blood sugar and triglycerides. That’s the July test. In December I add a poop test and sometimes a chest X-ray and cholesterol breakdown. They invariably show me in top form. Knock on wood.

I did what I always do. No coffee or edge of toast at dawn to have the virgin tummy and blood stream. At 7:45, I drive the 15 minutes downtown to the laboratory that opens at 8. It’s really just a branch of the lab, a collection point on a cobblestone street, and it’s manned by a nice young woman, a girl really, in white.

Before taking my $21, she tells me that if I wait two days, there will be a sale, and it will only run me about half. But I’m already there, so I pay the full enchilada. Most Mexicans would have departed and returned two days later. I am more cavalier with cash. And lazy.

No appointment was necessary, of course. No doctor had to refer me. I just showed up, and the results were ready at 1:30 that afternoon. Quick, efficient, painless and intelligent.

I usually watch what I eat which is, of course, the reason my numbers are always good. But yesterday’s report merited a reward. For lunch, I ate fettuchine at a restaurant, plenty of cheese. Later, I gobbled not one, but two, sugar donuts from a bakery. Sometimes you gotta cut loose and howl.

* * * *

July Fourth. It’s just another day in Mexico. Some of the Gringos celebrate, but those are the folks who never make the transition to Mexico. Their bodies are here (at times), but their hearts and minds stay above the Rio Bravo.

There will be no weenies or hamburgers over charcoal at the Hacienda. Instead, my child bride has cooked up a big pot of caldo de res. This morning we took our plaza power walk. At 9 o’clock, it was 60 cool degrees.

Mountain life is lovely.

* * * *

Barry’s descent continues, which is always excellent news. A recent poll conducted by Quinnipiac University (one of the nation’s best, according to U.S. News and World Report) shows than a sizable hunk of America considers Barry the worst president since World War II. Well, duh.

The ineffectual, divisive, wooden “community organizer” parked in the Oval Office polled worse than Dubya, the peanut farmer and Tricky Dick. In a bit over two years, way too long, we’ll be rid of him. He must be a dreadful embarrassment to the bona fide blacks and clueless whites who voted for him en masse due to his skin tone.

No matter, I guess. The fettucchine was great and the sugar donuts were a delight.