Trump Will Do Anything For The Man He Loves

Trump wants a civil war.

I want a million voters to stand in front of the White House and blow whistles until he resigns.

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Amber Guyger testified that she intended to kill Botham Jean when she fired her gun at him.

Not warn him, not wound him, not disable him... kill him.

This was not a cop showing bad judgement. This was policy. "Shoot to kill" is what the police are taught. And I'm pretty sure the darker the skin, the faster the shot.

I hope she never comes out of prison alive.

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Here's the thing about the Amber Guyger case....

If a policeman's first thought while entering the wrong apartment is "shoot to kill" shouldn't the first thought of the innocent person inside be "shoot to kill first"?

This logic can be applied to anyone who walks in your door. Or surprises you on the street. Should our first reaction HAVE to be "shoot to kill first"?

Or should we just get rid of the guns and instead handle the situation by saying "I think you have the wrong apartment, ma'am" and then go back to eating our ice cream.

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My Restaurant Story: I was horking down a veggie burrito at one of Dallas' fine Mexican eateries this past Saturday night when my meal was interrupted by not one, not two, but three separate performances of the Happy Birthday ditty.

Three serenades over the course of a mere half-hour seemed like a large and statistically unlikely number to me. So I set aside my virgin apricot-and-cucumber margarita and proceeded to look thoughtfully into the distance, pondering the likelihood of such a rare happenstance, idly picking at a stray jalapeno seed that was seemingly acting as the fulcrum of internecine warfare between the bicuspid freedom fighters and the entrenched rebel molars of my upper jaw, when it hit me!

"These guys are all New Year's Eve babies!" I said to my dining companion as I carefully and subtly slid the check to her side of the table, a ruse that sadly failed. "Today is almost precisely nine months to the day after December 29!"

And then, in an uncomfortable flash of self-realization, I remembered! I myself am a Valentine's Day-ish baby, as is my older brother. I'm amazed at this because my parents engaged in drunken hillbilly imbroglios my entire kid life. It is entirely possible that were it not for Hallmark Cards and the vast Valentine's Day conspiracy I would not be sitting here wasting your time when you should be out burning effigies of you-know-who.

All I'm saying is, the next time you're at a restaurant in early November and you hear that hackneyed refrain emanating sourly and awkwardly from a corner table, you might want to raise your margarita in salute of good old St. Valentine.

=Lefty=