The Eastern Shore remains amid a severe drought, notwithstanding a few days of occasional rain and thunderstorms. We need rain for our gardens and lawns, and farmers need rain for their livelihoods. So, join me in hoping for rain on June 14.
Why June 14? Good question. I have an ulterior motive. I want to see President Trump’s birthday UFC fight at the White House rained out. I want enough rain so that everyone in the grotesque “temporary” arena that has been erected on the White House South Lawn must find shelter or go home.
If I controlled the weather, I would have the rain start on the 13th, build in intensity, and then really come down in a torrential downpour on the 14th. I want to see mud and massive puddles. I’d also welcome chilly temperatures, the type that, to quote a friend of mine, “would make watching the bloody spectacle unpleasant.”
As you might guess, I am no UFC fighting fan. The fights are a “blood sport” and would not exist if gladiator fights were still legal. Humor me here, but if fights to the death were still being held, Trump would have ordered one held to celebrate his 80th birthday. (And, as one poor bastard got beaten or stabbed to death, he would probably be sleeping.)
My distaste for Trump’s planned birthday entertainment also reflects my horror at what he is doing to my hometown. I was born in Washington, went to college and law school there, and worked in the city for the entirety of my career. I have been to the White House, entering through the now demolished East Wing, and watched events on the South Lawn. I am saddened and disgusted by what Trump has done to the White House. If I were in Congress, I would support impeaching him for those deeds (as well as about a dozen other impeachable offenses).
Earlier this week I read a report on road closures “necessitated” by the fight. DC will be a hot mess for at least two or three days as a result. The office where I worked for decades will be effectively inaccessible. We would have had to close for a few days or ask everyone to work from home.
If it rains on the 14th, I’m sure the President will be both disappointed and angry. Somebody will be called a loser. The President may even speculate that a lunatic, a Democrat, somehow manipulated the weather to deprive him of an evening of entertainment that “everyone” was excited about. Trump may even propose some sort of federal payment to the UFC to compensate them for revenues lost because of the fights being cancelled.
Call me mean spirted, but I don’t care if the weather ruins Trump’s birthday. Trump will lose one night of watching two brutes knock the S*it out of each other. I have lost entire nights of sleep worrying about the crackpots Trump has appointed to his cabinet (Bill Pulte, Markwayne Mullin, Hegseth, RFK, Jr., Kash Patel, and others come to mind.) I also worry about the war in Iran, the most expensive blunder of Trump’s second term (give him time to trump it, please). The ballroom, even with the greatest Drone Port the world has ever seen, nauseates me. And I pray that I am not in an airplane that crashes into the Trump Arch should that monstrosity, forcefully opposed by Vietnam Vets, be built.
Trump doesn’t deserve a nice birthday and, from what I’ve seen recently, is only attempting to celebrate it in such a grand style to convince himself that he is a “big deal.”
Trump has ruined America’s 250th birthday so far. If he continues his toxic policies and corruption, 2026 will not be remembered for anything other than the year that democracy died at Trump’s hands.
Sorry to be a bit negative here. Actually, I am optimistic about our future. Every day I see more Americans stand up and say, “Enough!” I hear voices, louder even than those of the booing fans in Madison Square Garden, telling King Donald where to go. And I expect that in November, despite escalating efforts to steal the midterm elections, the King will face a Congress controlled by people who would agree with this editorial.
So, let it rain, let it rain, let it rain. And thunderclaps from time to time might make some sense.
