It happened on a Friday. The morning had to be organized to the last detail. You relied on that detail because you had a 9:00 AM tee time. Working backwards, you had to consider checking in, acquiring a cart and arriving at the range precisely at 8:30 AM. This time allowance gave you ample opportunity to practice swing flaws that would help guarantee failure at least 70 percent of the time. Regardless, this rigid schedule was necessary because your new pup must check in at the vet at 7:45 for vaccinations, check-up and overnight stay. Which meant you had to remember to collect his food, bed, toys and one shoe to remember you by. The vet routine put you back home at 7:58 AM, leaving you barely a half hour for your own personal rituals. In hindsight, you couldn’t have performed at a higher level, including cleaning up, watering plants, charging the range finder and setting the security system to lock down the place. Perfecto. That is, until you and your fellow players reached the 3rd green at Sedgefield Country Club. You were lining up your second putt when the official looking government SUV eased up and parked on the road directly behind you. The officer stepped out of his vehicle and you approached him to see if you could likely give him directions. In those few seconds, you recall hearing sirens and other alarms as you played the first hole 40 minutes ago. The young officer said, “We’re looking for a man walking a lab pup.”

That’s weird, you thought. “I have a lab pup, but it can’t be me you’re looking for.”

“Is your name Dick?”

You come unzipped. “What? Well, yes, but my pup’s at the vet . . .” all the while thinking, how many guys named Dick have a yellow lab pup in this neighborhood?

Then, the hammer. “Your son Rich called 911 and we have a dozen law enforcement and rescue people out looking for you because you left him a voice mail that sounded like you were in trouble.” Impossible. You quickly explain, you never called Rich, never left a message, your cell phone is in a golf bag, never been opened, on mute, with maybe 1% battery left. “Yes sir, but you also called your son in Philadelphia and left a garbled message that said something about ’emergency.'” Your playing partner, always quick with a solution, accusingly offered, “Hell, Dick, you butt dialed them; you butt dialed me before.” By now, you’re more mystified than annoyed. “Butt dialed both of them?” Apparently, you were supposed to have done that very thing between 8:30 and 8:45 on the driving range, when, as you recall, you were standing, not sitting, not kneeling, not lying on the wet turf.

But it gets worse.

“Sir, your daughter Amanda — ‘daughter-in-law’ — oh, sorry, daughter -in-law is at your house now with the sheriff’s people and they broke through your french doors in the back; they didn’t know that you weren’t locked up in the house in trouble.”

Quickly officer no-name made a couple of calls. “Sir, your daughter-in-law says the security alarm is going off and ADT is calling; she doesn’t know how to turn it off.”

Naturally, she doesn’t, you thought. In the next five minutes, you called both Amanda and Rich — and thanked them for alerting the army who were skilled in breaking down doors. Everybody was sorry. You were sorry for being so organized to play golf; they were sorry but had no choice under the circumstances. Nobody could reach you. As far as they knew, you were lying at the bottom of stairs, bleeding profusely on the oriental rug, comatose, or simply toast. Exactly the point, you think to yourself, over and over. Nobody could reach you because your cell phone was on mute, unused by you for anything. You had no intention to call anyone and weren’t receptive to receiving calls on the golf course. All well and good, but your cell phone had other ideas. In your bizarro world, it decided to make calls to two sons in the span of minutes, and, mind you, leave voice mails — one uttering “oh, my God;” the other, “emergency.”

Now that’s one magic mobile.

To be trite — all’s well that ends well. BTW, you missed the putt.

Epilogue:
Since this incident, you spent 20 minutes with Apple Technical Support. After hearing this story, the technician had not one clue — in fact, suggested it would be shared with supervisors to see if some theory might emerge. You partner in business always loves to remind you — when you’re having a malfunction or problem with your electronic devices, you can be sure it’s user error. Yeah, what else? The Russians?

America is threatened from every corner of the globe. That’s no revelation. Anyone who happens to be conscious knows it. Fortunately, the threats from other nations are paltry. All that America’s enemies can possibly do is wage war — with weapons, cyber attacks, economic barriers, currency manipulation, political tampering, diplomatic meddling and other destabilizing schemes. These plots will not bring down your country. No, America will self destruct, as predicted 62 years ago by a fat cat named Khrushchev. Well, Nikita, you’d be tickled to know the demolition of Old Glory is well underway, led by a malignant cancer that eats away at the most fundamental building block of your precious Republic. When officers and representatives of the Justice System themselves subvert the Rule of Law they are sworn to uphold, the wheels of liberty screech to a halt. When this happens; and it absolutely  has, the Truth becomes a lie. Honor becomes deceit, When those you trust betray that trust, you lose all faith in the hallmark institution that was created to protect you — that promises no one — no one — is above the law. Believe that, Matilda, and give the Flat Earth Society your mailing address. While the Earth rotated on its axis and revolved around the sun, Hillary Clinton was busy dodging and weaving, breaking several laws that she swore to uphold, including perjury. You will spare a recitation of her high crimes. They are chronicled in a hundred places; and if you can bear him for more than 10 seconds, Sean Hannity would love to give you his 15 minute summary without benefit of pause. Instead of wearing orange and eating out of metal trays, Hillary is out and about, dining with the rich and famous, lending her support to the war on her nemesis DT. Several years ago, the crime channel Investigative Discovery aired a series entitled Wicked Attraction. The episodes told stories about people who, as a pair, spawned an evil chemical flux. Producers theorized, had the pair never met, they likely would have never committed criminal acts. Willie and Hillary very likely fall under this theory, although nothing would have kept Bill from his willy-shaking addiction. Some have conjectured that marriage to Hillary accelerated his incentive to look elsewhere. Regardless, these people flourish while thousands of small time lawbreakers pay harsh penalties for petty crimes. The Clintons lead a sizable cast of privileged characters that have avoided justice in a Federal System that at this juncture is hopelessly impotent, and perhaps culpable, in cleaning its own house. These are high ranking officials in the State Department, Justice Department and the IRS, among others. If the U.S. Constitution, administered by the Executive, Legislative and Supreme Court balance of powers, can not, or will not dispense justice equally before the law, America is just a house of cards, ready for a fall. At this writing, Justice spits in the eyes of every American citizen. In reality, politicians are the ones doing the spitting. In 1789, the French rabble had a solution for their privileged class. The Iron Maiden. Crooked Hillary would have been first in their queue.

Epilogue

“At what point shall we expect the approach of danger? By what means shall we fortify against it? Shall we expect some transatlantic military giant, to step the Ocean, and crush us at a blow? Never! All the armies of Europe, Asia and Africa combined … could not by force, take a drink from the Ohio, or make a track on the Blue Ridge, in a trial of a thousand years. At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? I answer, if it ever reaches us, it must spring up amongst us. It cannot come from abroad. If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen, we must live through all time, or die by suicide.”

Abraham Lincoln

Donald Trump finally slipped up, made a boo boo. By now, you think he would know what needs to be done when you live in the loony bin that is Washington. What you do, Donald, is you don’t nominate Brett Kavanaugh to hold a seat on the Supreme Court. Kavanaugh is the progeny of a momma judge and poppa CEO, raised in Bethesda, educated at Georgetown prep and Yale, privileged and lily-white. How boring. By the time Democrat hoodlums — the ones that pass themselves off as Senators — get through with him, he can hole up in his home office and write his high school memoirs. Apparently, Christine Blasey Ford is a professor. You could have guessed. Another left wing, left coast, irrelevant educator who has waited 30 years to spill the beans because her “conscience” wouldn’t allow her to remain silent. Another brave feminist. What courage. She probably didn’t blow the whistle back when because secretly she took a little pride being physically acceptable enough to attract the opposite sex. Oh, you forgot, the teenagers allegedly were drunk. In any event, Trump made a mistake. He should have nominated a black, female, lesbian socialist. Had he done so, it would be the second time in recent years that all members of the Mainstream Media would experience a collective epic orgasm. Those insensitive and shameful slurs aside, only females should be nominated to the Supreme Court. You offer this recommendation soberly. No red blooded male would dare come forward decades after the fact and accuse a female SCOTUS nominee of sexual misconduct, much less rape. It doesn’t happen. Females are never aggressors, never attempt to lure men, never have motives or prejudices that could be called into question. By nature, men are born predator perverts. If every male member of Congress were examined under hypnosis, you would learn that each was guilty of masturbating routinely as teenagers. The same could not be said for females because everyone knows females don’t masturbate; and who could stomach a Supreme Court female judge who did? I’m sure Ruth Bader Ginsberg would agree. By restricting the high court to females, nominations and confirmations would wrap up in no longer than a week, allowing Senators to make better use of their time — huddling with favorite lobbyists or flying to foreign lands or playing online poker at their desks. The Kavanaugh hearings have revealed two salient facts:

One, Congress, and in this case, the Senate, is a cesspool, not a swamp.

Two, Senate lawmakers couldn’t carry Kavanaugh’s jock (Barney Frank of course would have enjoyed that) — not in high school, not in college and not now.

Finally and not surprisingly, the GOP has displayed its craven impotence. Or is it treachery? Does the GOP want Trump to get his man? Does the GOP want Trump’s success? You don’t think so. You think Kavanaugh is not the target. Trump is. The cesspool stinks.

Postscript: Two Rino GOP Senators threaten to vote “No.” Guess who. Bingo. Females.