Mooked

Nearly six weeks in, and still, all over the world, all of the Sane people, they are all still agog, boggled, thunderstruck, quivering, quavering, rattled, in doleful forlorn wonderment, at how in the holy Samuel P. Hill the Clinton II woman, even with all her old, tired, boring, befuddled, errant ancien regime baggage, could possibly have lost the 2016 American presidential election to The Monster. A creature of bottomless bigotry and stupidity, a carnival geek, something you would hide in the basement when the Decent People come over, a pungent blast of room-clearing butt-gas, a wrongway mutant, a hideous retrovert, a freakazoid deformity, one that on the evolutionary scale slots somewhere among Zippy the Pinhead, Clem Kadiddlehopper, Vlad the Impaler, Alley Oop, and Bobo the punch-bag clown.

Many theories have been advanced, to attempt to explain this atrocity. But nowhere have I seen considered the gruesome truth robby-mook-cnn-e1467406260848-400x254that the Clinton II campaign was doomed from the moment the congenital sadsack Robby Mook was appointed as campaign manager.

This, pursuant to the Law of Names. Like most of the laws, the Law of Names has several subsections. But the one that concerns us here is that which provides that a name, in and of itself, can color, for good or for ill, the entirety of the existence of the named. Thus, if you are affixed with the name “Duane,” it becomes inevitable that, at some point in your life, you will face confinement in a penal institution. Similarly, if you are saddled with the name “Bertha,” all of your life you will struggle to keep your weight under 300 pounds.

And so, “Robby Mook”—that is simply not a name under which a person can expect to successfully run a national political campaign. The appropriate job prospects for a “Robby Mook,” merely because of the name, they are, sadly, just not that bright. I suppose a person burdened with such a name could work the counter in a deli. Maybe. Under close supervision. But under no circumstances could he be tasked with, say, handling any knives. Lest a conveyor belt must needs be constructed to ceaselessly stream the victims of the bunglethumbs Mook to the nearest medical facility.

Any and all Robby Mooks are, frankly, in grave danger, every time they even try to cross the street. When you read about a person who, while just walking down the sidewalk, is crushed by a piano, falling from six stories above: said hapless victim: Robby Mook.

If your name is Robby Mook, passing bullies shapeimage_2will just shove you off the sidewalk. If you are a Mook, but also a Robert, or a Rob, you might have a chance to stay on the sidewalk. But Robby? No.

If your name is “Robby,” you will never weigh over 99 pounds, and sand will always be kicked in your face. While “mook,” in the language, has long denoted a stupid, incompetent person, a loser, a bonehead. A person pre-destined to land on his ass. As we see in the clip below, from Martin Scorsese’s true-life documentary film Mean Streets:

It is clear that the Clinton II woman possessed no understanding of the Law of Names. If she had, and had then been presented with a “Robby Mook,” she would have been more likely to publicly fillet and eat a child, than appoint him as her campaign manager. She would have directed that such a mook be allowed but to purchase the backup office coffee—not even brew or serve it, for that would result in recurring mass casualties dispatched to the burn ward.

And name aside, just glancing at his resume: that should have sounded several warning bells—not to mention deafening sirens, klaxons, whistles, gongs, and foghorns. Because everywhere he has gone, and completely befitting a “Robby Mook,” there has been Failure, and Losing. The mook first worked as a field director in the 2002 Vermont gubernatorial election, thereby ensuring the Democrats lost. Then he albatrossed over to the 2004 presidential campaign of Howard Dean, so Dean could lose, before moving on to shoot the John Kerry campaign in the stomach, so the Americans could have four more years of George II. He next lost a Virginia state legislative race, before signing on to the 2008 presidential campaign of the Clinton II woman, so she could therein be humiliated and destroyed. In 2010 he applied his efforts to Democratic congressional candidates, who proceeded to lose nationwide to grunting, hooting, shambling creature4brutes, who in many cases were not even sentient. Thus preparing himself for the 2016 presidential race, in which he managed to mook a creature from the black lagoon into the Oval Office.

The Law of Names also foretold the fate of the various imps of Satan hired to campaign-direct the rumbling loose cannon that is The Monster. First there was Corey Lewandowski. He was not built to last, because “Corey,” in a boy, is a mook name, and “Lewandowski” is fatally crippled because, for a Polish name, it possesses too many vowels, too appropriately scattered—if he’d instead been, like, a Krylstfwyclz Wynczlzylwczobwylc, he might have hung on for the long run. But no. He was bound for unglory. And so is now reduced to being insane on the television, shouting like a Bedlamite out on a day pass that the election of The Monster means the Americans can now say “Merry Christmas.”

Next up came “Paul Manafort,” a name that provides you will gather in great gobs of money working for the slimiest killers on the planet, before you are undone with the discovery that your basement is swarming with albino eunuchs guarding a Midas pile of Moscow gold.

Finally, “Kellyanne Conway,” a name that conjures up a flight attendant who successfully sues to keep the job even when bad age and bad living have transformed her into a gargoyle. And “Steve Bannon,” which is exactly the name a Nazi agent in a WWII spy thriller would assume upon oozing into the United States to there work to convert the Americans to the cause of whiteness uber alles.

“Donald Trump” is, of course, a mook name. It is also redolent of someone who always has a little shit in his pants. And in his mouth.

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6 Responses to “Mooked”


  1. 1 sally December 19, 2016 at 3:20 pm

    oh, oh, how I have missed you! You have not lost a sliver of sarcasm nor a bite of vitriolic bitterness…Namaste — xoxox

  2. 3 sally December 19, 2016 at 4:01 pm

    oh, no, I like you NAUGHTY –as always. I need the competition. xo

    • 4 bluenred December 19, 2016 at 5:01 pm

      Yes, but if you’re naughty, you have to go to Hell, which is where Donald Trump is the president. ; 0

      Here’s a seasonal song, about the naughty and the nice.

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