If I recall correctly, I once asked how anyone can resist the occasional, demimonde slumming at Truth Social. Unlike other sites of dissipation and all-round ill-repute, TS is free, and it has it all. There is a house in Mar-a-Lago / They call The Rising Sun / It's been the ruin of many a poor boy / And God, I know I'm one.
But there is a downside I must warn you about, if you're considering becoming a self-victimized logged-in reader of smut. You'll begin seeing it in your inbox, too. The little squib I received this morning is representative of Donald's cringeworthy beggary — I rather suspect he really can go on without me, having pored through thousands of responses looking only for my name — although this one has the added nice touch of an opening tsk-tsk-tsk what-am-I-to-do.
(Do make sure you read the "The Rising Sun's" concluding lyrics just after his alms-seeking. They're in the original.)
Now the only thing a gambler needsIs a suitcase and a trunkAnd the only time he's satisfiedIs when he's on a trump
***
A bit of background. According to the first volume of the Encyclopedia of Great Popular Song Recordings, cited by Wikipedia, "The oldest published version of the lyrics is that printed by Robert Winslow Gordon in 1925."
Ah, what a great year that was. It was the year in which the Schutzstaffel — the SS — was founded by a xenophobic, severely unbalanced sociopathic reviler at rallies whose party finally achieved a respectable membership of over 27.000. By 1925 it was pretty apparent to foresighted onlookers that psychopathy can gain a shockingly, frighteningly large following.
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