The Howdygram 2: Our cowardly lyin’ President skipped the White House Correspondents’ Dinner again this year.

Sunday, April 29, 2018

Our cowardly lyin’ President skipped the White House Correspondents’ Dinner again this year.

SATURDAY, 2:06 P.M., 4/28/2018. Sam tells me that today will be a typical spring day in Texas … it’s 87° at 2 p.m. with an explosion of hot yellow sunshine and just enough humidity to turn Dallas into a very lovely SWAMP. Therefore we’re both enjoying our Saturday indoors here at air-conditioned Howdygram headquarters … with a nice light lunch and a William Powell movie! Today it’s Private Detective 62 (1933) co-starring Margaret Lindsay.

So here’s what’s going on right now. I woke up today at 11:30 (seriously!), popped a fistful of my morning meds, slobbered a bowl of chicken noodle soup for lunch, and now, at last, it’s time for Marcy’s Daily Bladder Extravaganza to get underway … usually three hours after I take my morning dose of Lasix, the strongest diuretic known to man. Lasix is already kicking in as I type, which means I have to figure out how long I should wait before I ask for help getting to the commode. I don’t think waiting will make much sense, however. (Trust me, I never have any luck with this.)

Anyway, the time is NOW. Sayonara!

SATURDAY, 9:20 P.M. Tonight we’re watching Seabiscuit (2003) starring Jeff Bridges and Tobey Maguire. This is a favorite of ours and one of the best feel-good movies of all time … even though Red Pollard has that horrible accident a couple of days before the match race with War Admiral. (Oy.)

In other news, our cowardly lyin’President skipped the White House Correspondents’ Dinner again this year because he’s scared to death of the media. Instead, he’s at a ridiculous rally in Michigan, hurling insults at members of Congress, threatening jail time for his “enemies,” pushing false shit about his innocence in the Russia investigation and pretending to be rich, powerful and popular … when, in fact, he’s anything but.

Cowardly Lyin’ POS Donald Trump. Too fucking scared of the press to show up at a banquet.

Look at that repulsive face. Shit, it’s enough to make me regurgitate my spaghetti and meatballs. Actually … it’s enough to make the entire country regurgitate its spaghetti and meatballs!

SUNDAY, 8:16 A.M., 4/29/2018. I think I’ve got spring allergies because my eyes are watering and my nose is drippy. There’s not much I can do for it, though. I think over-the-counter allergy meds would interact badly with the prescriptions that I take … so I’ll just have to sit here all day mopping my face with a napkin. It’s a full life, isn’t it?

It’s 8:23 a.m. and Sam just left for a long walk on the hiking trails at Samuell Park in south Mesquite. He has a chance to beat the afternoon heat when he leaves early like this, and I’m already comfortably parked on the sofa with all my essentials: 1) the remote; 2) my iPhone; 3) my pills and pain meds; 4) a 1-liter bottle of sugar-free strawberry soda; and 5) I can’t think of anything else. Except I just called Sam and left a voice message for him … I’ve got a craving today for something sweet so I asked if he’d stop at Fuel City on the I-80 service road and buy me two or three sugar-free fried pies. (My top three favorite flavors are pineapple, peach and apricot.)