#FOTUS: The Unexpected Generous Nature of Michael Cohen & Keith Davidson

by Shelton Bumgarner
@bumgarls

Elliot Broidy was rich.
Shera Bechard was pregnant.
End of story.

I accept that. There was no cover story. That’s what happened. But no one listens to me. I have no credibility and pretty much 10 people read this blog on any given day. So, I’m not really hurting anything to wast my time simply weighing the likelihood that Keith Davidson and Michael Cohen who are best buds and have a documented history of being in cahoots would not work together to make sure that Elliot Broidy didn’t have to pay too much.

Everyone but me seems to know something and it bothers me. Everyone is in on the secret but me. I hate that. But anyway, that must be what happened. There’s no active investigation. New York Magazine hasn’t managed to see any reason to publish a followup, so that’s it, right? I was wrong.

He was rich.
She was pregnant.
End of story.

V-Log: You Take Yourself Wherever You Go

by Shelton Bumgarner
@bumgarls

Idle rambling

No Surprises

by Shelton Bumgarner
@bumgarls

I don’t really believe in God, but I believe the universe is spooky. So spooky that it makes you wonder. I only even mention this because of what is not happening right now. Nothing spooky is going on. Things are pretty meh. If something dramatic was about to happen, something big, I would feel it. Weird, symbolic things would start to happen and that would make me anxious. But nothing is going on.

That leads me to believe I need to start working on my novel again, look for a job and work towards becoming a professional fashion photographer within, say, five years. Those are tangible things I can do to make my life better in a concrete way. Friday was the moment when it really hit home that the #FOTUS theory wasn’t going to pan out

He was rich.
She was pregnant.
End of story.

Right now, the only thing I have is the back of my mind is using some serious processing power on what doesn’t make sense and the implications of why these things don’t make sense. I don’t believe in conspiracy theories because I believe they’re the last refuge of the intellectually dishonest. but to simply dismiss the odd things you have to accept to believe the Fat Fuck Story is enough to at least give one pause for thought.

And,that, really is the only reason why I haven’t snapped out of this. But I have no facts and my personal life is complete flames so I have to stop wasting my time on this. I have to give up the ghost.

He was rich.
She was pregnant.
End of story.

Breathe deep the gathering gloom
Watch lights fade from every room
Bedsitter people Look back and lament
Another day’s useless Energy spent
Impassioned lovers wrestle as one
Lonely man cries for love and has none
New mother picks up and suckles her son
Senior citizens wish they were young
Cold hearted orb that rules the night
Removes the colours from our sight
Red is grey and yellow white
But we decide which is right
And which is an Illusion?
— The Moody Blues

V-Log: A Pedestrian Parable

by Shelton Bumgarner
@bumgarls

Just me rambling.

Marty Baron Is Cool

by Shelton Bumgarner
@bumgarls

Marty Baron seems like a great guy. He asks the right questions and would lives and breaths scooping The New York Times. I wish I know something cool that he would be interested in. I wish was a somebody. If I was a somebody I would call him up and give him all kinds of fun things to think about.

But I’m a nobody. Just a failed, drunk reporter living in a flyover state.

No one listens to me. Sigh. I really need to work on my novel.

Continue reading “Marty Baron Is Cool”

How Much Do You Trust The New York Times

by Shelton Bumgarner
@bumgarls

I love the New York Times.

It’s a great paper with a great tradition of quality journalism. When The Times tells me something, I believe it. No questions asked.

I do wonder, however, what their policies are on extreme cases. But why am I even thinking about this. If the New York Times tells you something, it’s right. That’s what I have to believe. I was told by the New York Times that the sky was blue and it’s blue. Doesn’t matter that I know damn well it’s sunset and it’s got a orange hue to it.

The New York Times knows what it’s talking about. That’s it.

He was rich.
She was pregnant.
End of story.

Continue reading “How Much Do You Trust The New York Times”

White Flag — The Parable Of Stoplight

by Shelton Bumgarner
@bumgarls

I’m wrong. He was rich. She was pregnant. End of story. I get it. I’ve embarrassed myself and I really need to move on. I think I’m going to start working on my novel again today. That’s it. Go for a walk, accept that I’m wrong and move on. I tried my best. But everyone who seems to look into this either flatly states there’s no there there or can’t find anything of note. So, that’s it. All of this is silly.

One of the key political events of my young life was my dad got mad over a stoplight that made it so people couldn’t make a u-turn. It really hurt his business and he fought authority and he won.

Continue reading “White Flag — The Parable Of Stoplight”

V-Log: Idle Rambling

by Shelton Bumgarner
@bumgarls

Just me rambling.

The Allegory Of The Hottie

by Shelton Bumgarner
@bumgarls

I was hanging out in Richmond’s Fan area today sobering up and enjoying the hot afternoon, when I noticed an attractive young lady drinking, eating and talking with her friend. I sat there, looking straight at her and tried to figure out how I could possibly talk to her. She was wearing sunglasses and occasionally she would look straight back at me.

Now, I’m older and jaded so really my interest in her was more about how drunk I was and the fact that she was in direct eyeshot than anything else. I struggled to figure out different ways that we could meet. I thought about what little I knew about game theory and couldn’t think of anything.

Unless she did something really conspicuous to give me some hook, some reason to believe she wanted me to talk to her, I was at a loss. And that was that. I paid my tab, walked right past her, she seemed to subtly flinch when I didn’t talk to her and was on my way.

That’s how I feel about #FOTUS at this point.

Trump’s potential involvement is staring straight at me in the guise of that $1.6 million pay off, but I got nothing. Nothing at all. No evidence that the whole, “He was rich. She was pregnant. End of Story,” thing isn’t true. So, if you continue to read any of my rantings on this subject either you’re a hater who is hate reading, someone who thinks I’m a fool or a sympathetic conspiracy theorist.

But I have to accept that I’m never going to meet the girl. Unless New York Magazine writes a follow up or the SDNY has something up their sleeve, this story is, at last over.

He was rich.
She was pregnant.
End of story.

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Bgure guvatf.

Bapr lbh pnyy ohyyfuvg ba ure pnfhnyyl orvat ersreerq Xrvgu Qnivqfba gura jung ryfr vf fur ylvat nobhg?

Orpuneq vf na npgerff. Crgre X. Fgevf vf ab qhzzl. Ur pbhyq pbnpu ure gb gryy nalbar jub nfxrq rabhtu gb znxr gurz oryvrir gur pbire fgbel.

Ohg ab bar unf rkcynvarq gung $1.6 zvyyvba gb zr. Lbh pna’g. Gung $1.6 zvyyvba cbcf bhg naq fvzcyl gryyvat zr V’z jebat naq gb fuhg hc qbrfa’g phg vg.

#FOTUS — He Was Rich. She Was Pregnant. End Of Story. (The Final Assessment)

by Shelton Bumgarner
@bumgarls

Given everything I know as of this point — and the non-publishing of a follow up by New York Magazine — as of this moment I have to give up. There was no cover story. Elliot Broidy got his lover Shera Bechard pregnant. He gave her a $1.6 million payout and that, as they say, is that.

Continue reading “#FOTUS — He Was Rich. She Was Pregnant. End Of Story. (The Final Assessment)”