Cagle World

Raging Moderate

Hey everybody. You know all that anxiety that’s been building up? Well, just let it go and relax now, because the 4th of July is here. The Great American Holiday. The one with the noise and the colors and the hot. Now, it is summer. That’s what the 4th is. Not just the day we celebrate the anniversary of the birth of the best country in the history of the world but also the heart of the season of light.

No matter what the astronomers tell us, it’s not the solstice that signifies the beginning of our season of mayhem. Not in America. Its 7/4, thirteen days later, when kids run amuck while parents drink beer out of cans and fall off of patio furniture. When families squeeze into minivans and travel long distances to get into fights over the logistics of eating fries at Mickey D’s and burgers at the King.

It’s when the senses are heightened. The smell of cut grass, the grip of a pair of sneakers, the sound of children playing volleyball on the beach, the tickle of butter from a roasted cob of corn dripping all the way down your arm to the elbow. The thunk of a Frisbee on the back of the head. The piercing cry of a loved one as they discover sand in the bed.

It’s a holiday that transcends normal political persuasions; a frozen moment in time when white wine sipping, NPR listening, Prius driving, Birkenstock wearing hippies stand shoulder to shoulder with country western listening, pickup truck driving, cowboy boot wearing, Coors Lite chugging rednecks, both groups clutching tiny American flags in a small town square watching a parade of bicycles with red, white and blue bunting woven through the spokes.

It’s beauty queens waving from the back seats of convertibles. And kids swinging on a tire tied to a tree over the bank of a pond. Slip and slides. Burnt marshmallows. Not getting dark until nine. It’s people deciding that any piece of clothing they can squeeze into, fits.

It’s the loudest holiday as well with marching bands and fireworks and the sizzle of burger fat dripping on the coals. The tinny mantra of a baseball game on an AM radio, wafting down from a porch. Motorcycles revving down the highway in packs. Politicians barking new promises through old bullhorns.

Have yourself one heck of a terrific summer and make it last. Swim and swing and swoon. Take long walks on unfamiliar paths. Buy a new chaise lounge. Watch or better yet, play a game of slow pitch softball. Char some flesh, either animal or your own or both.

Make sure you find time for a little bit of fun, because it won’t be long before we’re back at each other’s throats. You know, like Thursday the 5th. The same day the back-to-school sales start and all the sports channels start promoting football.

And have a happy birthday America, you great-looking country, you. May be going through a tough patch here. But you know what they say; tough times never last, but tough countries do. And you probably hear this a lot but you still look pretty good considering you’re 242 years old. Could use a little work around the eyes. Then again, couldn’t we all.

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Copyright 2018, Will Durst, distributed by the Cagle Cartoons Inc. syndicate.

Will Durst is an award-winning, nationally acclaimed columnist, comic and former sod farmer in New Berlin, Wisconsin. For a calendar of personal appearances, including his new one-man show, “Durst Case Scenario,” please visit willdurst.com.

Raging Moderate

People keep wondering how the hell we got here. How did America become a country that forcibly separates kids from their parents? The answer is obvious: we got Trumped.

Since the election of the 45th POTUS, everything we know is wrong. Racism is good. Health care is bad. Coal is the future. Rich people need more money. North Korea is our friend. Canada and the free press are the enemy. Judges aren’t necessary, since we can tell who’s guilty just by looking at them.

The very phrase “President Donald Trump” should be surreal. Like saying Pope Charlie Sheen. It’s a Saturday Night Live skit. One of those not very funny SNL skits they slap on after the second appearance of the band.

The Golden Canopy drags us down to his level, and just when we think we’ve reached a new low, another sub-basement gets dug. In a year and a half we’ve sunk so low we can feel the heat on our feet from the core of the Earth.

Absurdity has become normalized. We’ve built up a tolerance to delusions. We’re constantly jonesing for another shot of narcissistic confusion. We’ve turned into adrenaline junkies demanding our larger daily dose of preposterousness.

On April 6th, Attorney General Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III announced the administration’s zero tolerance policy. He then used the Bible to justify its policy of separating immigrant parents from their children. Citing the same passage the south used to defend slavery. Maybe the plan was to rent the kids out to corporate farms. That cotton isn’t going to pick itself, you know.

Trump and other administration officials proceeded to hold a competition for the most ludicrous excuse with a veritable bevy of them. “The Democrats are responsible.” “We’re just upholding the law.” “Using kids as hostages is not our policy.” “The courts made us do it.” “Only Congress can undo it.” “Our hands are tied.” “The Torah says it’s okay.” “Obama did it first.” “The kids are drug mules.” “They’re tiny future rapists.” “Crooked Hillary is to blame.” “Mexico is to blame.” “Bill Clinton had an affair.” “911 was an inside job.” “Putin should be emperor of the world.” “What kids?”

The problem was the optics. Kids in cages may look good on paper, but it doesn’t play so well on TV. And the rest of the Republican Party has tied their future to him with knots that would earn a boy scout merit badges. These enablers have already revealed themselves to being anti-logic, anti-environment, anti-democracy and anti-fidelity. What difference does anti-family make?

Under pressure from his own party, especially from that select group of members up for election in November, the President signed an executive order to change the policy he claimed wasn’t a policy and couldn’t be changed.

And both Republicans and Democrats are planning partisan political ploys to highlight evidence that the other side is using the immigration crisis as a partisan political ploy coming up in the Midterms.

Then to put the oddest of exclamation marks on the proceedings, the First Lady visited a detention center while wearing a $39 jacket that had the words “I don’t really care. Do U?” painted on the back. And the overwhelming response of seeing toddlers crying for absent parents was “Yessss.” At least she didn’t offer to bring the kids cake.

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Copyright 2018, Will Durst, distributed by the Cagle Cartoons Inc. syndicate.

Will Durst is an award-winning, nationally acclaimed columnist, comic and former sod farmer in New Berlin, Wisconsin. For a calendar of personal appearances, including his new one-man show, “Durst Case Scenario,” please visit willdurst.com.

Raging Moderate

The president’s lawyers must wake up every morning wondering if they’re in the throes of a mescaline fever dream. Which altered reality will they have to deal with today? The legal ground melts out from under them and scary hallucinations swirl around mutating versions of the boss: the Donald Trump who changes his story more often than his underwear and the one who tosses away members of his legal team like used Kleenex.

They recently sent a letter to the Special Counsel asserting that Donald Trump is above the law. Not to be confused with the first Steven Segal movie, “Above the Law.” Although the two do have much in common: both think Vladimir Putin is a great guy and they are in similar physical condition these days.

The argument is the president cannot commit obstruction of justice, because as chief law enforcement officer of the United States, he is the justice department. . Not only incapable of committing a crime but incapable of being held accountable. Laws are for losers. Take the knee and kiss the ring.

The President tweeted that many legal scholars say he has the absolute right to pardon himself, even though he won’t need to because he hasn’t committed any crimes. Similar to a “Get Out Of Jail Free” card, only better. More like a “Get Your Stinking Paws Off Me, You Damn Dirty Ape” sort of thing.

The good news is he probably won’t wear a crown and risk messing up his aerodynamic coif. But other royal trappings are imaginable: golden jewel-encrusted scepter, floor-dragging ermine trimmed robe and the serial discarding of wives who can’t provide a decent hereditary successor. And yes, Don Jr. and Eric, we’re talking about you.

He claims to possess special powers that immunize him from criminal prosecution. Apparently he was bitten by a radioactive spider at Camp David. And is willing to admit that everything he ever previously said in public was a lie. Wasn’t under oath, so it doesn’t count. And if he does lie under oath, who cares? Who’s going to arrest him, Jeff Sessions? Dream on.

His defense has shifted more than the sands of the Kalahari during one of those windstorms they call a haboob. And speaking of boobs, Rudy Giuliani says the Deep State is framing the president and he might take the 5th if questions about crimes he didn’t commit get too close to disproving that.

Carl Sandburg famously said; “If the facts are against you, argue the law. If the law is against you, argue the facts. If the law and the facts are against you, pound the table and yell like hell,” and Rudy is the best table pounder in the business. As anybody from New York can tell you, this guy leaves splinters.

Trump’s lawyers also claim the president is too busy to answer questions, although the Supreme Court knocked down that claim when Bill Clinton invoked it, and he didn’t spend one- sixth of his presidency at a golf courses. One tenth, maybe.

They’re throwing up alternative defenses like hyperactive Rhesus monkeys flinging feces at a zoo. Not only can’t he be constitutionally prosecuted but the prosecution is a conspiracy. The FBI is full of jack- booted thugs and his hands are too small to fit on the Bible. Can’t wait for them to float the diminished capacity defense. That one might be easier to sell.

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Copyright 2018, Will Durst, distributed by the Cagle Cartoons Inc. syndicate.

Will Durst is an award-winning, nationally acclaimed columnist, comic and former sod farmer in New Berlin, Wisconsin. For a calendar of personal appearances, including his new one-man show, “Durst Case Scenario,” please visit willdurst.com.

President Donald Trump has failed at many endeavors: casinos, airlines, universities, steaks, wine, vodka, board games, two marriages, armed forces physicals, White House Communications Department staffing, convincing foreign countries to build boundary structures. But the one thing he did excel at was reality television. The man has a real genius for pretending to be real.

His greatest public triumph was the 14 seasons he hosted NBC’s “The Apprentice” in a position he thought he was really good at. Nobody in the history of the medium has been able to say “You’re Fired!” with the kind of staccato bravado he perfected. Not even the Terminator.

Which could explain why his presidency is being run as The Apprentice. To him, this whole thing is little more than a reality game show played on a slightly larger scale.

Last week, we thrilled as Donald Trump considered the pardon of Martha Stewart. Then we were wowed when Kim Kardashian joined him to break the record for largest White House assemblage of ass since Jimmy Carter hosted the champions of the Upper Michigan Donkey Basketball Tournament.

In an earlier episode, he canceled the North Korean Summit with Kim Jong Un. But wait, now its back on. Or is it?”We’ll see what happens.” And where might the summit be held? At the magnificent neoclassical landmark Marriott Fullerton in the exotic Southeast Asian city/state of Singapore. Because what happens in Singapore, stays in Singapore. Especially with a Trump International Hotel: Coming Soon!

Later this week, don’t miss the identity of the next person to be voted off the island. And who will replace them? Could it be one of us? “Come on down!” You’re the next contestant on this week’s thrilling episode of “Fooling Some of the People All the Time.”

And in case you even thought of not tuning in, here is a preview of the rest of the season leading up to November Midterm Madness. The “Super Sucking Up Contest” featuring conservatives in close races competing to see who can create the loudest suction noise in an effort to entice the former real estate developer to campaign for them. Or not.

Sparks fly when brawls break out between cabinet secretaries sabotaging each other through injudicious leaking. And your head will completely pop off as you try to guess which of the president’s lawyers will accidentally admit the president is indeed guilty of Russian collusion, but who cares?

In a shocking twist, you’ll never guess which disgraced and ousted staff member makes an inspirational and tearful return. Meanwhile, in the wings, Miss Congeniality, Vice President Mike Pence, stands waiting with the medical team, holding a rose.

You’ll cry tears of laughter as various celebrities trade theories as to what happened to the First Lady. Was she recovering from plastic surgery or kidnapped to keep from talking to Robert Mueller? Or did the operation to remove the surveillance chip implanted in her by the Clintons and Obamas at Barbara Bush’s funeral go horribly wrong?

One thing you’ve got to admit, it’s never boring!We are living through the Exclamation Mark Presidency!!! And don’t be surprised if the master game player gives us the ultimate cliffhanger: pardoning himself for a crime he didn’t commit.

You won’t want to miss Season 3. But don’t worry, you won’t be able to.

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Copyright 2018, Will Durst, distributed by the Cagle Cartoons Inc. syndicate.

Will Durst is an award-winning, nationally acclaimed columnist, comic and former sod farmer in New Berlin, Wisconsin. For a calendar of personal appearances, including his new one-man show, “Durst Case Scenario,” please visit willdurst.com.

Raging Moderate

Many readers have protested this column’s tiresome history of taking cheap shots at the expense of our 45th President. So today we reverse that distressing trend and endeavor to travel the high road with an in-depth analysis of one of the most critical problems confronting the nation today. His hair.

Normally, focusing on a person’s physical characteristics is considered out of bounds, and just not cricket, but because Donald Trump’s favorite weapon is denigration, we’ve decided to play by his rules. He’s the one who has called opponents; , “a slob,” “short and fat,” “crazy,” “ugly,” “the face of a pig” and of course, famously mocked a disabled guy. The new rules are that there are no rules.

Besides, you could say the very key to the man is his golden canopy. Look at it, no, really, give it a gander: everything about it is wrong. The color. The shape. The texture. The intended result. The scalp underneath. How, in the rotor wash of the Marine One helicopter, it reaches for the heavens like a sentient shrubbery signaling a secret society of Navajo Code Talkers. Not to mention his unshakeable and groundless belief that it looks good.

In his unique aerodynamic coif, we can see Donald Trump’s entire philosophy of leadership. The Tangerine Combover can be viewed as a microcosm of mane. His propensity for false fronts. Not caring what anybody else thinks. Reliving past triumphs. Railing against common sense and decency. Brash, uncompromising, slightly surreal and totally cut off from reality. It’s all there.

America has questions and it’s time our Commander-in-Chief answers them. What is it really on his head? A wig, a weave, implants, extensions, a merkin, Tribble, carpet sample or a piece of pelt from the belly of a marsupial? Remnant of an especially beloved therapy animal?

Does he wash it, dry clean it or have it regularly replaced through a subscription service? Is it housebroken or need to go outside for a walk twice a day and does he have to sing or rock it to sleep? Also, who carries around the antidote in case that thing stings somebody?

And, despite using modern technology and being afforded the privilege of the office, exactly how much time does it take to recreate his groovy haircut from the Master of the Universe 80s? With drastically fewer resources?,Got to be at least a half-hour every day. That means three and a half hours a week. And he’s been president for 70 weeks, which works out to be 245 hours. A little over 10 entire days.

Think of the things that he might have accomplished with an extra 10 days. He could have fired five or six more Communication Directors. Bungled more foreign relations with allies. Maligned a larger amount of Cabinet members. More time for tete-a-tetes with Sean Hannity. “You hang up.” “No, you hang up.” Played another 40 rounds of golf.

Barbers and hair stylists around the world also have a burning professional desire to know how to achieve that frontal swoop. Hair spray? Stitches? Staples? Scaffolding? Stainless steel rivets? Glue? That would explain a lot. He’s had that haircut since getting out of military school. Sniffing glue for that long cannot be good. No, not good at all.

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Copyright 2018, Will Durst, distributed by the Cagle Cartoons Inc. syndicate.

Will Durst is an award-winning, nationally acclaimed columnist, comic and former sod farmer in New Berlin, Wisconsin. For a calendar of personal appearances, including his new one-man show, “Durst Case Scenario,” please visit willdurst.com.

Raging Moderate

We now offer up a few choice words concerning the continuing investigation being conducted by Special Counsel Robert Mueller, and those words are: Happy Birthday baby! You are now one whole year old. Who’s the big boy? Why, you are. You’re the big boy. Yes, you are.

Traditionally, the present for a first anniversary is paper, but you don’t need any more of that, considering the voluminous file cabinets full of documents already collected and stashed in triple-locked, humidity-controlled warehouses all over the leaky swamp that is Washington. There’s also the promise of more witnesses o’plenty to be interviewed, including some grifter named Donald Trump.

The modern alternative gift is a timepiece, but that can’t be a need, as half the civilized world keeps reminding you how late it is while pointing at their watches and clocks encouraging a modicum of alacrity. Conservatives want it over the same way liberals want the administration over. Everyone’s looking for closure.

But we all know there is no timetable for justice. This could be your first at bat in an extra-inning game. Might just be “A- Atrocity” in the Encyclopedia of Malfeasance. The initial downbeat of a drumstick at a 24- hour, jam-band concert featuring Phish, Widespread Panic and Dave Mathews.

One unintended consequence of your tornado of an investigation is it’s spawning other sister twisters. The Southern District of New York spun off its own study into the affairs of Trumpian lawyer Michael Cohen, who seems to have as many grisly secrets as the Demon of Fleet Street’s cellar.

Then the president demanded Rod Rosenstein look into the secret FBI informant who infiltrated his campaign, claiming he was a spy planted by former President Barack Obama. In other words, he wants to investigate the investigation. And knowing 45’s penchant for creating chaos and muddying the waters, we can next expect a call to investigate the investigators who are investigating the investigation, investigatively.

Thus far, 19 people and 3 companies have been charged with crimes including a national security advisor, 13 Russians, a couple of random aides, the son-in-law of a Russian billionaire and the president’s former campaign manager. 5 guilty pleas have been entered which means the chances that people are talking their heads off is about equal to that of finding seagulls in a dumpster behind a fish cannery.

The President insists the whole thing is a “witch hunt, witch hunt,” probably referring to a case of mass hysteria, not implying he is the victim of witchcraft. Although, he does seem a bit agitated by Robert Mueller’s Evil Eye not to mention intimidated by his freakishly large hands.

The administration’s designated barky dog, Rudy Giuliani, claims Mueller hopes to wrap things up with the obstruction charge by September 1st. That could be either wishful thinking or a public announcement to goose the Special Counsel into pooping or getting off the pot. Fish or cut bait. Jump or don’t.

Some are waiting for you, the birthday boy to tire out and take a nap while others are counting on you to perp-walk the entire Trump administration into federal custody with trench coats draped over their handcuffs. No pressure. Happy Birthday Investigation Being Conducted by Robert Mueller. And many mooooooooore. Blow out your candle big boy. Who wants cake?

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Copyright 2018, Will Durst, distributed by the Cagle Cartoons Inc. syndicate.

Will Durst is an award-winning, nationally acclaimed columnist, comic and former sod farmer in New Berlin, Wisconsin. For a calendar of personal appearances, including his new one-man show, “Durst Case Scenario,” please visit willdurst.com.

Raging Moderate

Robert Mueller has many questions for the president. The New York Times released a list of 49 for which Donald Trump hopefully has answers that can assist the special counsel’s investigation into Russian interference during the 2016 election. Although the New York City real estate developer may know nothing at all. A situation many folks say… chances are high.

The president has announced various positions on the potential interview. One: he looks forward to testifying under oath. Two: he will refuse to answer and plead the 5th Amendment to protect against self- incrimination. Three: something in between which could include ignoring a subpoena and/or refusing to admit the existence of anybody who may or may not be named Mueller.

Trump’s lawyers have voiced similar diverse opinions. Some maintain he should testify and get it over with, while others warn he’s walking into a perjury trap. Which, experience tells us, to the 45th POTUS, is any question asked, especially under oath.

It may very well turn out that the only time Trump told the truth in public was when he said if we voted for Hillary, we’d end up with a president under criminal investigation. Sure enough, a plurality of the country voted for Hillary and now the president is under criminal investigation. “Lock him up.”

Nobody’s sure who leaked the list to the press. At this point, it’s all guesswork. Perhaps Mister Special Counsel himself, or someone in or near the White House? The assignment editor at MSNBC? A disgruntled craft services worker from the National Review? Melania? Unnamed sources are blaming well-placed insiders.

And why was the list leaked? To lower expectations, raise them, lull participants to sleep? Is this a double blind or major feint or are they letting the Commander-in-Chief know the nature of the questions to give him time to construct alibis and motivations other than furthering his own future and fortune?

Mostly, the questions sound like typical prosecutorial gobbledy-gook. “Who? What? Where? Why? When? Hunh?” “What were you thinking when whatisname did the thing with the guy at the place?”

None of the preview inquiries mention Russian hookers, so, obviously it’s not a complete list. And in the spirit of helping, we here at Durstco have come up with a few more questions that should be asked because inquiring minds want to know.

– Is Stephen Miller the result of an Army-science breeding program that mated rabid wolverines with poisonous fungus?

– What’s the deal with your hair?

– In your estimation, who has the more annoying mustache: Ty Cobb or John Bolton?

– What are the chances Dennis Rodham will be appointed ambassador to North Korea?

– What was Stormy Daniels like in bed?

– Was Rudy Giuliani trying to help? Isn’t adding him to your legal team like throwing a hippopotamus onto a trapeze team?

– How are things with Melania? Any truth to the rumor that all the knives have been removed from the East Wing?

– How come your ties hang down to your knees? Is it a peripheral vision thing?

– Is Corey Lewandowski your love child?

– Have you ever seen Mike Pence exhibit an actual pulse or is he the product of reverse taxidermy?

– Was James Comey’s freakishly large hands one of the reasons you fired him?

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Copyright 2018, Will Durst, distributed by the Cagle Cartoons Inc. syndicate.

Will Durst is an award-winning, nationally acclaimed columnist, comic and former sod farmer in New Berlin, Wisconsin. For a calendar of personal appearances, including his new one-man show, “Durst Case Scenario,” please visit willdurst.com.

Raging Moderate by Will Durst

You don’t need a degree in psychoanalysis to figure out that Donald Trump defines himself by his adversaries. The media. His staff. His family. His Cabinet. The intelligence community. College graduates. Democrats. Other Republicans. Mexicans. Muslims. Women. Muslim women. Mexican Muslims. Women who are Mexicanish. The rest of the world.

But his worst enemy is not any of these obvious targets. Its not Godzilla, King of the Monsters or Chris Christie. The winner is, drum roll please… himself! That’s right. The POTUS’ biggest and baddest foe is the man in the mirror. Donald John Trump. Or one of the pseudonyms he’s used: John Miller. John Barron. David Dennison. Melania’s first husband.

Our 45th president claims to be a stable genius but his major talent is getting in the way of his own agenda. The man is congenitally unable to keep from stepping in so many pools of effluvium that he leaves a trail of stink that would knock a flock of buzzards off a line of porta-potties on the last day of Coachella. He shoots himself in the foot so often, his nickname should be Stumpy.

Instead of embarking on a victory tour to celebrate arranging an upcoming tete a tete with Kim Jong Un, arguably precipitating detente between North and South Koreas, and averting a possible nuclear showdown, he once again conspired to distract folks from the happy to focus on the sad. He’s become so adept at that misdirection thing, he is unable to turn it off. The boy can’t help it.

Recently, the former New York City real estate developer went on Fox News’ morning show and had a meltdown the size of a glacier hosting an active lava flow. His performance gave train wrecks a bad name. It got to where the loyal sycophants at Rupert Murdoch’s propaganda machine were forced to cut him off mid-rant. “We know you’re busy.” Worried he was digging his own grave they snatched away the shovel.

One of his frenzied tirades claimed Michael Cohen hardly represented him at all. “A tiny, tiny little fraction” of his legal work but was involved in “this crazy Stormy Daniels deal.” Which sort of destroys the defense his other lawyers (with a larger fraction of his business) had been preparing.

Then he insisted the payoff money didn’t come from campaign funds. Even though he earlier had denied any relationship with the porn star and claimed to have no knowledge of the money. The legal consequences may be more complicated than assembling an Ikea bookcase using water- soluble twist- ties in place of screws.

This penchant for playing Solo Demolition Derby is convincing the rest of the GOP to get the hell out. 39 Republican congresspersons have already decided the only running they’ll be doing this November is for the hills. And even then, many worry about being arrested for leaving the scene of an accident.

The man suffers from such a tertiary case of Foot in Mouth disease he probably saves time by flossing with his shoelaces. Trips over chalk lines painted on the floor. Provide enough rope and this guy will hang not just himself, but everyone around him as well. Plank by plank, he’s building his gallows high and wide enough to accommodate an entire political party.

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Copyright 2018, Will Durst, distributed by the Cagle Cartoons Inc. syndicate.

Will Durst is an award-winning, nationally acclaimed columnist, comic and former sod farmer in New Berlin, Wisconsin. For a calendar of personal appearances, including his new one-man show, “Durst Case Scenario,” please visit willdurst.com.

Raging Moderate by Will Durst

The followers of Donald Trump are many things. Loyal, rabid, focused, committed, single-minded, self-righteous, rabid, and oblivious. And rabid. Many folks have gone so far as to call them zombies. “Truuuump. Truuump.” The major difference being these Walking Dead are not interested in brains.

They have no doubts. They back their glorious leader 100 percent. His poll numbers will never drop below 35 percent, indicating a hard bottom that matches his hard head. During the 2016 campaign he famously said he could shoot someone in the middle of Fifth Avenue and wouldn’t lose any supporters, and that may be truer today. And if he wants to demonstrate how that would go down, you’d need a lottery to pick from the thousands of zombies that would volunteer to help prove it.

It was no secret that he was a philandering lying greedy cheating businessman who stiffed contractors and sued everyone else when they voted for him. He’s a New York City real estate developer. They are to choir boys what glass shards are to lace. What gum is to hair. Cement and crockery.

And they will countenance no argument. Doesn’t matter what you use: logic, reason, math, ethics, decency, convention, protocol, science, history, physics or gravity. He’s their guy. They don’t care what he’s done or what he’s accused of doing. If Ronald Reagan was Teflon, the 45th President is a space age polymer dipped in polyurethane and covered in weasel grease.

The best example is while the Russian collusion investigation is being hammered out in the background, the President gets hit with multiple accusations of using money to silence women who claim to have had affairs with him. And nobody cares. No impact at all. The focus centers on the lawyer who arranged the payoffs. Misdirection managed.

Obstruction of justice? “Who cares? They all do it.” Shady business deals? “So what. They all do it.” Did he kill anybody? Not… did he have anybody killed? Did he personally kill anybody with his bare hands? And even if he did, “so what? They all do it.”

Trump could push an old lady in a wheelchair down three flights of stairs and his supporters would argue till they were blue in the face that he was giving her a series of chiropractic adjustments. If he was caught burning down an orphanage his people would claim he was simply restoring the heat that dastardly Obama Administration was selling to illegal aliens.

Former FBI Director James Comey wrote a book that charged the president was a congenital liar and unfit to lead. And the zombies complained that Comey’s timing was suspect and that he was an attention junkie. And the font in the book was pejorative. Then Trump said the release of the Comey memos vindicated him. Although they didn’t. At all. In any sense. This guy would claim victory after being decapitated. He’s the Black Knight from the Holy Grail. “It’s only a flesh wound.”

And if he eventually fires Robert Mueller or keeps firing a series of Assistant FBI Directors until he finds one that will fire Robert Mueller, Republicans would continue to back him because his zombies do. Not even a stake to the heart would work. Of course that presupposes the existence of a heart. No brains, no hear, just “Truuuump. Truuump.”

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Copyright 2018, Will Durst, distributed by the Cagle Cartoons Inc. syndicate.

Will Durst is an award-winning, nationally acclaimed columnist, comic and former sod farmer in New Berlin, Wisconsin. For a calendar of personal appearances, including his new one-man show, “Durst Case Scenario,” please visit willdurst.com.

Raging Moderate by Will Durst

You don’t need a weatherman to see that the storm clouds gathering around Team Trump are serious. And since the only permanent member of Team Trump is The Donald himself, this squall is shooting straight down Pennsylvania Avenue, with that hard-candy shell of a hair-helmet above the chair behind the desk in the Oval Office square in its crosshairs.

The tempest is dark and swirly with fierce offshore winds like one of those nor’easters that’s ravaged New England the last couple months. Several systems of individual flurries have begun to merge, taking on bulk and velocity, threatening to escalate into one of those upper echelon categories of blizzards.

It’s the kind of storm with golf-ball sized hail that leaves dimples on car hoods and white-out conditions shutting down interstates. And American radar models forecast enough downpours to bury the president up to his ears. The European models indicate a larger depth.

The barometer is dropping precipitously on several fronts. Bimbo Eruptions multiply like thunderheads on a midwestern summer afternoon including one suspiciously named Stormy. Raising the sticky question of whether paying to kill a salacious story constitutes illegal campaign contributions or just being real smart.

The recent raid on the offices of Trump’s longtime personal lawyer, Michael Cohen, which seized records and perhaps recordings, has staffers quivering like a shaved poodle duct-taped to the foul pole of Wrigley Field during a night game in April. Nobody knows what sort of shenanigans Cohen was up to, but everyone suspects he is a consigliere with secrets. Fredo’s consigliere.

Former FBI Director James Comey’s new book calls The Great Pretender not just a liar, but an orange unethical dangerous mob boss liar with baby hands. The president, in response, tweeted that the professional Boy Scout from the Justice Department is a “leaker and a liar” and a “slimeball.” Not an epithet normally heard coming from the highest office in the land.

That’s right, the guy who paid a porn star $130,000 to keep quiet about an affair he had just months after his third wife gave birth called someone else a “slimeball.”,Which is like a hooker calling the queen a whore. Or Martin Shkreli complaining he’s being gouged at the prison commissary. Shouting that the other guy has dust on his lapels from the middle of a pig-sty.

And although his sentence was commuted by George W Bush, Scooter Libby was never pardoned for his convictions of perjury, obstruction of justice and lying to the FBI. So perhaps Trump remedied that situation as a signal to his associates that he doesn’t think these crimes are very important. Wink-wink, nudge-nudge. “Don’t worry boys. I got your back, your front and your sides.”

His own party is pulling out the bullet-proof umbrellas. Fearing a blue wave the size of a nuclear- powered tsunami, Speaker of the House Paul Ryan didn’t just ditch the ship but the pier and the entire harbor itself.

And slowly riding in on the horizon… Mueller is coming. Mueller is coming! And it can’t be too comforting that special prosecutor Robert Mueller bears a slight resemblance to the Night King from Game of Thrones. Right about now Donald Trump might be best served by looking for a fire-breathing dragon.

Maybe that’s what John Bolton is for.

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Copyright 2018, Will Durst, distributed by the Cagle Cartoons Inc. syndicate.

Will Durst is an award-winning, nationally acclaimed columnist, comic and former sod farmer in New Berlin, Wisconsin. For a calendar of personal appearances, including his new one-man show, “Durst Case Scenario,” please visit willdurst.com.