A short while ago, I began watching season two of Narcos, the Netflix miniseries based on the brutal but financially wildly successful Columbian drug lord, Pablo Escobar. There’s something hideously fascinating about watching a well-acted action drama about a monstrous bastard like Escobar. Though I loathe everything he did, I hold a grudging admiration for a man so ruthless and so vile as to turn the Columbian military, by way of bravado and arrogance surpassed only by Donald Trump, into a withering, bed-wetting, and utterly useless band of rag-tag cowards. Like Trump, he was larger than life and fed his image through shameless self-promotion, bullying, and lies. These are simply my opinions, of course. But I have a high degree of confidence in their validity.
Back to the show. I’m only 12 minutes into season two and I feel compelled to finish it and to encourage you to do the same. Warning, though: it’s rough in language and violence and there’s enough sex to satisfy the discerning throbster.
And now, back to Trump. If we elect him, we will regret that we did not elect Escobar’s clone, instead. And don’t include me in "we." I will most certainly not vote for that slimy piece of shot. Damn autocorrect! (Thanks, Myra.)
