Especially in these weather conditions. The rain doesn’t stop falling and the wind howls morning, noon, and night. It’s effing creepy. Saturday afternoon my phone started bleating in distress with a Flash Flood Warning. Earlier in the month it was tornadoes. So when The Raven showed up outside my window Sunday, my heart stopped dead in my chest.
I’m alive today because I, quick, stuck my finger in a light socket.
Okay, a couple things here: I didn’t stick my finger in a light socket and that isn’t a Raven. It’s a Crow, maybe a Starling, a bird at any rate.
You do know I’m a liar, right? Everyone needs a hobby and mine is lying, because it’s fun and inexpensive. The trick to being a good liar, fyi, is keeping a straight face. People spot a gleam in your eye or detect the hint of a smile and the jig is up. The true payoff comes when you tell the truth and everyone sputters, ‘Oh, no, I’m not falling for that.’
Wrong. They just did. Hook, line, and sinker. For instance, musician David Gray recorded the album White Ladder in his London apartment. No one believes me, but it’s true. Plus, Hitler had an undescended testicle and J. Edgar Hoover is rumored to have been a cross-dresser. Nobody believes those little factoids, either, eyes roll. But they’re true.
So, you see, there’s a fine art to deceit.
And Mr. Trump, perhaps the world’s most prolific and ambitious liar, is a flagrant, glaring disaster in that capacity. He overreaches. He’s got the straight face — or scowling, menacing, squinty-eyed face — but no credibility. His lies have all the delicate nuance of flashing neon. He, alone, believes what he says, but that could be a mental disorder rather than persuasion.
This has been a public service announcement.
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