14 September—President William McKinley died on this day in 1901 in Buffalo, New York, having been shot eight days earlier by possibly insane anarchist Leon Czolgosz. (Czolgosz was tried and convicted of first-degree murder and electrocuted on 29 October. Swift justice, to say the least.)
No surprise that political assassinations have been carried out at least since the Bronze Age, about four millennia ago.
So Tyler Robinson, the kid who fatally shot St. Charlie Kirk last week, is being held on suspicion of what Utah and some other states call aggravated murder and is expected to be formally charged this week. But with aggravated murder? Really?
Doubtless the MAGAs and other Trumpublicans who run Utah want Tyler Robinson to be tried and convicted of aggravated murder because it’s the only crime in that state with a possible death penalty. Problem is, killing Charlie Kirk doesn’t qualify as aggravated murder.
Utah’s aggravated murder is like Connecticut’s old capital murder, now called murder with special circumstances, which, however, only carries the state’s maximum penalty of life without the possibility of parole rather than the more appropriate death penalty. But killing a celebrity—and like it or not Charlie Kirk was a celebrity, however odious and reprehensible a hate monger he may have been—rather than a public official, for instance, and not involving other heinous specifics in the crime just is not aggravated murder no matter how you look at it. So killing Charlie Kirk was just plain old-fashioned standard murder, probably in the first degree.
That’s not to say the system of justice in Utah can’t be perverted in order for the state—i.e., the prosecutor in this instance—to prevail. It happens all the time. Everywhere. Not the least in Connecticut.
Moreover, it’s not unlikely that Donald Trump’s politicized, weaponized, blatantly corrupt Department of Justice flunkies have been conspiring since St. Charlie’s martyrdom to contort and distort the law in order to come up with an excuse, however lame, to prosecute Tyler Robinson for a federal crime in order to seek the death penalty. Two problems with that are, first, that murder of a celebrity, even a friend of Trump, is not a federal crime, and, second, even if it were, it wouldn’t in itself be a capital offense enabling the death penalty to kick in.
Even if Trump could get federal law changed to allow Tyler Robinson to be executed, the U.S. Constitution, for one, prohibits ex post facto laws. And Trump couldn’t do that by executive order. Anyway. Either. But when did any laws ever stop Donald Trump from getting his way?
13 September—As Donald Trump plots with his faithful flunkies to rescue his equally contemptible bosom buddy Jair Bolsonaro who was just convicted by Brazil’s supreme court of what America’s convicted-felon-in-chief should and would himself have been convicted of had not the U.S. Supreme Court inappropriately and inauspiciously come to his rescue, let’s turn our attention closer to home.
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It would appear an ostrich laid an egg among the South Street shrubbery of the Litchfield Historical Society fairly recently. Just one egg rather than the usual clutch. That may be why it’s rather bigger than the norm; and it’s likely the poor hen strained to get it out. Here’s a picture of it, taken just this past Monday.
Anybody’s guess where the lady ostrich came from or where she went. In all events, we wish her the best and hope she thrives and isn’t eaten.
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Taking two buses to Hartford, then (because there’s no direct route from Litchfield to sorry Connecticut’s sorry capital city), faithful and diligent Monitor readers with good memories will recall that back in February we reported on reasonably liberal First District Congressman John Larson’s vocal virtuosity.
Well, today we’re delighted to report that Il Divo del Primo Distretto once again hit the high C’s a few days ago—as before, he couldn’t contain himself—after he announced his intention to run for a 15th term in the U.S. House of Representatives, undeterred by the impatient snotty young ageists who have no respect for experience or talent . . .
12 September—The late Charlie Kirk, whose surname means church in Scottish, Northern English, and Danish, was an excessively evangelical Protestant, but he and his wife were looking into switching over to Roman Catholicism. So don’t be surprised if Donald Trump tries to prevail on Pope Leo XIV to make Charlie a saint. (Technically you don’t have to be Catholic to be canonized, but for practical doctrinal reasons there’s never been a non-Catholic saint.)
So El Liberalissimo comments thus on the last sentence of yesterday’s disquisition: “Geritol would have been a better president, but on the theory that whomever Biden might have picked for VP would have had increasing influence as or if Biden’s decline grew worse, I would have had no problem voting for Biden for another term. Harris was clearly a terrible candidate even before she was picked. However, we vote not merely for President but for the President’s likely cabinet and other advisors.”
Amen. Pity that more voters aren’t as thoughtful.
And El Conservatissimo comments thus on the third paragraph: “wishful thinking mord why not admit you want pres trump dead” [sic—no capitalization or punctuation in El’s email]
To expand on Ian Richardson’s inimitable Francis Urquhart in “House of Cards”: One may very well think that, but I couldn’t possibly comment, lest I be persecuted and prosecuted by Trump’s evil, vile, and vindictive absolute monarchy.
Moving back to Charlie Kirk, for all it’s worth, even in death it evidently pays to be a conservative friend of Donald Trump. Because not only has Trump ordered flags to be flown at half-staff for five days (through 14 September) in Kirk’s memory, but the late conservative firebrand is to be awarded—posthumously, of course—the Presidential Medal of Freedom. Trump definitely would have awarded Charlie the medal even if he hadn’t been murdered.
Compare that with Trump’s purely obligatory and perfunctory reaction to the assassination of rather more illustrious Minnesota liberal politician Melissa Hortman (and her golden retriever and husband) in June: bupkes on a stick. Of course, we shouldn’t have expected otherwise from Trump.
Back to Charlie Kirk, then, Deputy Secretary of State Christopher Landau warned “foreigners” yesterday not to celebrate his death: “In light of yesterday’s horrific assassination of a leading political figure, I want to underscore that foreigners who glorify violence and hatred are not welcome visitors to our country.”
Remember when that sort of rhetoric would have gotten Landau fired or at least censured? Ah, the good old days.
Certainly violence and hatred should never be glorified, but the First Amendment is supposed to protect all people in the United States, not just citizens. Then again, the Trump administration has ignored, abused, and run roughshod over the Constitution from the get-go, with the imprimatur of a disgracefully misguided and politicized majority of the Supreme Court . . .
11 September—When I received the breaking news yesterday afternoon that Charlie Kirk had been shot from a rooftop at an event in Orem, Utah (a frequent locale in crossword puzzles), my reaction was, “Who’s Charlie Kirk?” When I received the next breaking news, my reaction was, “Who was Charlie Kirk?” My bad, I reckon, for not keeping up with young Trumpublicans. (Or older Trumpublicans, for that matter, because they’re equally obnoxious.)
In eulogizing his late faithful energetic evangelizer, Donald Trump naturally had to remind the world of the miraculously unsuccessful attempt on his own charmed life last summer in Butler, Pennsylvania, in which the less skilled shooter was, coincidentally, also perched on a rooftop.
That naturally brought to mind what would, could, should, or might have happened had the kid in Pennsylvania been a better shot. Just as an intellectual exercise, of course. The shot that winged Trump’s ear was made on 13 July, two days before the start of the Republican National Convention in Milwaukee.
In the event of the presidential candidate’s inability to run (for whatever reason), the vice presidential candidate would normally and naturally be expected to fill the vacancy. And although Trump waited until 15 July, the first day of the convention, to announce his choice of former never Trumper JD Vance (who eschews periods) for his running mate, it must have been known beforehand to Trump’s most faithful and other insiders.
Is it safe, then, to assume that Vance would have been the GOP presidential candidate last year had it not been Trump? Not at all. Because with Trump out of the way (out of the picture, anyway) it’s more than likely that all the Republicans who had lived in mortal terror of the vindictive tyrannical bastard would have grown the scrotal content to regroup, rethink, and revise.
That’s not to say the dynamic, personable Vance wouldn’t have been a successful candidate on his own, especially with the never Trump credential he opportunistically forswore for personal advancement, because that’s what politicians do.
And what other GOP personalities were there who stood a chance against nice old incumbent Joe Biden, who, despite his awful performance in the 27 June debate with Trump, didn’t pass the buck to Kamala Harris until 21 July? (I can think of two, possibly three.)
Then there are the Democrat personalities who could, would, should, or might have run—and won—had Biden done the right thing. But why cry over spilled Geritol . . .
10 September—Monday’s disquisition about Richard I elicited this observation from a percipient and pessimistic reader from across the pond: “Following Richard’s long-term popularity precedent, are we to assume that one day Mr. Trump will reach hero status?”
Perish the thought. But, sad to say, that day was in fact reached right around 6 January 2021 and confirmed on 5 November 2024 by a minuscule majority of American voters.
On the subject of Mr. Trump, Israel’s increasingly unpopular and offensively self-defensive Mr. Netanyahu really screwed up when he bombed Qatar with a view to eradicating the upper management of Hamas who have been living the high life in Doha while the people of Gaza suffer because of them. The typically chutzpadik (daring) Israeli raid was only partially successful, it must be noted, terminating only five Hamas Gauleiters, while killing one Qatari as collateral damage. Militarily the strategy made perfect sense, to be sure.
But Bibi evidently failed to take into account that Qatar—which is not itself a belligerent—had a few months ago cunningly bought Trump’s favor with a blingy 747 that its royal family hadn’t been able to sell. Of course, it’s common knowledge that Trump’s favor, in addition to being conditional and ephemeral, is a commodity that’s for sale on the open market.
It must be noted here that Trump’s favor is not to be confused with Trump’s loyalty. If that even exists.
Trump has let it be known that he “feels very bad” about the Israeli raid on Qatar, as the White House put it yesterday. So it behooves Netanyahu to proffer a bribe—sorry, make that a gift—that surpasses Qatar’s 747 in all respects, including but not limited to enriching Donald Trump personally. While we shouldn’t want to speculate about such a peace offering, Gaza would probably mollify him. At least for a little while. And it would have to be unoccupied and ready for development into the world’s greatest, most beautiful resort.
While still on the subject of Trump, then, harking back to his alleged birthday letter to Jeffrey Epstein, it occurs to us that whoever may have drawn the nude figure with only four lines had some talent and may have been influenced by Henri Matisse’s spare but brilliant use of line in his sketches:
9 September—So what are we to make of the Four Horse’s Asses of the Apocalypse in the photograph below? We hesitate to ascribe metaphorical conquest, war, hunger, or death to any one of them, but each clearly personifies all four of the negative concepts. Among many others, to be sure.
Take a good look at the horse’s asses. The big orange one in the front with the bleached thinning hair and its mouth open as usual, who’s dressed like the French national flag, appears to be blasé and just talking to hear itself talk.
The horses’ ass on the left looks either thoughtful, perplexed, or pissed. Or all three. You be the judge.
The horse’s ass on the right with the Old Glory hankie peeking out of its breast pocket is looking intently at the big orange one in the front with the bleached thinning hair and its mouth open, like a trained animal (e.g., show-horse’s ass) eagerly waiting for a command from its trainer/master, doubtless wishing the trainer/master would shut the hell up and give the command so the show-horse’s ass can please it and be given the expected treat.
The horse’s ass behind and partly obscured by the big one in front with the bleached thinning hair and its mouth open has the sort of blank expression common to sleepwalkers and others who for whatever reasons neither know nor care what’s happening around them.
And as for Donald Trump’s alleged birthday letter to Jeffrey Epstein, what’s the big deal? For all it’s worth, though, the text doesn’t sound at all like Trump. And why would he sign it “Donald” but type “Donald J. Trump”? But a pal is indeed a wonderful thing. That’s why God created dogs . . .
8 September—Today is celebrated by most Catholic sects as Christ’s mother’s birthday because it’s conveniently nine months after the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. The year of the Virgin Mary’s birth isn’t known. And if it were known, we certainly wouldn’t publish it.
Today also is the 868th birthday of King Richard I of England. Richard is popularly known as Lionheart (Cœur de Lion in his preferred language) because he was supposed to have been a skilled military commander, even though his costly crusading was ultimately unsuccessful: he failed to retake Jerusalem from Saladin for the Christians and was later held for a humongous ransom by a former ally.
It seems that Richard publicly insulted Duke Leopold V of Austria during the Siege of Acre in the Third Crusade in 1192. So naturally Leopold captured Richard and then cunningly handed him over to politically ambitious Holy Roman Emperor Henry VI, who needed financing for his invasion of Sicily. Inbred royals will be inbred royals, after all.
No piker he, Henry VI set the ransom at 150,000 silver marks, roughly 3,500 kilograms. In terms of 2025 dollars, with silver at a delightful $41.50 per Troy ounce today, that comes out to not too far under $50 million. It’s estimated to have been two to three times the annual income of Richard’s government in Blighty. That’s all!? Wouldn’t even buy a decent used 747.
Bupkes or not, luckily, Richard’s doting mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, was able to raise the ransom and spring Richard in 1194. Eleanor used traditional, tried and true, guaranteed effective fund-raising devices to come up with the scratch to free her darling heroic son, including but not limited to taxing property owners a quarter of their property’s arbitrarily assessed value and confiscating gold and silver from churches. Such is a mother’s love. And there was no First Amendment to protect churches or for churches to abuse back then and there.
Of course, even without the egregious temporary (?) surtax, as it were, Richard I’s subjects had been oppressively taxed anyway, in order to fund his questionable military campaigns.
Truth be told, Richard I’s reputation as a beneficent monarch—a good king—is due to two things: his younger brother who followed him to the throne, King John of Magna Carta fame, was an absolutely terrible, tyrannical monarch, even worse than Richard himself; and it was easy for the myths and legends about a composite character called Robin Hood, including Sir Walter Scott’s novel “Ivanhoe,” historically inaccurate to say the least, to popularize an absentee ruler centuries after the fact . . .
7 September—On the 85th anniversary of the start of the eight-month-long London Blitz, less than a day after Vladimir Putrid just blitzed Kyiv, as Donald Trump threatens to blitz American cities by illegally deploying troops on typically and decidedly specious grounds in order to intimidate Democrats and others impervious to his incessant hyperbole and bullshit, relax and enjoy Scott Joplin’s delightful “Harmony Club Waltz.”
Wait a minute. On second thought, if omnipotent, invincible, unpunishable Donald Trump does it, it can’t be illegal. Thanks to the overpoliticized, partially corrupt Supreme Court majority. Try to enjoy the Joplin waltz anyway . . .
6 September—Here we thought the days of sensational tabloid headlines were long over. We fondly remember the Daily News front page of 1975 and the New York Post front page of 1983. But now we have the magnificent—and absolutely true albeit understated—Post cover of only three days ago to remember . . .
5 September—This day in 1793 marks the onset of the infamous Reign of Terror, during which severe measures were imposed on people who were suspected (even without hard evidence) of being enemies of the French Revolution—in the circumstance the state. The Reign of Terror (ROT) was a period of wide-ranging and radical change in pretty well every aspect of French life, from economic and military policy to culture.
Government control was expanded, with a centralized—essentially unitary—executive calling all the shots. Local governments were thus closed down and dissent was not tolerated. The regime enacted laws that vitiated citizens’ rights, including one that enabled anyone considered an enemy of the revolution—the state—to be arrested.
Sound familiar? Not to worry. It could never happen here . . .
4 September—Readers who have visited FU-CT.com and/or read the essay that gave rise to the FU,CT! phenomenon may recall the antepenultimate paragraph:
“It must be noted that the United States Supreme Court in 2019 ordered the Patent and Trademark Office to approve “FUCT” as the brand name of a line of clothing. So, even though deleting the comma would without doubt sharpen the point of our incisive acronym by reminding Connecticut taxpayers and gun owners of the pain they’ve been suffering far too long, the comma must nevertheless be included at all times in order to foreclose litigation for trademark infringement.”
Well, Erik Brunetti, the shmata entrepreneur who beat the Patent and Trademark Office on FUCT (an acronym for Friends U Can’t Trust, to be sure) six years ago, has beaten the PTO once again—but so far only at the federal appellate level—on FUCK (Friends U Can’t Kiss? Friends U Can’t Kick? Friends U Can’t Know?).
It appears that given his success with FUCT, Brunetti applied to the PTO to register the word FUCK as a trademark for various goods and services. Since, after SCOTUS found that refusing registration for being “immoral or scandalous” was unconstitutional, the folks at the PTO instead refused registration on the ground that FUCK was a “commonplace term” used to convey emotions rather than “source identification.”
It’s no surprise that the Trademark Trial and Appeal Board, an allegedly neutral so-called adjudicative body within the PTO, affirmed that refusal in 2022. While not ruling that FUCK was unregistrable in all contexts, the TTAB’s rationale was that it was an “all-purpose word” with “many recognized meanings,” so that in Brunetti’s specific applications, consumers would see FUCK as conveying sentiments rather than identifying his products from other (presumably untrademarked) products from other sources.
The TTAB also dismissed Brunetti’s reliance on other registered trademarks as well as his constitutional arguments, maintaining that each application must be considered on its own merits.
On appeal, then, in a two-to-one decision, the Court of Appeals for the Federal Circuit, while rejecting most of Brunetti’s arguments, nevertheless found that the TTAB failed to articulate a “clear and rational standard” for when a ubiquitous and versatile word like FUCK can or cannot function as a trademark—especially given the existence of similar trademarks (like FUCT).
So the circuit vacated the TTAB’s decision and remanded the case, holding that it must provide “coherent guidance” as well as satisfactory explanations for its actions.
It must be noted that FUCK appears in the court’s majority decision but that Judge Alan Lourie’s brief written dissent—on the very procedural grounds the majority found for Brunetti—sidesteps the word’s appearance through the usual means, i.e., “the f-word” and “f.”
For all the reasons the Patent and Trademark Office and Trademark Trial and Appeal Board stated and the three Federal Circuit judges agreed with, FUCK must not be a registered trademark. It is and should be in the public domain. Anybody who wants to call any product or service FUCK must be allowed to. And that’s all there is to it.
Here’s the link to the appellate opinion:
https://www.cafc.uscourts.gov/opinions-orders/23-1539.OPINION.8-26-2025_2563636.pdf