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That upcoming Trump-Kim meeting: What happened



Many people are curious about the background of the proposed summit meeting between Donald Trump and Kim Jong-un. How did it actually come about? Were there contacts between the two leaders? Has a tentative agreement already been set, or are the two men really going to sit down and have an open-ended negotiation?

My blog can now shed some light on the situation, based on interviews with confidential contacts who asked that their names not be revealed because they were not authorized to speak with the media. My sources include Americans, North Koreans, South Koreans and Chinese. They all have access to top-secret information. Here are the facts.

Last Aug. 8, when Donald Trump made his famous speech warning North Korea of “fire and fury like the world has never seen,” he was actually communicating with Kim, using pre-arranged code words. Rather than threatening North Korea with nuclear devastation, as all analysts thought, Trump was telling Kim two things: “fire” meant that Trump had accepted Kim’s insistence that North Korea must maintain its nuclear capability no matter what—a capability that would be guaranteed by the U.S.– while “fury” meant that he, Trump, would have to continue to threaten and insult “Rocket Man” for domestic political purposes.

In other words, Trump entirely acceded to Kim’s demands, which had been presented to him earlier through an intermediary. She has been identified as Bee Ah-San,

a North Korean national who owns a Korean restaurant in Washington, D.C. and is said to be close with Kim Jong-un’s sister, Kim Yo-jong. According to sources, Kim Yo-jong and Bee Ah-San met late last summer in Abu Dhabi. Both women were sent by their respective masters, Kim Jong-un and Donald Trump, and were able to communicate in confidence. A source within the South Korean government told me that Bee Ah-San has had numerous meetings with Trump’s personal lawyer, Michael Cohen, including at least three dinners at Bee Ah-San’s restaurant.

Bee Ah-San told Kim Yo-jong that Trump badly wanted a deal of some kind regarding North Korea’s nuclear weapons program, so that Trump could boast of it in America, call himself the greatest peacemaking president in history, win a Nobel Peace Prize, and distract public attention from his mounting legal problems and sex scandals. Bee Ah-San added that Trump was prepared to allow North Korea to continue its missile and hydrogen bomb programs unmolested, provided that Kim Jong-un would agree to a deal. That deal, Trump added, did not have to be real. All he required, Trump said, was the appearance of a deal—an image Trump’s base would see and remember despite subsequent developments.

Viewed against these facts, we can see this upcoming summit meeting—if it ever happens—as nothing but a political ploy that benefits both leaders. North Korea will keep its nuclear weapons and missiles, even as Trump brags that he de-nuclearized North Korea. The media will point out the untruth of Trump’s claim. He will then attack the media, once again, as horrible liars, and his base will believe him. Sites such as Breitbart and InfoWars and rightwing newspapers like the Wall Street Journal will run articles stating that Trump scared the shit out of Kim Jong-un and forced him to destroy his nukes, even as North Korea happily continues to build up its stocks of bombs.



From the Personal Diary of HOPE CHARLOTTE HICKS



I am, like, so totally misunderstood! Seriously, Dear Diary, people think they know me but they don’t!!! I think they’re jealous. Just because I’m young, beautiful and smart, they want to drag me down. Well guess what Dear Diary? I’m a strong woman. I can take it. #MeToo.

I’m not saying Donald—I mean, Mister President—ever did anything inappropriate with me. Anything that happened was concensh—conshen—corntensh—oh darn it, Dear Diary, you know what I mean!!!! He didn’t grab me like those other ladies say he grabbed them. But I don’t think he grabbed them either. They’re liars. You know, people always try to sue him to get some money because they’re dirty little grubs. I was talking with Ivanka the other day—God, I love that girl!!!—and she was saying how much she hates those b*****s (I can’t really write the word b/c it’s dirty) and I do too! They’re all mad because they’re not young and beautiful and smart like me and Ivanka. Like it’s Donald’s, I mean Mister President’s fault they’re old uggers! I mean, get a life, ladies!!!!

People wanna know why I left. Well, Dear Diary, here’s something you can’t tell anyone!!!! I mean, lips sealed! Cross your heart and hope to die!!!! Well, three weeks ago Mister President and me were drinking slurpees on the Truman Balcony—it was kind of warm that day—and he put his hand on my knee and said, “Hopy-Dopy (that’s his endearing nickname for me, tee hee!), maybe it’s time you went back to being a model before you lose your looks.”

“How do you mean, Mister President?” I asked him. I mean, I’m only 29! And I look 19!!! I dermascrub every day, I have the best laser doctor in the District, I get two head-to-toe facials a week, I do my own hot-spot fillers and ultrasonic plumping, and I diet like there’s no tomorrow. Like, look at this skin, Dear Diary!!! Flawless!!! So I didn’t know what Mister President meant by “before you lose your looks.”

So I said, like, “Oh, Dompy (that’s my affectionate nickname for him), doesn’t Daddy-Waddy likey Baby-Boo any-moo?” (We tend to talk babytalk when we have those intimate moments together.) And he squeezed my knee even harder and then he moved his hand a little further up my thigh. You know, Dear Diary, people say he has tiny, fat hands, and they are kinda pudgy, and his fingers are cold. But he’s really very sweet. That’s what Melania doesn’t understand. She’s a hard one, that girl. I call her The Sloppy Slovenian. Her clothing is very couture, but when she’s off camera it’s, like, all sweats and T-shirts, and she hardly ever bathes. Like, on hot days, her pits smell like a garbage dump! And she doesn’t shave. Well, those Europeans are very—how should I say it?—well, like Donald, I mean, Mister President says, they’re not like us. Not American!!!!

I guess I could go back to being a model. Victoria’s Secret contacted me a while back and asked if I was interested, which I’m not. I won’t do skin anymore. I’d like to be a big T.V. star like Megyn Kelly. Somebody told me she makes, like, $15 million a year at NBC. And I’m just as pretty as her. Prettier! Besides she’s old, old, old!!!! Almost fifty. Eeewww. I can’t imagine being that old. I asked Donald, “Mister President, who do you think is prettier, me, Megyn Kelly or Melania?” and he stroked my hair and gave me a bite of his Big Mac. He’s such a giver!

I could use the money, to tell the truth, Dear Diary. My lawyer bill is up to $650,000 already. I don’t know what that mean man, Muller or whatever his name is, wants. He’s so dirty. I just know he’s a liberal, probably an Islamic radical who’s out to get Mister President. I could tell when I looked into his eyes. I’m very sensitive, as you know, Dear Diary, and I could tell I was looking into the soul of a Hater. It’s like Sean Hannity was saying, there are evil people out there and we have got to stop them!!!!

I asked Donald, I mean Mister President, if we could still see each other when I leave the White House and he said it was no problem, the Secret Service would take care of it. They’re so clever. I remember one night in Mar-a-Lago when Melania was there and they were entertaining some foreign dignatery, digatory, dingledary, well, you know, a very important personage from some foreign country someplace, and while Melania was having tea and cookies with him in the ballroom, the Secret Service brought me in through the servant’s entrance to Donald’s, I mean Mister President’s private apartment by the garden, and Melania never even knew! Tee hee, it makes me giggle. Donald told her he had to take an important call and he came to see me for, like, fifteen minutes, and then he put his pants back on and went back to the ballroom and I’m sure Melania was none the wiser! I do feel sorry for her, a little, but, like, her pre-nup is really gennarus, ghennerush, jinrus, oh poop, I mean, like, she gets $25 million when they split, so what does she have to complain about, anyway? Donald doesn’t bother her anymore. He told me her ass and hooters are really sagging and he hates that, he says she looks like Hillary! My ass, in case you’re wondering, is really buff, Dear Diary! And my boobies, well, not too shabby, thank you! I’m one girl that takes care of herself.

Anyway, Dear Diary, that awful Muller asked me if I keep a Diary and I said no. It was just a little white lie so I don’t think I did anything bad. Do you? Mmmmwahh, love you Diary!

The Sunny Day Massacre: Legacy of a school shooting



The slaughter last October at Sunny Day Middle School was compounded by “a comedy of errors” that made it worse than it had to be, according to a report of the Investigative Committee called by Idaho’s Republican Governor, Daniel McNutt, into the tragedy that left 77 children, 19 teachers, a school janitor and 24 police officers dead. An additional 219 people were injured in the melee.

The report, released on Twitter, found that a variety of mishaps contributed to the death toll. The first was that the school’s official Armed Teacher, Lillian Waggle-Jones, mistook five-year old Caitlyn McDruthers for the shooter; the real shooter was Calvin Boyd, 17, who had been expelled from the school five years previously. While Waggle-Jones was shooting little Caitlyn (whose lunchbox the near-sighted teacher mistook for a gun), Boyd ran into the hallway, mowing down more children with his AR-15.

When the other students in Waggle-Jones’ classroom realized their teacher had shot Caitlyn, they attacked her in an effort to disarm her. Waggle-Jones, panicking, continued to spray the room with a hail of bullets, causing additional deaths and injuries. Meanwhile, a SWAT team from the Pleasantville Police Department had arrived. Swarming the school, they mistook Waggle-Jones for the shooter and shot her dead, but unfortunately, eleven children who were near her also were killed.

Thinking they had stopped the massacre, the SWAT team put down their arms. But by that time, Boyd had made his way into the lunchroom, where he continued his killing spree. Hearing the sound of shooting, the SWAT team headed in the direction of the cafeteria. But a second SWAT team had arrived and, encountering the first SWAT team, mistook them for terrorist assassins. A shoot-out between the two SWAT teams ensured, during which more teachers and children were struck. Most of the slain police officers died during that confrontation.

Boyd shot and killed 34 children in the cafeteria before heading for the gymnasium, where a volleyball game was underway. Since the gym is in a separate building, those at the game were unaware of what was happening in the school, across a grassy knoll. Entering the gym, Boyd opened fire. The three hundred students and parents at the game attempted to flee, causing a stampede in which 17 were trampled to death. At that moment, a contingent of armed soldiers from nearby Fort Bigelow, who had been called to the scene via the emergency police broadcast, stormed the gym. They opened fire, shooting another 34 children and adults before realizing their mistake. Boyd apparently saw the chaos as his chance to escape and continue his rampage. He went outside to the parking lot, which was quickly filling up with children, teachers, parents, neighbors, police, EMT personnel and news reporters. Seeing him brandishing his AR-15, Pleasantville police officers opened fire, striking at least 25 individuals, but somehow missing Boyd, who, knowing that he was surrounded and running out of ammunition, turned the semi-automatic weapon on himself. The bullets killed him, but, passing through his body, also killed three more teachers, seven police officers, and the school janitor.

The report also revealed that Waggle-Jones’s mental state and physical health had not been adequately determined before officials named her as Sunny Day’s sole Armed Teacher. Waggle-Jones, 67, suffered from Parkinson’s Disease, was in psychotherapy for undisclosed reasons, and was taking the medications Clonazepam and Diazepam, both of which are prescribed for conditions such as anxiety and depression. She also had complained about her eyesight, according to several witnesses who knew her. The Pleasantville School District officials who appointed her as Armed Teacher were unaware of her conditions. Waggle-Jones received a “signing fee” of $1,000 for volunteering as Sunny Day’s Armed Teacher.

“This comedy of errors could not have been foreseen,” Gov. McNutt insisted, at a contentious press conference. He added, “I mean, arming Ms. Waggle-Jones seemed like a good idea at the time. President Trump himself said so. So we had no reason to think anything could go wrong.” In Washington, D.C., President Trump’s press secretary, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, when asked about the massacre, responded, “The President stands by his assessment that arming teachers is the best way to prevent school shootings.” Sanders insisted that the dead-and-wounded toll at Sunny Day “would have been a lot higher, if Ms. Waggle-Jones had not been armed.” Later, in a tweet, President Trump said that there would have been “no deaths at all, if all the teachers had been armed, as well as all of the students. You figure, every gun in that school would have meant at least one less death. So the solution is to fill the schools with more guns than people. That’s what Wayne LaPierre tells me, and believe me, he’s a patriot. He loves children and America and his mom.”

In a separate tweet, the president offered his “thoughts and prayers” to the families of the victims. He also seemed to criticize Caitlyn McDruthers, the five-year old girl who was shot by her own teacher. “Her lunchbox obviously looked like a gun. We’re looking into why her parents allowed that to happen. I understand that they are Democrats. We’ll see. In my opinion, that teacher did exactly what she was trained to do: open fire on a threat. Lillian Waggle-Jones is a hero.”

A spokesperson for the National Rifle Association, Dana Loesch, said the NRA “will not be gaslighted into thinking we’re responsible for a tragedy we had nothing to do with.” She blamed the Sunny Day Massacre on “Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, Oprah Winfrey, the elitist fake media, snowflake libtards and the Deep State. MAGA!”

From the diary of DONALD J. TRUMP



Of all the crap in that fake book, “Fire and Fury,” the one that bugs me the most is that I didn’t really want to be president.

Dad taught me a great lesson: whatever you do, make sure that, either way things go, you win. So, when I decided to run, I figured that even if I didn’t win (and, Dear Diary, you know, nobody thought I would), it would be an opportunity. I’d be the most famous man in the world. The book deals, the branding, the T.V. shows, the pussy—Huuuuge.

I was thinking about being president thirty years ago. Who wouldn’t, when you’re in my position? Rich, handsome, famous, the most powerful guy in New York City, women throwing themselves at me, celebrities lining up to kiss my ring. Even back in 1988, Oprah was asking me if I wanted to be president. That’s because I’d been leaking hints to my friends, like Liz Smith, who passed them on in their gossip columns. True, she was a dyke, but she probably did more for my career back then than anybody else, except me.

It was easy for me to play with the idea of running because I didn’t have to make a decision. I thought about it in 2000, but that idiot, George W. Bush, had the nomination sewn up. I thought about it again in 2008, and again in 2012, but my instinct told me not to—and my instinct has always been infallible.

So when the 2016 cycle rolled around, my instinct said, “Go for it.” But you know what really made me want to run? It was that White House Correspondents Dinner, in 2011, when Obama made that nasty joke about me and Meatloaf.

I thought, “That bastard, I’ll show him.” I don’t start fights, as you know, Diary, but if somebody hits me, I hit back ten times as hard. So who’s sorry now? Obama’s a big nothing, doing cheap Letterman interviews, while I’m freaking the shit out of the entire planet.

I like this job okay, and I’m gonna run again in 2020. Oh, the damn liberals think they’re gonna drive me out of office. Let them delude themselves. I’ve got my base, and as long as I have them, I have the Republican Party—and I’ll always have my base. The shock when I win re-election will drive my enemies crazy. For that matter, they’ll be shocked when Mueller and those damn Congressional committees exonerate me. The Dems think I’m bad now? Wait’ll I’m in the clear. They ain’t seen nothing yet, to quote my hero, Ronald Reagan. Dems, Iran, Kim Jong Un, Mexicans, dark-skinned immigrants, gays, Pocahontas, welfare, food stamps, terrorists, unAmericans, liberals, the media—I’m comin’ for them all, and nothing and nobody’s gonna stop me.

Adolf Hitler talks about Donald J. Trump



Why I chose to come back at this time is simple: I’ve come back before; I will come back again. I like visiting Earth whenever when interesting leaders are present. Having myself been a leader, and a historic one at that, I have some personal interest in leadership, particularly in strong men, who do not shy away from authoritarian practices when they are needed, as they always are in times of threat such as America is now facing. Nations do not become great, and remain great, by accident. It takes a leader, with the necessary vision, historical understanding and powers of persuasion, to lift a nation above its ordinary inertia to world power. I was that person for Germany, in my time, and would have succeeded, had I not been betrayed on so many fronts, by so many weaklings whom I trusted. But that is a tale for another day.

The man who has most impressed me—until now–since my departure from Earth, in 1945, was Pol Pot. Now there was a strong dictator! He knew exactly what he wanted and did not allow weaklings, doubters or naysayers to influence him. He knew how to deal with them. Summarily! Pol Pot was a leader in my mold—in fact, he said many times that he admired me more than any other world leader in history. That is not faint praise! I liked also Stalin and Idi Amin, but not as much as Pol Pot. Now, some have asked me if I admired North Korea’s Kim family. The answer—I must be honest—is, No. They were strong, and did not hesitate to be ruthless, but their strategy was too unremitting, too inflexible. A leader must be willing to turn instantly from one direction to another, if such a change is called for. I did that when I made my pact with the Soviet Union, in 1939, and then again, two years later, when I invaded Russia. The Kims have proven unable to be creatively resilient, particularly this current one, Jong Un. Perhaps he will change.

So why have I returned now? Ach, it is a good question! I think you know the answer. There is a world leader today who bears my closest and most careful scrutiny. He might almost have read my various books and speeches, so closely does he hew to my methods. His use of propaganda is most skillful; his lies masterful in their ability to thwart and confuse his opponents; the way he plays to his followers’ resentments is exactly the way I played to mine. And his hatreds! Ach, positively Hitlerian. His unpredictability leaves his enemies off balance. It reminds me of how I kept all Europe, indeed the whole world, guessing as to my next move, in the 1930s. First, rearming; then, the Rhineland; then Austria; then the Sudetenland and all of Czechoslovakia; finally, the Corridor, Danzig and Poland. But nobody ever knew if, where or when I would move. If you can keep your opponent guessing, he will be that much more unguarded when the blow lands.

That is what I like about this President Trump. It is true that, personally, he is repugnant to me, a vulgar, greedy billionaire, with a nepotistic family, the kind of bloodsucker I used in my rise to power and then discarded. But one need not like a man in order to admire his achievements, and I respect Trump. So ambitious! Like me, he dreams of unlimited power and authority. Like me, he makes no secret of his goals. I spelled them out for all to see in Mein Kampf. Trump did so, obliquely, in The Art of the Deal. He is perhaps not quite so audacious as I was; I was in a far more advantageous position because, in Germany in 1933, when I seized power, there were virtually no checks and balances with which to stop me. Trump faces a determined internal opposition, these damned Democrats, most of whom are Jews–the same cabal that was behind Roosevelt. But I believe that Trump has plans for dealing with them. I cannot read minds—that is not a talent of the dead. But I can read body language, and I see that this man—so belligerent, so allergic to normal ethics, so uncaring of what anyone thinks about him—has the stuff to dispatch his enemies. He merely awaits the opportune time. A great leader possesses, above all, patience.

And so I have returned. I cannot know for sure if Trump is aware that I hover around him, whispering in his inner ear. I like to think I have influenced some of his decisions: the Arpaio pardon, for instance, I was heavily in favor of. And—let me be entirely truthful—I think I put the Obama birther idea into his head. Trump’s scapegoating of colored people is exactly equivalent to my scapegoating of the Jews. I have other ideas for Trump, which I will not spell out publicly. But next time you see him on T.V., stirring up resentment and fear amongst his base, you might notice a slight shadow behind him, a crackling of the air; and you would not be mistaken if you said to yourself, “That is Hitler, murmuring to Donald Trump’s subconscious.”


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