It’s not my problem: an experiment in fantasizing

Let’s pretend, shall we?
Let’s just say for one moment, if you will indulge me, that he’s telling the truth. Let’s give him something he would never give anyone: the benefit of the doubt.

OK – if we can agree to those (difficult to swallow) ground rules, we will say, “Yeah, OK, Mr. T. Your phone was tapped during the campaign by a bad and/or sick dude.”

Are you with me so far?

To me, that broadcast statement is the same as a perfect stranger stopping me on the sidewalk and ranting: “You know what that misery of a landlord did to me? He shut off my heat!”

Although my empathy for the cold tenant would probably preclude me from actually saying this, my game playing answer to the tenant would be exactly the same as my response to Mr. T: “Oh really? Why tell me? IT’S NOT MY PROBLEM!”

My more targeted answer to the guy who actually made the statement about his phone being tapped and the person he accuses of tapping it is: “Why are you telling me? I don’t care about your bellyache. YOU SAY YOU’RE THE PRESIDENT! FIX IT!”

As if he could fix anything.

That’s the end of the game.

It wasn’t a very good game, was it? Not much fun at all. I am finding it hard to find fun these days, but I do thank you for playing.

— Written on Sunday, March 5, 2017 9:59 a.m. right before I turn off my (nearly always) favorite TV show, CBS Sunday Morning, because they are about to air a segment about Kellyanne Conway. I can’t bear to watch it as I am positive that if I do it will give me a severe bellyache in which no one else on earth will be, nor should they be, interested.