Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: the godfather

Frum Here To Eternity

David Frum, in The Atlantic, compares Donald Trump to Fredo Corleone; this is because David Frum has been wrong about every single thing except his choice to be born rich. Say “war” around David Frum, and you’ll see spotting on his pant crotch; it’s pre-cum, and David Frum will most likely also be pawing at you and drooling. “WAR?” he’ll shriek. “WHERE?” All global conflict is solvable, says David Frum, if only we kill enough children at it.

(Ah, TotD, the more forgiving and/or conservative Enthusiasts will say, he does not support Basketball Head. Republicans who have broken with their party to oppose the unstable thickwit surely deserve credit for their bravery and independence, do they not?


I just shot you with a flamethrower. Stop butting in when I’m doing my important political blathering.


And now you’re running around on fire. This is all your fault. You made me throw flames at you.

Anyway: no, no one any longer gets the slightest bit of lauding for recognizing that Food Court Face is a danger to the entire planet, and an embarrassment to his nation. No cookie. I’m not proud of Jennifer Rubin or Rick Wilson, or any of the other so-called “Never-Trumpers.” “Not supporting Donny” has now become a base-level demand for those wishing to be acceptable. You don’t get points for not eating your cousin, and you don’t get a gold-star for not huffing paint at a stranger’s wedding, and I will not thank you for your courage in standing up to the Dim Dummy.)

And now David Frum is wrong about The Godfather. It’s rare that someone punctures their own argument while making it, but our Frummy is special.

Let me make it clearer:

There’s a key difference between film and reality: The Wizard of Oz kept hidden and relied on trickery and cunning to further his (admittedly benevolent) aims. Donald Trump told us all who he was, and blatantly hates humanity.

At a certain point, a “key difference” becomes the point at which a metaphor should be abandoned, but as we’ve established: David Frum is sexually aroused by being wrong. You cannot handwave away Fredo’s lack of power: it was his raison d’etre, which means “foreign reason.” A Fredo who is in charge is, by definition, not a Fredo. Fredo does not and never would have the backing of his family, whereas Trump is at the head of his. Don is the Don.

The fictional character more appropos at this date is Anthony Fremont. Billy Mumy played him on the teevee. Anthony was a little boy who could make whatever was in his head reality, and the whole town catered to him out of fear. Anthony liked it when people were nice to him, and didn’t like it when they weren’t. So everyone was nice to him. They didn’t want to be wished away to the cornfield. Anthony had a big button, and it worked.

This has been another installment of TotD Corrects Useless Media Fuckers At Random. Thank you for attending.

Make Sure Everyone Sees The Cake


2016 is the year the 20th century dies; I told you that in February.

Next year in Havana, Hyman.

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