In 2016 the Clinton campaign ran a TV ad a retired nuclear missile launch officer opined, “The thought of Donald Trump with nuclear weapons scares me to death.” At the time I couldn’t help but recall it was Hillary’s husband who “misplaced” the nuclear codes, unable to say where in the White House he’d last seen them. We understand at the time corkscrew Willy probably knew where all his cigars were, and had been.
Now according to the Smithsonian Institute, what we know as the “Football” is officially termed the “president’s emergency satchel,” made of an aluminum frame wrapped in black leather. No, there is no red button inside. Nor does it contain any sci-fi like countdown clocks accompanied by a disembodied airy female voice.
Instead, the package is devised to confirm the president’s identity when he contacts National Military Command Center in the Pentagon, and provides a shorthand list of nuclear attack options.
When Bill Clinton lost his nuclear code card dubbed “the Biscuit”, allegedly for several months, former chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Gen. Hugh Shelton was concerned. I guess! Shelton wrote in his autobiography, “This is a gargantuan deal.”
Now that President Trump has the “Football”-it is carried by an attaché who goes where the president goes — it’s fair, in my opinion, to suggest Trump is unlikely to misplace either the personal attaché or any such seriously important card. Say what you will, but the guy seems pretty darn organized, detail wise. And oh, he isn’t distracted with an intern with a blue dress.
Obama joked before he left Washington about keeping the nuclear codes (he didn’t, and he didn’t leave Washington either) It was only one year ago a Fox News Poll suggested voters trusted Hillary 2:1 over the Donald with the use of nuclear weapons.
I’m still firmly in the camp opposing Hillary being permitted to operate all electro-mechanical devices. We can all sleep better knowing Hillary isn’t driving a speeding car through the Lincoln Tunnel at morning rush or up in Chappaqua making toast at 3 AM.
And so we arrive here, the dog days of summer and the howls are going up from the anti-Trumpers. Not on any principled argument mind you, no, they just want to block every action, even a theoretical action.
Senator Edward Markey and Rep. Ted Lieu introduced legislation in January to do exactly that. They’d prefer everybody ignore the War Powers Resolution Congress passed in 1973. Democrats would rather form a glee-club to prevent Trump exercising his constitutional authority.
“I’m not going to take any cards off the table,” the Republican presidential nominee said last year. “[T]he thought of it is horrible, but I don’t want to take anything off the table.”
Stakes are high, sure, but we saw how well Obama’s red-line thingy worked out. And the Iran scam. Which is kind of how we — the entire planet — ended up with the chubby and missile centric dictator. Thank Obama and Clinton for going soft on the whole Axis-of-Evil thing.
Back in NoKo Kim ordered a massive patriotic flash-mob-or-die event, thousands of wan hunger-thinned fists raised skyward, undoubtedly fearful of the ever-present eyes of State-minders.
Not to be out propagandized, China State media reports if North Korea strikes the US first China will stay neutral, if, however, America launches a first strike China will intervene against US forces.
Are we at a Cuban missile crisis point yet? You can’t be faulted if lately you are suffering a case of “weapons of mass destruction” deja-vu either. Stay sharp people, perhaps the hawks are fluffing their feathers, eager to take flight.
And that Obama bit about keeping the codes? A satirical bit by Andy Borowitz, many people apparently mistook as fact when it appeared in the New Yorker. Do we dare believe anything?
Frankly, thinking Kim Jong Un has six or sixty nukes and a half-ass delivery system gives me heart burn. But I don’t know the facts, when do we ever have the facts? (I’m not even going to mention CNN.)
In any case, for today, I’ll sleep easier knowing Hillary can wander the streets of New York unnoticed, not a football in sight.