ASK THE BIRD: That blue pill Donald Trump was chewing. Is that what we think it is? And what can you tell us about that Epstein drawing?
Got a question? Ask Miss Mingo. She's got answers. Some may be accurate.
Editor’s Note: Hermina Hermelinda Obregon, a.k.a. Miss Mingo, is a recovering newspaper reporter living in a bungalow off Duval Street in Key West where she answers the pressing questions of the day about news, life, the universe, and how to make the perfect Cuba Libre.
DEAR MISS MINGO:
About that blue pill spotted between Donald Trump’s teeth while attending the U.S. Open. Is that what I think it is?
Curious in Crestview
Dear Curious: I know many things, but I cannot read minds, so your question, technically, is impossible to answer. How would I know what you think it is? But I’ll assume you mean this blue pill:
And I will further assume you have read all the speculation about what it might be. Some have suggested it is the famous “little blue pill”—Viagra. Others, that it is merely a breath mint, perhaps from a tin of Altoids. Or it could possibly be some form of medication given the 79-year-old codger’s various infirmities.
All of this speculation is incorrect.
I have it on good authority that it is THE BLUE PILL. You know, the one you take when you’re deciding whether to remain in the Matrix or when you want to escape.
DEAR MISS MINGO:
Could you please explain that? What is the Matrix, and what does the pill do? And isn’t calling someone a codger politically incorrect?
Troubled in Temple Terrace
Dear Troubled:
Must I do everything? Oh, well, I guess I asked for it when I signed up for this gig. Give me a moment while I order another drink. The Green Parrot’s hopping and I have to catch the bartender while I can.
Okay, where were we? Oh, yes, the Matrix.
The Matrix was a documentary re-enactment in which the incredible actor with the utterly unpronounceable name, Keanu Reeves, portrays Thomas Anderson and his heroic efforts to free humanity from our computer overlords.
By now, given all the crap we’re exposed to on social media, it should be obvious that most of us are living in a computer simulation and that our actual bodies are being used by a machine intelligence to power its nasty AI self.
But some people, like Anderson, have been able to escape. Once out of the machine, they are given a choice: Remain in the real world and fight for humanity or go back into the machine and continue living an imaginary life.
If you take THE RED PILL, you will be free. Anderson took THE RED PILL and struggled to save humanity. However, he failed, and the Matrix lives on.
Trump is seen—unmistakably—taking THE BLUE PILL. In the alternate reality this creates for him, he lives in an imaginary world in which he is 6-foot-4 with abs like a gladiator, has the flowing locks of a romance novel hero, and his hands are not the size of a pygmy’s. His other appendages seem normal to him, too.
In his make-believe world, he is never wrong, everyone loves him, he always wins, and he has no need to apologize or second-guess anything he does. He also doesn’t need to import his wives from behind the former Iron Curtain.
That’s what you get with THE BLUE PILL.
As for the use of the term “codger.” When you reach a certain age—and I am no spring chicken (or spring Flamingo! Ha!) you get to take certain liberties when describing others in your own age cohort. Now, to be clear, I am not quite as old as Donald. But few are.
DEAR MISS MINGO
So, what color pill did you take?
Smart-Aleck in Sarasota
Dear Smart-Aleck:
A confession: I had to do a quick search on the never-wrong internet to provide the earlier answers because I can never remember which pill I took. In fact, I may have taken both of them, which would explain why I have such a severe case of Otherhandedness. You know, on the one hand this, on the other hand that. I do it all the time. Although at the moment my hands are empty because the bartender has yet to return with my drink.
DEAR MISS MINGO
Can we talk about that drawing, the one in the Jeffrey Epstein birthday book? Not to belabor Trump anymore in this column, but since he claims it’s a “hoax,” doesn’t his signature prove he did it?
Languid in Largo
Dear Languid:
Oh, to be languid in Largo. No, even though it looks like Trump’s signature, that doesn’t mean he signed it. We just published it here in this column. Anyone can generate a copy of a signature. In fact, the president has at his desk a machine that signs documents for him, so he doesn’t overtax his severely bruised little hands.
The bigger question is: Did he, in fact, do it? How that can be proved is a good question. Perhaps releasing the entirety of the Epstein Files would help.
On the one hand, he says the Epstein controversy is a hoax perpetrated by Democrats. On the other hand, he won’t take steps to clear it up.
Maybe he also took both a blue and red pill.
DEAR MISS MINGO:
I have friends in Key West who say you spend the entire day in an alcoholic haze. Is that true?
Sober in Sarasota
Dear Sober:
That is a shameless stereotype that far too many people use when describing hard-working reporters, and nothing could be further from the truth. How could I possibly spend ALL day in an alcoholic haze when I don’t even get out of bed until the crack of happy hour?
ASK THE BIRD
Got a question for Miss Mingo? About news, life, the universe or Key West happy hours? Write to her at MissMingo@Tropic.Press
Hermina Hermelinda Obregon—a.k.a. Miss Mingo—was an award-winning newspaper reporter before she involuntarily joined the diaspora of journalists leaving the newspaper profession. She now lives with her two cats—Deadline and Dateline—and her pet iguana Skippy. If you wander the streets (and bars) of Key West, you’ll doubtless run into her. She’ll be the woman wearing the ridiculous flamingo hat. If you want an autograph, you’ll have to buy her a Cuba Libre. There’s more about her here.