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Duncan Hunter: San Diego's good soldier

An almost factual story

The good soldier in him must have sensed me coming. “Mencken, you son of a bitch!” he hollered. “You better watch what you write. I’m a private citizen now. Sue your ass.”
The good soldier in him must have sensed me coming. “Mencken, you son of a bitch!” he hollered. “You better watch what you write. I’m a private citizen now. Sue your ass.”

Disclaimer: None of this ever really happened. But then, Donald Trump is President…

When I found Duncan Hunter — the former Marine and soon-to-be former Congressman from the United States’ 50th District — holding down one end of the Renegade Country Bar off Olde Highway 80 in Lakeside (you know, the one with the rearing horse on the roof and the chuck wagon out front) — he was in a bad way. I didn’t blame him; he’d had a month. His main man, President Trump: headed for impeachment. The Afghan war, in which he served: revealed to be an unholy mess, the extent of which was covered up by the people waging it. And on the personal front: public disgrace over admitted corruption. And a wife who can’t be happy to have been portrayed as the real culprit when he was having dinner and visiting hotels with… Individuals. I wouldn’t go home either, no matter how many family vacations I’d bankrolled with campaign funds.

Man of the Year

The bartender wouldn’t say how many War Crimes — essentially, a Jäger Bomb with Four Loko serving to receive the shot instead of Red Bull — she’d committed for Hunter, but she did suggest that maybe I buy him a beer, something to act as a comma in the run-on sentence that was his evening so far. I ordered up a couple of Bolt Brewery brews, seeing as how the Congressman would soon be fading into San Diego’s history just like the Chargers a few years back, and made my approach. I had some news.

The good soldier in him must have sensed me coming. “Mencken, you son of a bitch!” he hollered. “You better watch what you write. I’m a private citizen now. Sue your ass.”

That’s me in the middle of an awkward moment at dinner with the Hunters. “Did you really just say, ‘Honey, please pass the blame?’”

“Not yet, you’re not,” I reminded him. “You told everyone you weren’t resigning until after the holidays. That way, you get an extra $10K out of Uncle Sam, even though you’ve been booted from all your committees and asked not to vote on anything by the House ethics committee. You know, because you pleaded guilty to conspiracy to misuse campaign funds. Gotta say, that was a baller move, announcing your plan to take money from the government for doing nothing. And you a Republican who’s on the record opposing handouts! Now you’ve got a member of the press buying your drink. But I guess we owe you; you’ve given us so much, from playing Lord Vaper on the floor of the House to bringing the Deep State out of the bowels of Reddit and into the mainstream. I tip my fedora to you, sir.”

Hunter meets the Don soon after his offer of endorsement.

Hunter took a slug of his beer and eyed me suspiciously over the rim of the glass. The hairs on the back of my neck twitched. As I said, I had news: I’d gone looking for him. But I’ve gotten soused with enough public servants to know when one of them wants to talk. So I adopted a receptive demeanor and waited. He did not disappoint.

“You ever see The Godfather, Mencken?” he began. “You remember Sollozzo? The Turk? That’s me. He saw the future. He knew the old ways were done for, that Don Corleone was washed up, no matter how much political juice he had. Remember what Sollozzo asked Tom Hagen after he had Don Corleone shot? ‘Ten years ago, could I have gotten to him?’ Ten years ago, could Donald Trump have become President? I saw the future, just like the Turk. I saw how things were slipping. That’s why I was the first Congressman to endorse Trump, back in February 2016. Trump said he didn’t care, because that’s what he had to do. He was coming to drain the swamp; he couldn’t look like he was playing the game in the old accepted way. I mean, look who had all the endorsements at the time: Rubio. Rubio! But Trump noticed. I know it. That’s why I said I didn’t think he wanted my endorsement. So he would know I understood his game.

“So yeah, things were slipping. Don Corleone, he had a code: ‘Drugs is a dirty business,’ he said. Sure he was a crook, but there were just some things he would not do, that simply were not done — as if a crook gets to have principles. The old guard felt the same way about Trump. Presidents don’t Tweetblast. Presidents don’t grab women. Or if they do, they don’t talk about it with reporters. Presidents are…Presidential. Bullshit. Just like Don Corleone was bullshit. Dude was a crook pretending to be a gentleman. But he was just a crook. There’s no such thing as dirty business; there’s just business. Just like there’s no such thing as war crimes; there’s just war. ‘War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it; the crueler it is, the sooner it will be over.’ General Sherman said that, and he was on the side of the Union, the good guys. Nobody’s tearing down any monuments to him: his statue is right there in President’s Park. Hey, did you know that there was a huge fight over who got to design his memorial? The Society of the Army of the Tennessee chose a guy the National Sculpture Society wouldn’t even consider. The New York Times condemned the selection as ‘discreditable,’ and the Senate debate showed that people had had enough of the so-called ‘experts.’ Sound familiar?”

I sensed we were losing the thread. “So you’re Sollozzo, huh? You see the future?”

“Damn straight” Hunter blurted. “Hell, I am the future. As my oh-so-public campaign expenditures indicate, I vape, I play video games, I take cool trips to ’grammable places, and I make tons of runs to Jack in the Box. I hang at Disneyland, and I buy my pet bunny her own seat on the plane. I am the youth vote’s Man in the Mirror. On top of that, as you jackals have so helpfully reported, I’m living in my parents’ house, I like to day drink with my crew, and I keep inappropriately dressed babes around when I’m at work. So I’ve got the slacker/bro vote on lock, too.”

“Spoiler alert,” I interrupted, “Sollozzo died. Don Corleone’s son Michael shot him. And now you’re resigning. And Trump’s getting impeached. Even if you are the future, sometimes, it doesn’t pay to be ahead of the curve.”

He was ready for me. “But I’m not just Sollozzo, Mencken. I’m Michael, too. And not just because I’m the son of a longtime Congressman, a part of the old order. Because I’m a good soldier. Michael was a war hero. He did what he had to do, and he paid for it — two years in exile. That’s me. I’m loyal to the Don; I’ve been loyal throughout. He goes hard to the Muslim menace, I call my opponent Ammar Campa-Najjar an Islamist security threat, even though he’s a Christian. He says we need a wall, I make a video showing how easy it is to jump the border, even though actually doing so would have meant violating my parole. He steps in on behalf of Eddie Gallagher, I’m right there condemning ‘the entire military justice system’ for their treatment of an American hero. And screw impeachment: I showed Trump that you can win an election while you’re under indictment! So yeah, I’ll go to Sicily — or in this case, East County. But don’t think I won’t be back after Trump wins in 2020. The President has never called me sad on Twitter. That means something.”

I snapped. I wasn’t angry, exactly. Just frustrated, like when you see Sonny take the bait after Carlo beats Connie and heads off to his death on the Jones Beach Causeway. Sonny is being Sonny, and he’s doomed because of it. And Hunter? “You’re not Michael,” I spat. “You’re not even Sollozzo. You’re Mr. Feather from Undercover Brother. He was The Man’s right hand, the favored son of the champion of traditional whiteness — until he screwed up and lost. You remember what The Man says when Mr. Feather is dangling from his helicopter, begging to be rescued? ‘That Feather went out like a sucka. Punk ass bitch played himself. Let’s bounce, dog.’ That’s right: he talks just like the folks he’s supposedly fighting, and he lets the true believer take the fall. The Man isn’t a champion of anything but himself. And you? You’re not Trump the Next; you’re Trump the Lesser. Trump declared bankruptcy six times and is still a billionaire; you drained your bank account and went to live with your dad. He bragged about grabbing women by the pussy and cheated on his wife — allegedly — with porn stars and Playboy playmates, and still brought Melania’s smiling self into the White House; you stepped out with a few Individuals and your wife flipped on you to the Feds. He bagged on foreigners and rallied his base; you went after Campa-Najjar and barely squeaked out a victory in reddest San Diego. You’re Diet Trump. Trump lite.”

It was too much, I know. Hunter has those big eyes, and suddenly, they were even bigger, regarding me with a mixture of pain and surprise. Why had I gone so hard? those eyes asked. Reader, I will tell you why I kicked the puppy. On December 3, shortly after Hunter pleaded guilty and ended his political life, Assistant U.S. Attorney Phillip Halpern told the press, “The case began when Morgan Cook published an article in the U-T.” The article reported that the Federal Election Commission was questioning Hunter’s use of $1302 in campaign funds to pay for video games on Steam. “We said [to the FBI], ‘Look at this — is there a case?’” Then Halpern talked to the Justice Department, and the hunt for Hunter was on.

But Halpern fudged; the case didn’t really start with Cook. According to the Times of San Diego, U-T Digital Editor Ricky Young says that “a tip came in about an ‘interesting FEC inquiry about Hunter’s campaign filings.’” A tip. Cook did her job and she did it well, but it started with a tip. A tip from whom?

As I said, I came looking for Hunter because I had news. Something he needed to hear: a tip of my own. Something that would let him know that the Don wasn’t dead, however many shots he had taken; he was very much alive, and had no intention of naming an heir. That the President’s four-dimensional chess game with his many enemies occasionally required the sacrifice of a pawn, that attention on one Republican’s bad-ideas-bumbling could prove an advantageous distraction for another Republican who was having a difficult time in the public eye — provided there were no observable ties to the throne. Hunter had been right about Trump, way back in February of 2016. Trump didn’t want his endorsement. But he could use it.

Good soldier Duncan Hunter had gone out on a limb for that wily rascal Trump, and all it had done was put a target on his back. From the very beginning. A tip. Dammit, Hunter ought to know where it came from. So that he didn’t sit waiting by the phone like a sap. I kicked the puppy because I wanted to soften the effect of the real blow when it came.

But I couldn’t do it. Those eyes were too damn big, too full of innocent hope. How do you tell a kid that Santa’s not coming this year — not ever? I was a jerk not to tell him, but I couldn’t do it. I left him there, at the Renegade, and hoped that 2020 would be kinder to him than 2019 had been. To all of us.

Campaign is life

Duncan Hunter releases statement in response to Department of Justice investigation into alleged misuse of campaign funds

Congressman: “They out here tryin’ to make the Hunter the prey, though they know this show is strictly pay to play.”

APRIL 2017: Statement from the Representin’ Representative: “The House Ethics Committee is conspiring with the DOJ to see whether I ‘converted funds’ from my congressional campaign committee to so-called ‘personal use.’ They’re talking about things like flights, jewelry, travel, and ‘other expenses.’ They seem to think these things don’t quality as ‘bona fide campaign expenditures.’ Fool, don’t you know that all that is part of my personal brand, and my brand is my number one campaign asset — just like every other politician and playa in DC? This is some kind of bullshit play right here, but I promise my fans that I am going to rise above. Don’t nobody punk the Dunc.”

The Hunter becomes the hunted

Prosecutors draw link between Duncan's dough, nuts

Dude, if you’re gonna use your campaign funds to cheat, don’t put your wife in charge of the campaign funds. That’s like Smollett paying by check.

JULY 2019: Congressman Duncan Hunter, currently under indictment for misuse of campaign funds, is unhappy that a judge has ruled that evidence showing he used those funds to finance extramarital affairs with lobbyists and staffers may be admitted in court. And now, he’s speaking out about it: “Like my lawyers say, I was mixing business with pleasure — no problem there. My friendships often blur the line between personal and professional. Hey, that’s like that song, ‘Blurred Lines.’ Did you see the video for that one, where the girl is dancing around in just a pair of panties? Damn, that was hot. Anyway, the filing against me says that I met up with women and ‘engaged in intimate personal activities unrelated to Hunter’s congressional campaign or duties as a member of Congress.’ That’s nonsense. Congress has been screwing the American people since forever. Hey-o!”

Hunter's most dangerous game

Representative takes aim at critics of accused Navy SEAL Edward Gallagher

In this undated file photo, Special Operations Chief Edward Gallagher (left) and US Representative (and ex-Marine) Duncan Hunter (right) pay a visit to the black site headquarters of the mysterious Colonel Kurtz to seek counsel regarding both the treatment of enemy combatants and the proper method of dealing with fallout resulting from same. Center is an unnamed civilian photographer, apparently serving as an advisor on dealing with leaks to the press. Notes taken from the seized phone of Rep. Hunter indicate that the photographer said, “He can be terrible, and he can be mean, and he can be right. He’s fighting the war. He’s a great man. You don’t judge him like an ordinary man.” It was not immediately clear whether he was referring to Kurtz or Gallagher.

JUNE 2019: In a surprising development, military judge Captain Aaron Rugh today dismissed all charges against Navy SEAL Edward Gallagher related to his alleged murder of an injured Islamic State prisoner under his care and the shooting of two Iraqi civilians in 2017. Gallagher has also been accused of posing in photos with the dead bodies of his enemies. In his comments on the dismissal, Rugh cited the defense offered by Representative Duncan Hunter, who recently stated, “I was an artillery officer, and we fired hundreds of rounds into Fallujah, killed probably hundreds of civilians. Probably killed women and children if there were any left in the city when we invaded. So, do I get judged too?” As for the Islamic State soldier whom Gallagher allegedly executed with a knife, Hunter said, ““I frankly don’t care if he was killed. I just don’t care.”

“Representative Hunter is a former Marine, and he clearly knows whereof he speaks,” said Captain Rugh. “His words reminded me of another soldier who knew what it takes to win a war, the famous Colonel Walter Kurtz of US Army Special Forces. ‘I’ve seen horrors,’ said Kurtz shortly before his death. ‘Horrors that you’ve never seen. But you have no right to call me a murderer. You have a right to kill me. You have a right to do that. But you have no right to judge me. It’s impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means.... You must make a friend of horror. Horror and moral terror are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies to be feared.’ Amen.”

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The good soldier in him must have sensed me coming. “Mencken, you son of a bitch!” he hollered. “You better watch what you write. I’m a private citizen now. Sue your ass.”
The good soldier in him must have sensed me coming. “Mencken, you son of a bitch!” he hollered. “You better watch what you write. I’m a private citizen now. Sue your ass.”

Disclaimer: None of this ever really happened. But then, Donald Trump is President…

When I found Duncan Hunter — the former Marine and soon-to-be former Congressman from the United States’ 50th District — holding down one end of the Renegade Country Bar off Olde Highway 80 in Lakeside (you know, the one with the rearing horse on the roof and the chuck wagon out front) — he was in a bad way. I didn’t blame him; he’d had a month. His main man, President Trump: headed for impeachment. The Afghan war, in which he served: revealed to be an unholy mess, the extent of which was covered up by the people waging it. And on the personal front: public disgrace over admitted corruption. And a wife who can’t be happy to have been portrayed as the real culprit when he was having dinner and visiting hotels with… Individuals. I wouldn’t go home either, no matter how many family vacations I’d bankrolled with campaign funds.

Man of the Year

The bartender wouldn’t say how many War Crimes — essentially, a Jäger Bomb with Four Loko serving to receive the shot instead of Red Bull — she’d committed for Hunter, but she did suggest that maybe I buy him a beer, something to act as a comma in the run-on sentence that was his evening so far. I ordered up a couple of Bolt Brewery brews, seeing as how the Congressman would soon be fading into San Diego’s history just like the Chargers a few years back, and made my approach. I had some news.

The good soldier in him must have sensed me coming. “Mencken, you son of a bitch!” he hollered. “You better watch what you write. I’m a private citizen now. Sue your ass.”

That’s me in the middle of an awkward moment at dinner with the Hunters. “Did you really just say, ‘Honey, please pass the blame?’”

“Not yet, you’re not,” I reminded him. “You told everyone you weren’t resigning until after the holidays. That way, you get an extra $10K out of Uncle Sam, even though you’ve been booted from all your committees and asked not to vote on anything by the House ethics committee. You know, because you pleaded guilty to conspiracy to misuse campaign funds. Gotta say, that was a baller move, announcing your plan to take money from the government for doing nothing. And you a Republican who’s on the record opposing handouts! Now you’ve got a member of the press buying your drink. But I guess we owe you; you’ve given us so much, from playing Lord Vaper on the floor of the House to bringing the Deep State out of the bowels of Reddit and into the mainstream. I tip my fedora to you, sir.”

Hunter meets the Don soon after his offer of endorsement.

Hunter took a slug of his beer and eyed me suspiciously over the rim of the glass. The hairs on the back of my neck twitched. As I said, I had news: I’d gone looking for him. But I’ve gotten soused with enough public servants to know when one of them wants to talk. So I adopted a receptive demeanor and waited. He did not disappoint.

“You ever see The Godfather, Mencken?” he began. “You remember Sollozzo? The Turk? That’s me. He saw the future. He knew the old ways were done for, that Don Corleone was washed up, no matter how much political juice he had. Remember what Sollozzo asked Tom Hagen after he had Don Corleone shot? ‘Ten years ago, could I have gotten to him?’ Ten years ago, could Donald Trump have become President? I saw the future, just like the Turk. I saw how things were slipping. That’s why I was the first Congressman to endorse Trump, back in February 2016. Trump said he didn’t care, because that’s what he had to do. He was coming to drain the swamp; he couldn’t look like he was playing the game in the old accepted way. I mean, look who had all the endorsements at the time: Rubio. Rubio! But Trump noticed. I know it. That’s why I said I didn’t think he wanted my endorsement. So he would know I understood his game.

“So yeah, things were slipping. Don Corleone, he had a code: ‘Drugs is a dirty business,’ he said. Sure he was a crook, but there were just some things he would not do, that simply were not done — as if a crook gets to have principles. The old guard felt the same way about Trump. Presidents don’t Tweetblast. Presidents don’t grab women. Or if they do, they don’t talk about it with reporters. Presidents are…Presidential. Bullshit. Just like Don Corleone was bullshit. Dude was a crook pretending to be a gentleman. But he was just a crook. There’s no such thing as dirty business; there’s just business. Just like there’s no such thing as war crimes; there’s just war. ‘War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it; the crueler it is, the sooner it will be over.’ General Sherman said that, and he was on the side of the Union, the good guys. Nobody’s tearing down any monuments to him: his statue is right there in President’s Park. Hey, did you know that there was a huge fight over who got to design his memorial? The Society of the Army of the Tennessee chose a guy the National Sculpture Society wouldn’t even consider. The New York Times condemned the selection as ‘discreditable,’ and the Senate debate showed that people had had enough of the so-called ‘experts.’ Sound familiar?”

I sensed we were losing the thread. “So you’re Sollozzo, huh? You see the future?”

“Damn straight” Hunter blurted. “Hell, I am the future. As my oh-so-public campaign expenditures indicate, I vape, I play video games, I take cool trips to ’grammable places, and I make tons of runs to Jack in the Box. I hang at Disneyland, and I buy my pet bunny her own seat on the plane. I am the youth vote’s Man in the Mirror. On top of that, as you jackals have so helpfully reported, I’m living in my parents’ house, I like to day drink with my crew, and I keep inappropriately dressed babes around when I’m at work. So I’ve got the slacker/bro vote on lock, too.”

“Spoiler alert,” I interrupted, “Sollozzo died. Don Corleone’s son Michael shot him. And now you’re resigning. And Trump’s getting impeached. Even if you are the future, sometimes, it doesn’t pay to be ahead of the curve.”

He was ready for me. “But I’m not just Sollozzo, Mencken. I’m Michael, too. And not just because I’m the son of a longtime Congressman, a part of the old order. Because I’m a good soldier. Michael was a war hero. He did what he had to do, and he paid for it — two years in exile. That’s me. I’m loyal to the Don; I’ve been loyal throughout. He goes hard to the Muslim menace, I call my opponent Ammar Campa-Najjar an Islamist security threat, even though he’s a Christian. He says we need a wall, I make a video showing how easy it is to jump the border, even though actually doing so would have meant violating my parole. He steps in on behalf of Eddie Gallagher, I’m right there condemning ‘the entire military justice system’ for their treatment of an American hero. And screw impeachment: I showed Trump that you can win an election while you’re under indictment! So yeah, I’ll go to Sicily — or in this case, East County. But don’t think I won’t be back after Trump wins in 2020. The President has never called me sad on Twitter. That means something.”

I snapped. I wasn’t angry, exactly. Just frustrated, like when you see Sonny take the bait after Carlo beats Connie and heads off to his death on the Jones Beach Causeway. Sonny is being Sonny, and he’s doomed because of it. And Hunter? “You’re not Michael,” I spat. “You’re not even Sollozzo. You’re Mr. Feather from Undercover Brother. He was The Man’s right hand, the favored son of the champion of traditional whiteness — until he screwed up and lost. You remember what The Man says when Mr. Feather is dangling from his helicopter, begging to be rescued? ‘That Feather went out like a sucka. Punk ass bitch played himself. Let’s bounce, dog.’ That’s right: he talks just like the folks he’s supposedly fighting, and he lets the true believer take the fall. The Man isn’t a champion of anything but himself. And you? You’re not Trump the Next; you’re Trump the Lesser. Trump declared bankruptcy six times and is still a billionaire; you drained your bank account and went to live with your dad. He bragged about grabbing women by the pussy and cheated on his wife — allegedly — with porn stars and Playboy playmates, and still brought Melania’s smiling self into the White House; you stepped out with a few Individuals and your wife flipped on you to the Feds. He bagged on foreigners and rallied his base; you went after Campa-Najjar and barely squeaked out a victory in reddest San Diego. You’re Diet Trump. Trump lite.”

It was too much, I know. Hunter has those big eyes, and suddenly, they were even bigger, regarding me with a mixture of pain and surprise. Why had I gone so hard? those eyes asked. Reader, I will tell you why I kicked the puppy. On December 3, shortly after Hunter pleaded guilty and ended his political life, Assistant U.S. Attorney Phillip Halpern told the press, “The case began when Morgan Cook published an article in the U-T.” The article reported that the Federal Election Commission was questioning Hunter’s use of $1302 in campaign funds to pay for video games on Steam. “We said [to the FBI], ‘Look at this — is there a case?’” Then Halpern talked to the Justice Department, and the hunt for Hunter was on.

But Halpern fudged; the case didn’t really start with Cook. According to the Times of San Diego, U-T Digital Editor Ricky Young says that “a tip came in about an ‘interesting FEC inquiry about Hunter’s campaign filings.’” A tip. Cook did her job and she did it well, but it started with a tip. A tip from whom?

As I said, I came looking for Hunter because I had news. Something he needed to hear: a tip of my own. Something that would let him know that the Don wasn’t dead, however many shots he had taken; he was very much alive, and had no intention of naming an heir. That the President’s four-dimensional chess game with his many enemies occasionally required the sacrifice of a pawn, that attention on one Republican’s bad-ideas-bumbling could prove an advantageous distraction for another Republican who was having a difficult time in the public eye — provided there were no observable ties to the throne. Hunter had been right about Trump, way back in February of 2016. Trump didn’t want his endorsement. But he could use it.

Good soldier Duncan Hunter had gone out on a limb for that wily rascal Trump, and all it had done was put a target on his back. From the very beginning. A tip. Dammit, Hunter ought to know where it came from. So that he didn’t sit waiting by the phone like a sap. I kicked the puppy because I wanted to soften the effect of the real blow when it came.

But I couldn’t do it. Those eyes were too damn big, too full of innocent hope. How do you tell a kid that Santa’s not coming this year — not ever? I was a jerk not to tell him, but I couldn’t do it. I left him there, at the Renegade, and hoped that 2020 would be kinder to him than 2019 had been. To all of us.

Campaign is life

Duncan Hunter releases statement in response to Department of Justice investigation into alleged misuse of campaign funds

Congressman: “They out here tryin’ to make the Hunter the prey, though they know this show is strictly pay to play.”

APRIL 2017: Statement from the Representin’ Representative: “The House Ethics Committee is conspiring with the DOJ to see whether I ‘converted funds’ from my congressional campaign committee to so-called ‘personal use.’ They’re talking about things like flights, jewelry, travel, and ‘other expenses.’ They seem to think these things don’t quality as ‘bona fide campaign expenditures.’ Fool, don’t you know that all that is part of my personal brand, and my brand is my number one campaign asset — just like every other politician and playa in DC? This is some kind of bullshit play right here, but I promise my fans that I am going to rise above. Don’t nobody punk the Dunc.”

The Hunter becomes the hunted

Prosecutors draw link between Duncan's dough, nuts

Dude, if you’re gonna use your campaign funds to cheat, don’t put your wife in charge of the campaign funds. That’s like Smollett paying by check.

JULY 2019: Congressman Duncan Hunter, currently under indictment for misuse of campaign funds, is unhappy that a judge has ruled that evidence showing he used those funds to finance extramarital affairs with lobbyists and staffers may be admitted in court. And now, he’s speaking out about it: “Like my lawyers say, I was mixing business with pleasure — no problem there. My friendships often blur the line between personal and professional. Hey, that’s like that song, ‘Blurred Lines.’ Did you see the video for that one, where the girl is dancing around in just a pair of panties? Damn, that was hot. Anyway, the filing against me says that I met up with women and ‘engaged in intimate personal activities unrelated to Hunter’s congressional campaign or duties as a member of Congress.’ That’s nonsense. Congress has been screwing the American people since forever. Hey-o!”

Hunter's most dangerous game

Representative takes aim at critics of accused Navy SEAL Edward Gallagher

In this undated file photo, Special Operations Chief Edward Gallagher (left) and US Representative (and ex-Marine) Duncan Hunter (right) pay a visit to the black site headquarters of the mysterious Colonel Kurtz to seek counsel regarding both the treatment of enemy combatants and the proper method of dealing with fallout resulting from same. Center is an unnamed civilian photographer, apparently serving as an advisor on dealing with leaks to the press. Notes taken from the seized phone of Rep. Hunter indicate that the photographer said, “He can be terrible, and he can be mean, and he can be right. He’s fighting the war. He’s a great man. You don’t judge him like an ordinary man.” It was not immediately clear whether he was referring to Kurtz or Gallagher.

JUNE 2019: In a surprising development, military judge Captain Aaron Rugh today dismissed all charges against Navy SEAL Edward Gallagher related to his alleged murder of an injured Islamic State prisoner under his care and the shooting of two Iraqi civilians in 2017. Gallagher has also been accused of posing in photos with the dead bodies of his enemies. In his comments on the dismissal, Rugh cited the defense offered by Representative Duncan Hunter, who recently stated, “I was an artillery officer, and we fired hundreds of rounds into Fallujah, killed probably hundreds of civilians. Probably killed women and children if there were any left in the city when we invaded. So, do I get judged too?” As for the Islamic State soldier whom Gallagher allegedly executed with a knife, Hunter said, ““I frankly don’t care if he was killed. I just don’t care.”

“Representative Hunter is a former Marine, and he clearly knows whereof he speaks,” said Captain Rugh. “His words reminded me of another soldier who knew what it takes to win a war, the famous Colonel Walter Kurtz of US Army Special Forces. ‘I’ve seen horrors,’ said Kurtz shortly before his death. ‘Horrors that you’ve never seen. But you have no right to call me a murderer. You have a right to kill me. You have a right to do that. But you have no right to judge me. It’s impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means.... You must make a friend of horror. Horror and moral terror are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies to be feared.’ Amen.”

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Wall of Moms MAGA?

Non-profit expands efforts to include stopping flow of drugs to kids
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Three poems for August by Dorothy Parker

With an acidic wit and keen eye for flawed humanity
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2

Maybe in the future he can open up a sweet-tooth place, and call it Duncan's Donuts. Oh, wait a minute. Isn't there something similar out there already?

Dec. 25, 2019

That's some funny stuff. Take it to the stage, you'll kill it. As far as baby D Hunter.... what took so long for this putz to get found out? Here's to hoping the voters in the district don't step in the mud again.

Dec. 26, 2019

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