The whole process of appointing the slimy, evasive, God-bothering, Brett Kavanaugh to the US Supreme Court has been a complete farce. He may deny it, but everyone knows that he has been chosen to roll back Roe v Wade, the landmark decision which held that women had a right to an abortion. He was put on a shortlist by a right-wing think tank which then handed the list to the White House. And what made Kavanaugh stand out on that list was not just that he was anti-abortion, anti-gay marriage, and anti-liberal; not just that he been legal adviser to George W Bush and an enthusiastic participant in prosecuting Bill Clinton for perjury. What made him stand out for Trump was that he, uniquely amongst the other conservatives on that list, would likely rule that Presidents could not be pursued for criminal or civil claims for acts committed whilst President. Which, seeing the way that things are going, what with Trump’s former associates singing more loudly than a Metropolitan Opera production of Wagner’s Ring Cycle, could come in very useful. So Trump wants him and the sycophants and fixers on the Senate Judiciary Committee are determined to railroad through the appointment, regardless of the candidate’s dodgy demeanour and predisposition to tell porkies, including about whether he told porkies the last time he went through the process, then for appointment as a Federal Judge.
Faced with accusations by university professor Christine Blasey Ford that Kavanaugh sexually assaulted her when they were teenagers three decades ago, neanderthal Senator Chuck Grassley, 85, first tried to brush them off. When he saw he could not do that, he proposed talking to her and to Kavanaugh by phone and then pressing on with the vote. After it became clear that this would also be unacceptable, he fixed a date for next Monday without bothering to ask Ford if it was convenient for her to attend. Grassley thinks it is appropriate to decide this matter by just hearing the two of them, with eleven pale, stale, male, Republicans cross-examining her with the obvious purpose of discrediting her so that they can get on with the confirmation. Several of them have already publicly indicated that they do not believe her. They do not think it appropriate to ask the other person allegedly present during the assault to give evidence under oath. They do not think it appropriate to ask the FBI to investigate the matter, even though the last time a putative Supreme Court Judge was facing similar accusations in 1991, the FBI carried out a full investigation and twenty two witnesses were called to give evidence, both courses supported by a certain Senator Chuck Grassley. They intend to make a decision without exploring whether there is any supporting evidence for Ford’s allegations. They pooh-pooh Ford’s objections that she wants an investigation first and that she also wants protection when she does attend, given the death threats and harassment she has already received. The majority members of the Senate Judiciary Committee are not interested in fairness but in expediency; because if they cannot get this vote through before November, there is a real chance that the Senate will fall under Democratic control and Kavanaugh’s appointment will be voted down. Tick. Tock.
WTF does not know whether Ford is telling the truth. She has not heard her give her account. It was a long time ago, and her evidence may be unreliable. But the Senate should ask why she is willing to go through this vitriol and danger and public humiliation if it is untrue, or why she raised it with her husband and a therapist eight years ago before Kavanaugh was ever mentioned as a Supreme Court possibility, or whether she would blatantly lie just to take one for the Democratic team, like some political kamikaze pilot. She has not heard Kavanaugh give his account. He might deny it because it never happened or because he was drunk and he cannot remember whether it happened or not. Or he may deny it because he wants to be a Supreme Court Judge and get rid of Roe v Wade. She has not heard the evidence of anyone else who might be able to assist in deciding what might or might not have happened. But she does know that some people still don’t get it when it comes to sexual assault. They still ask: Why didn’t she come forward earlier? What’s in it for her? What about the poor man and his wife and kiddies? This might be the era of #MeToo but the Majority of the Senate Judiciary Committee, eleven men committed to saving Trump’s arse (except perhaps Senator Sasse), the White House, and Republicans various are still living in the good old days when boys could be boys.
To the fashion foolishness of the week, starting with actor Joel Edgerton wearing Bruno Cuccinelli.
This is bad. Bad. BAD. He looks as if he has been rolling around in pig-shit. Nothing fits, nothing matches. He needs to take a size up. And buy an iron. And a mirror.
Here is Rihanna at the Diamond Ball she hosted, wearing Alexis Mabille.
This has a certain wit, but it has also a white lace Minge Moment. Which can never be good. WTF has also taken against the giant tit-bows like a bra for bunnies’ ears.
To New York Fashion Week and fashionista Anna dello Russo.
She is the lovechild of a squashed Christmas cracker and a mutant granite spiny lizard.
And now to the Emmys, the TV Oscars, where there was a fair amount of shockingness on view, starting with Gwendoline Christine, back again after last week’s debacle. This time she is wearing what appears to be a yellow nightgown by her boyfriend, Giles Deacon.
It’s Lady Macbeth, out for a nighttime stroll.
Meanwhile, WTF is tired of having to say this. Satin. Creases. Bigly.
This is actor and comedian Chris Sullivan wearing a most ridiculous suit by Mr Turk.
This suit is made out of the brocade wallpaper found in a Victorian knocking-shop. And there is more going on than in a Victorian knocking-shop. The only thing that is not going on, at least on Chris’s feet, is a pair of socks, leaving us to gaze forlornly upon pasty ankles.
Actress Tracee Ellis Ross wearing Valentino.
Tracee resembles a collapsed rhubarb crumble, (with matching eye makeup). It must be extremely stressful having to walk around all night clutching your embonpoint in one hand and your handbag in the other. What happened when she wants a glass of champagne or a canapé? Or she needs to shake someone’s hand? Was a minion on hand to feed her and proffer a straw? And as WTF observed earlier, Satin. Taffeta. Creases. Bigly.
This is model and activist Munroe Bergdorf wearing Gypsysport.
This deconstructed denim nonsense is getting well out of hand. First it was torn denim. Then it was virtually no denim at all, other than a sort of suspender effect. Then it was denim belts worn as bodices. Now the whole outfit is composed of denim belts. WTF is also extremely nervous of the consequences of someone un-popping those poppers
This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from all right-thinking people who cannot unsee the mental image of Donald Trump’s dick, as described by Stormy Daniels in her new book ‘Full Disclosure’. According to her, not only is the Trump todger smaller than average, but ‘It has a huge mushroom head. Like a toadstool’. Plus he has ‘yeti pubes’ and was crap in bed. The good news is that Trump cannot contradict the description or her assessment of his prowess, as he denies that he ever had jiggy-jiggy with her. The bad news is that, like a haunting melody, the image of that mushroom lingers on, and with it, a large number of previously enjoyable culinary experiences are now forever impossible. You did that Stormy. You have destroyed the mushroom industry, And given us all nightmares. It’s Got to Go.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Keep sending in your top comments and your excellent suggestions for It’s Got To Go. Let us meet again next Friday. Be good x