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#Trump And #Merkel Walk Into A Bar In Hamburg

trump-merkel

~ You are not quite the tuff bad boy I expected, Herr Donald.

~  Maybe not – but your stiff starchiness is evident, Frau Reich Chancellor.

~ One must keep you and the Tzar of all the Russias in their place.

~ Nothing is going to keep Vlad in his corner of his empire.

~ True.

~ Unless . . .

~ Speak it up, Herr Donald.

~ I dunno – you never know who is listening these days.

~ I think we’re safe – the Tzar is on his way home.

~ But “home” is the operative word, Angie.

~ Then you had best whisper into my shell-like ear.

~ All we’d need is a Twitter GIF of that!

~ Not to worry – I’ll just roll my eyes.

~ Well – Frau Angie – why don’t we form an Anchluss?

~ I think you mean an alliance, Herr Donald.

~ I’ll leave the technicalities to you.

~ And we’d already have an alliance, Der Donald, if you behaved yourself.

~ Did you just say “dear”?

~ Not in this lifetime.

~ Just checking, Angie.

~ Nor the one after.

~ The ladies like a bit of power – if you get my drift.

~ Hell would first freeze over.

~ I’m thinking you might accomplish that, Frau Reich Chancellor.

DE

(image)s.newsweek.com/sites/www.newsweek.com/files/styles/embed-lg/public/2017/07/07/trump-merkel.JPG

#Trump And #Putin Walk Into A Bar In Hamburg

merkel-putin-trump-e1496721139940

~ At least you do not offer me poison, Donald.

~ And you kindly offer me nothing, Vladimir.

~ I was taken aback when I learned you don’t drink.

~ Lips that touch liquor is the only way it touches me.

~ Still – Don – what is the point of getting through the day?

~ What do you mean?

~ If you never feel any better from beginning to end.

~ There are other ways – believe me.

~ Nothing as good as vodka – and I’ll drink to that.

~ Gotta admit, Vlad – there is one thing to tempt me to that bottle.

~ What?

~ Reich Chancellor Angela Dorothea Merkel.

~ Oy Vey!

~ “Amen” to that, Vlad.

~ That is one bitch in britches.

~ Freeze the balls right off you and use them for hockey pucks.

~ She gave me such a look.

~ Her handshake had the touch of death.

~ She has done one thing though, Don.

~ What, Vlad?

~ She has made comrades out of us, Comrade.

DE

(image)http://www.google.ca/search?q=Putin+%2B+Trump+%2B+Merkel&client=gmail&rls=aso&authuser=1&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwj16ZHF6_fUAhUDcT4KHS0sD68Q_AUICCgD&biw=1366&bih=659#imgrc=7UWKn7dAWUaI3M:

Memoir Of The Chickens And The Nazi

racist-grafitti
An Oldie Rock station just played Spinning Wheel by Blood, Sweat And Tears. This always – always – brings back my memories of working on a farm in Germany during my university days. It was a hit of the time.

And, since I am currently well into reading Alan Bennett’s new Memoirs, Keeping On, Keeping On, I did what I have not done for years. I excavated my Journals about my three month summer in Europe, and turned to the day which mirrors this.  And, since it proved to be a notable day, I’ll transpose it verbatim (well, except I’ll clean up the spelling).

18 June

An interesting day, in a rather strange way. I got to work some of the morning with the hired hand, Herr Steiner, alone. He could speak no English and I was surprised that I could converse with him as well as i could (we had lots of time and I could speak slowly and I could think things out. We were, as a point of interest, filling wool sacks.


He told me that he  did not care for the place very much and was planning to leave soon. I can not say that he gave me ideas. I already had them.

And then the other interesting queer occurrence. I am tempted to drag all the dramatic interest I can out of this episode, but I may as well tell it in a simple manner, for it happened in a simple way.

I was going into one of the egg houses to collect the noon-time eggs, and as i stepped through the door, I saw it. Now, I had been collecting eggs there twice a day for two weeks, and had never once noticed what i now saw.

There was a swastika scrawled on one of the walls. It was covered in dust (like everything else) and something beside it has been scratched over. I suppose one can not think of Germany without thinking of the Hitler era, and I had wondered what I would do or think if I came across something like this. I had made jokes about the Bunker on the back forty, or the tattered painting of Hitler in the attic.

I put the thing down to its most logical explanation, the imitative scrawl of a six or seven year old child. Even so, rather bigger thoughts went through my head every time I saw someone use a whip rather forcefully.

DE

(image) https://i.cbc.ca/1.3995470.1487856081!/fileImage/httpImage/image.jpg_gen/derivatives/16x9_620/racist-grafitti.jpg

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