insomniac's viticultural critique

The latest interlude in insomnolence...staring sleepless dark in the face, 23 degrees of longitude separating me from first dawn light. First it was wine and spaghetti, cake and all that jazz and now it's brother Thelonius after all that toss turn and tumble through a maze of pillows and blankets. Coffee, maybe some more wine...why not? Wine-ot, I say! This is no time to be coy. People are burning a football thrower man's shirt because he kneels during the patriot-prayer song, as if he burned their lack of intellect. Somehow it's too much for them to digest, because we're Making America Great Again, ya know. There's an orange man, with all the smarts of an egg salad, who wants to wear a funny hat on stage and remind us of the Alamo, because Davey Crockett died for our sins, so make someone pay. He maybe gonna be the new Boss Man Mr. Charlie because he missed out on getting to own a few negroes, like back in the day when America was really Great. Someone send this priapic mack-man, by horse preferably, out to the Dakotas for some kind of last stand in his quest for greatness. Lots of oily scalps ripe for the picking out there. Grrrrr...grrrrr....who's a good doggy? Sic 'em! Bitches in heat. What?? Hormones and nuclear codes should never mix, therefore no uterus for president, menopause notwithstanding. I love how we have evolved the thinky-thinky parts. I've heard of dudes who swim good and are even gooder at raping drunk girls behind dumpsters and are the goodest at walking out of jail shortly thereafter. I've heard of others who are daily beaten, tortured, kidnapped, raped, treated with suspicion, and murdered by the good guys, who don't get to walk away from that, and that's the law. And spoiled rich privileged (half-white and raised by white adoptive parents, don't forget, because all lives matter) football thrower man can't (literally) stand it any more, so now the entire HIStory of these You-Knighted States has been jihaded. Someone call Joe Montana! Fuck that, get Chuck Norris! Someone must pay for the wall! Just ask a Berliner, Palestinian, or your local inmate. There will be taco trucks on every corner and Salsa dancing on Tuesdays if we're not careful. Falafel and shawarma will be jumping out of the bushes. Thanks, Obama! Now my coffee has gone cold commie! I would make more but the kettle and the grinder are making out. Homosexual sin and fornication! More wine then...gah!!...goddamned French surrender-monkey swill! Where art thou, oh freedumb? Alas, dawn penumbra creeps to within a few degrees longitude, my children are hours away from their first ever day at high school, I will saunter off to work, people will throw footballs, and Monk will always make more sense to me than the current patriotic onanism.