Screw the fish. Let’s go golf. Divide it up, like territories, 10 vs. 8 wins, stay the course? Red Salmon await on the hook, though. Would the red-blooded Communist see red about these gaming suggestions, rather than talking issues? Putin vs. Trump. No ceasefire, only plenty of talk, summit non-smack and smiling, about alleged progress made. Trump coulda cold-cocked him, figuratively, on home soil, but instead opted for a photo opp. There should be no app for that.

After jointly, the pez of the two present countries, no Ukraine, talked about fishing on a nearby Alaska reef, the Red Carpet was long and the discourse short.

Lifting tariffs for red salmon? Shipped from which port? Trump praised the fact that as the real deal, master of that deal, had welcomed business people brought along from Putin’s country that historically has not known how to get it done, to finagle about trade and territorial tiddledywinks.

Hey, he said it: There is no deal until there’s a deal, on a ceasefire, from the master of the book on the art of the deal, so …

When called, while on the carpet, Trump’s still face looks red. With hidden anger. Embarrassment?

They may have smiled at each other, but Putin still gave Trump the uprised non-middle finger. Like up his armpit. Choose left or fight.

— There will be spirit by the lake on Saturday, as in spiritual, as this festival that is billed as family friendly is although not announced as so very Christian based, will bring praise to the park on Saturday, Aug. 23.

Four performing acts, from solo-base acts to full families, will go in from late afternoon to early evening with the water as a backdrop.

As this was being discussed, someone that is not really divine told me that he had just seen a band called Lowdown Dirty Fools featured three different vocalists and the best harmonies he has heard, with a rarity, a female on sax amongst its seven members. They are continuing to grace the area with their presence. —

Was this more show than the Oscars? And there was moreso pink than vermillion on this Red Carpet. And it started with a grey tarp, like carp on our 48 states, for Trump, as he walked alone, as Putin made him wait. And then it was a blue, note that color, platform and steps that they both, as one, strode happily together down.

And then about a dozen steps more, for both of them, they ended up locked in a limo together, and one wonders if there were knives hidden just below seat level. One also wonders if there were a driver present, like a New York cabbie behind the wheel, what would have been thought about the goings on behind in the backseat. If Joysey, would have been joint death.

And there were those hand movements, going back, when they met, and the main one from Putin was that uprised finger. Trump was all over the place with them. Putin stood firm.

Speaking of going back, those oh, those commentators afterward. One wore a Falling in Reverse T-shirt, among the talking head(s). That could be a metaphor for the whole summit. Is that what it was called, as a news type searched for a word, like a meeting, as she eventually termed it, A summit? More like an old hiker that wore the proverbial hat who was struggling to get to the top of a small hill. 

At this “summit” was there speculated talk of exchanged territory. Wink, wink about the status of Crimea? Shimea??

And the amongst many ugly leaders the unpopular topic of Ukraine becoming part of NATO? Now there is an example of some progress that could have been announced at the followup news conference.

Or a headline: You could fit all of the damn Kremlin inside that huge ol’ jet airliner that Putin rode in on like mounting a saddle. Forget the Hindenburg.

It didn’t take me too far away. Only to Alaska, where the summit was held, far from the oval office, but near Soviet soil. Neutral ground?

For the relative distance, Putin coulda taken a drone.

And for the comment on it all, I’ll take my chances with Chance The Rapper, via MS-NBC. Or BBC. Or ABC.

They took note of Helsinki too, as far as past Trump-Putin head-to-heads. They looked the same, facially, with Trump about 100 pounds lighter. But with no Red Carpet?

As all the territory a long-running carpet could yield: Land swaps? Putin as sworn, he just may have said to Trump: I want Alaska back.

Would a land swap have a prayer of passing for the war itself? Hey, Alaska is far from Ukraine.

But still now, we have its prez, waiting by the phone, hoping the area network coverage doesn’t lapse. Hey, if you need infrastructure, mister-grab-it, Putin, take the energy grid.

His first steps on US soil since 2015. Filthier soil? Environmentally unsound? Home soil?

As far as the followup joint press conference? Depending on how it goes? Did we have any at all? No questions taken, you’all.

Since Putin comes prepared, the talking heads said, for such summits. While Trump golfs then wings it. Still, despite walking the 18, little weight lost.

Share the Post:

Related Posts

They’ve added a coffee bar, so you can have a foray of seating for four on stools in front of it, a wine bar and a petite table for two directly in front of the southwest window, and plenty of inexpensive drinks, but other than that The Urban Table as it is known is much like the former Urban Olive and Vine before it. The man who is the brains behind Hudco To Go has brought those $3 premium drinks and more to the restaurant that is kitty-corner to the, again, southwest when you take Locust Street and venture onto...
So many problems in our world, US and UK. How and when to bitch? Waiting for them to be named by a sizeable band, if they shed light on politics and ethical behavior in general, can make you numb. Has anyone else noticed, as we get older and grayer, the similarity in facial look between two who are on vocals, first a rapper and second a metal singer, knotted-side-hair Snoop Dogg and long and straight-to-collar Bruce Dickinson, one who spews island drinks as opposed to the other homemade beer, as Iron Maiden continues on in their latest with a gigantic gaggle of groups with requisite...
Just over two years ago, I sang solo an Iron Maiden song, Blood Brothers, slowly strummed via my cell phone to provide the instrumental, as the exact moment my dad was laid to his final rest under clay. A few weeks ago, one-man-band professional Jeff Loven, one of the best musicians I have ever heard and one with whom I have sung for 25 years, strummed the favorite Johnny Cash songs his father loved in the background for the last hour his dad had on this earth, the troubles of which Cash so frequently sang. Certainly, one of them was Hurt,...
A hodgepodge listing of everything that’s truly different but maybe baked porage follows, and we’re not talking about a connect-the-dots or puzzle-pieces contest or one on Trump’s foreign policy, haha, rather what I saw and what will be seen around town in recent times. Mostly, one of each. Think you have the world’s, or more likely local church’s, best grilled cheese sandwich, (coming from the land of, specifically, well curded and curdled milk and honey?) Fry it to the test on Saturday. No this is not an autumn chili cookoff, or char the best burger, or even a poker run...
Scroll to Top