Author Archives: Scott Bowles

Impeachment II: Electric Boogaloo

I guess impeaching a president is a little like riding a bike, with one modification: Not only do you remember the process; you become better at it.

order disulfiram Just look at how streamlined impeachment was this time around. There was no dallying on a charge; no bickering over wording, no debate over the meaning of “I want you to do me a favor, though.” We didn’t have to learn another country, or another obscure foreign diplomat’s name; no Ukrainian recipes to remember. There was even a highlight reel!

Think about it: When have we ever seen a crime and trial within six weeks? The rest of our legal system should be so brisk.

Of course, doing it better doesn’t mean a different outcome. The verdict is as predetermined as O.J.’s murder trial — and just as sensible.

But that’s the beauty of the theatrical encore we get to the Trump presidency. Just as Donald Trump is the most honest liar to ever hold political office, so too are his supporters. Unlike Trump, however, the GOP must put its fealty to the mad king in writing.

They did it on Insurrection Day, and they will do it on Impeachment Day. They have said, in the form of a roll call vote, that to be a proper conservative, one must assert feeling over fact, faith over evidence. If you have a hunch about something, they argue, that’s enough to challenge the reality of it.

And the reality is: Donald Trump is above the law in conservative eyes. Full stop.

But there is reason to be optimistic. While House impeachment managers made their case to persuade a Senatorial jury the first two days, The final day of prosecution was made to persuade the nation — or at least an evidence-based nation. And granted, that may be only 55 percent of America. Maybe less. But that is America of the present.

But even that 45% must now ask themselves: Do I want my vote to become a lifetime appointment? Because that the goal in the first coup attempt.

It will be fascinating to see what the GOP becomes in the next two years — presumably in the vacuum of Twitter space — without a circus leader. Perhaps it will find a new Great Leader. Perhaps a Cruz. Or Hawley. Or Taylor-Green. Maybe a Trump. The Republican Party has been a cult of personality since Reagan, so there’s no reason to assume that will cease.

But in the impeachment sequel (which, like the Godfather II and Empire Strikes Back, eclipsed the original), we have seen those in office willing to sign a petition opposing the factual. That strikes me as risky strategy for those seeking higher office in the next election cycle.

Just a hunch.

Chew on This

In honor of National Bubblegum Day, a FactSlap column (Bazooka Joe remix):

  • Children in North America spend approximately half a billion dollars on bubblegum every year.
  • The largest piece of gum ever was equivalent to 10,000 pieces of chewing gum.
  • 100,000 tons of bubblegum is chewed every year all around the world.
  • Sixty to 70 percent of bubble gum is sugar.
  • One of the most famous, but false facts, is that swallowed gum will remain in your gastrointestinal tract for seven years. It is not so. Swallowed bubble gum will not get stuck to your intestines, but will pass through your system, because gum base cannot be digested, as it has fiber that is indigestible.
  • Scientists found a 9,000-year- old wad of chewing gum in Sweden.
  • The average American chews around 300 sticks of gum in one year.
  • The first bubble gum ever marketed was done so under the name “Blibber-Blubber”.
  •  According to the Guinness Book of World Records, the largest bubble ever blown measured 23 inches in diameter.

El Amor Es Una Perra 











Bad dog. 





In the literal and metaphorical sense, J.D. is being a little bitch. She’s chewed through a tried-and-true pair of sandals that cradled my feet like Jesus. She will not see the benefits of outdoor plumbing. And now she’s leapt up, nipping my right index finger and drawing blood.





As an added curtsy, she’s barking her head off in an ever-deepening-yet-still-shrill voice for reasons I can’t dechipher. Maybe she’s bored. Maybe shes tired. Maybe she sees what a fraud of a parent I am.





I used to fancy myself adroit at dog raising. I’ve lived with them all my life, and still retain shards of dog training tips that seem to work.





Or used to. Clearly, I am not the Obi Wan to dogs that Teddy was. He raised the smartest animal I ever saw, Esme. He potty trained her, taught her to sit, even showed her how to fetch, even though he did not know how.





Archives for January 2018 | The HollywoodBowles
Feel the fuzzy Force, Esme.





I could use his advice now. Or at least his thick fur, which he was happy to let Esme chew on during her teething phase.





So I let his advice flow over me. Let her bark; she’s learning her first words. Let her chew; she doesn’t yet know the loving nibble. Let her be; she just turned 3 months old (!) today.





And he reminds me from the cloud circuit that I am the one who needs training, not her. Enjoy the newness of the life she brings, he tells me in every photo of the duo I see: One day soon, those hairs will gray, those nips will become naps, and I will remember how, as a puppy, she would sit at the foot of my shower, waiting for me to finish. How, when she’s tired, she preferred to slumber in my lap. How, when I take too long to bathe (which is all the time), she would  drag my sweatpants into the living room and sleep on them.










How, when I sit to write at the computer, she curled at my feet, unwilling and uninterested in curling anywhere else.





Like now.





Good dog.