Whaddaya talkin' about, Whatabouters?

Between what passes for politicians these days and the media, my vocabulary is expanding daily. Let's see...we've got stagflation (the cost of stag films these days), polycrisis and permacrisis (I believe the first deals with plastic and the second is the fall-out from a bad perm job), gender food gap (everyone knows men eat more than women), tarmac-to-arm (it's gotta mean keep your arms off the tarmac or face the consequences. I guess.), and distorted to suit both political parties' oh-so-needy needs. I particularly enjoy the "war on woke." Which is just nonsense in both the figurative and literal sense.

Now we have the "whatabouters." Yep, the ex orange-in-chief is at the center of this stupid new term. What are whatabouters? I'm glad you asked! Whatabouters are Trump's allies who defend his acts of stealing classified documents by deflecting from the true issues at heart. Their defense lies in "Whatabout Hillary and her emails?" or "Whatabout Biden and HIS stolen documents?"

Furthermore, the whatabouters scream and cry that our Department of Justice is hypocritical, a two-tiered base of justice. Well. If that's the case, the whatabouters are careening down that slippery highway of hypocrisy themselves. They refuse to acknowledge that tRump is actually guilty of taking classified documents, lying about having them, instructing his lackeys to hide them, and then is moronic enough to admit to having classified documents that he acknowledges he shouldn't have in the first place WHILE BEING RECORDED!

So...whatabout Hillary and her emails? She was dumb and technologically inept, I'll grant you that. But she was cleared of doing anything dubious. Whatabout Biden and his documents? Whoops. He didn't even remember having them (could be a little senility at play), but as soon as he found out about them, willingly turned them over. A far cry from stashing them in a luxury bathroom after being instructed to turn the classified documents over.

Which brings me to the most important point of this post: Have you guys SEEN Trump's bathroom? Gah! It's grotesque. I mean, not grotesque in my recurring nightmare of having to walk barefoot in one of the most disgusting bathrooms ever sense of grotesque. No, the design of Donny's bathroom is grotesque. Like the man himself, the bathroom's fugly, disturbing, gawdy, flamboyant, and uncomfortable. It looks like a toilet-filled shrine to the White House. Who was his interior decorator? Lindsey Graham??? I highly doubt I'd be at ease enough beneath a chandelier to conduct my daily constitutional. And just what does Donald do with those classified documents that are easily reachable within toilet distance? AIEEEEEEEEEE! MY EYES! Some things you just can't unsee.

Anyway... Royal bathrooms aside, I don't want to hear any more about these "whatabouters" until they acknowledge the truth. This is getting ridiculous. Having to deal with election and Covid deniers was bad enough. And how about our so-called "lawmakers" actually do something worthwhile with their time like passing merit-worthy laws instead of Marjorie Taylor Greene shouting that her TV is spying on her? The state of American politics these days is absurd.

But not as absurd as the adventures of Zach (a meat-headed "male entertainment dancer") and Zora (his exasperated, usually pregnant sleuth sister) as they skirt the screwier alleyways of murder, mystery, mayhem, and male strippers! Find out what's got (not) everybody talking about in the first book of the series, Bad Day in a Banana Hammock!