Donald Trump, in his latest State of the Union address, tried to make me believe that I wasn’t living in America at all, but rather in the Land of Oz — or Shangri-La. Things, apparently, are so good that Paradise has got nothing on the USA. I was swept away by the warm and sweet effluvia of spin, cherry-picking and misrepresentations, straight into the politically dead sea, where in that weightlessness I was surrounded by an untold chunks of smelly, well-digested ordure. Carpetbaggers and their craft are well alive in politics, particularly in its highest rank.
And rank, indeed, was the climate in the capital last night as well as what I heard. Partial truth can make a foul apple sound very tasty, and a single, well directed beam of light on Quasimodo’s face may make one think that he is quite a handsome man. In truth the one is rotten and the other uglier than sin. Anyone possessed of clarity and full in view of uncorrupted facts knows well enough: not all is quite so rosy as we have been told in Sodom and Gomorrah.
