THE CASE OF THE PURLOINED TOILET PAPER, and other ironies.

It was a dream I thought never would be realized. But there I was outside of the convention center with my ticket for the CES in hand. A ticket I had kept unspoiled between the pages of my copy of, Free-market Economics For Dummies which I had picked up at a garage sale and kept in my small collection of unintentional irony. I also had its companion, Christianity for Dummies. I was not there for the chance to see previews of electronic wizardry. No, I was there because Ivanka Trump was to give the keynote speech on, (are you ready for this?), The Future of Work. Who else could be an expert on the subject of work? This speech, which I intended to capture on my cellphone, would be the capstone of my collection. I had no idea that that gem of irony could possibly be exceeded. 

The speech was predictably unremarkable through the haze of righteous weed, though I would find much to laugh at, and had plenty of company. I have no idea how many of my colleagues in the cheap seats were experiencing this epic milestone equally stoned, but my guess would be nearly universal. We were the brotherhood and sisterhood of the contact high. To wash down the bongs hits, I had drunk a few craft beers prior to the show. The Las Vegas Convention Center beverage prices were too high and their idea of good beer is long-necked Bud and Miller Genuine Draft, yet another unintentional irony. With Ivanka's speech drawing to a close, I figured the peroration would be as boring as the body of her speech, so I headed to the bathroom to relieve the stress I had been retaining in my bladder.  As I was finishing at the urinal an anguished moan went up from one of the stalls, at the end of which a guy inquired of his neighbor in what could only be a Texan accent,

     "Hey buddy, I ain't tryin' to be weird or anything, but this stall is out of toilet paper, and I shoulda' ate more roughage."

 I did not stay for the denouement of this event but ruminated on the humiliation of being in that position as I walked out. I was doing a little people-watching among the nearby display of drones, 

Rhumba's, and other electronic appliances, when through the men's room door walked a corpulent man stuffed into a three-piece western cut suit, like those chicken sausages featured at trendy markets. Capping his ensemble was a pair of Tony Lama boots and a white white Stetson with a red MAGA patch on it's high crown. Karma., I thought. This would not be the last revelation my muse would lead me to that day. Later, I came to probably the best display of electronic gadgetry that one of my curious hobby would ever expect: a drone whose purpose was to deliver toilet paper to guests who, like the erstwhile Texan, were unfortunate enough to have run out of butt-wipe. I snapped all of the pictures I could until a security guard hurried me out of the Convention Center and told me not to return. 

My dreams having been more than fulfilled, I walked into the nearest casino, sat down at the bar and ordered a glass of red wine. I opened my cell-phone and reviewed my pictures, then listened to the recording of Ivanka's speech. I had succeeded in capturing the events of today sufficiently enough that I could print high-quality photo's of the events. The sound quality of Ivanka's speech while weak, was good enough that I could make a DVD to frame. I had achieved the trifecta of irony, the hat-trick of humor. I can die a happy man. Secure in the knowledge that, while irony will be abundantly available into the far-off future, no single day will ever eclipse this.

How could I be so blind? That day was eclipsed. Two judges hired to Trump's defense team during the Senate impeachment trial are: (you can't write irony this good) Ken Starr, who led the Clinton impeachment until 1998, who got a cushy job at a Texas university, (a Christian university) and ignored sexual harassment  allegations on members of his staff. That Ken Starr. His companion on Trumps defense team, preserve this thought, is Robert Ray, who succeeded Ken Starr in the Clinton impeachment for lying to Congress about sexual harassment that was spelled out quite specifically. The two most prominent prosecutors against President Clinton, for lying to Congress are defending the Liar-in-Chief for criminal bribery charges. In Monica Lewinsky's Tweet following the revelation, " What the f___?

Every week, the threshold of irony is eclipsed in the 

Trump administration, often multiple times. One of two things is correct here: either the concept of irony is unheard of in the higher echelons of conservatism, or that I who has been brought up on political satire from the Smother's Brothers to Trevor Noah, from Mort Saul to Mel Brooks to Steven Colbert, have no idea what irony is. Somebody please tell e which it is. Tell me that Trump's base, the same people who think Miller Genuine Draft is well, genuine draft, the people who blur the border with irony and reality daily. Who elected a guy whose qualification for president are as a casino owner who went bankrupt six times (did I mention he was a casino owner?), who became a reality TV star which is in no way reality. The very people who look at you with a blank stare and ask, "what's the punchline". The people who believe a major news network with a 60% accuracy rating is real news, and the news outlets who have fact-checkers, investigative journalists, and print retractions when they err, those businesses are fake news. 

I'm confused. I need a higher grade of cannibis.