Some days are better than none

Kristi Noem B. 11-30-1971 D. —

Has anyone hotter ever been the Director of Homeland Security? Answer: No. Has anyone fiercer? Still no.

It makes my heart go rat a tat tat

Totally Real Boobs

Kristi Noem was born on November 30, 1971, in Watertown, South Dakota to Ron and Corinne Arnold. Her parents were farmers and ranchers who raised Kristi and her siblings on their family puppy mill in rural Hamfist County. Always a precocious child Kristi could handle a gun by the age of one and a half and shot her first puppy at two.

Note her growing confidence in handling her sidearm in these adorable baby pictures. Loaded? You Betcha!

I know some of you libtards – I was one, you know – are saying it’s wrong to shoot a puppy but you’ve never really lived on a farm, have you? Where do you think your organic bacon comes from?

This is a mock up of Kristi Noem – The Infant Years being released on Trump TV coming soon. “Kasti” is the name she gave herself as her very first word (how fitting) proudly pointing at her left bicep (though some say it was her right bicep).







Here’s some film from the day – remember film? – I want to thank the ARNOLD family for their quaintly expressed graciousness within sharing – a phrase they used while giving me permission to use these stills. Interesting these early impressions that I wholeheartedly endorse in this time of glorious strife (another one of their evangelicisms that I would have previously scorned as a literatard) .

“Kasti” would grow into a comely girl and I don’t mean that only as a reference to the blow-up on my laptop but as a nod to a word I might have used in its classic sense before I gave myself to the cause. I still tickle myself but only on sacred days. Forgive my inserting myself into this biography of our greatest Homefast Securitress ever but being a lowly basement typer trying to level up this might be the kind of wave to take me… AHEM into the ? SKY PILOT HOW HIGH CAN YOU FLY? Some day… some day… maybee? I’ll meekly meet Kristi Neon and sparkle – or spurkle – I’ll take that and brag. Who wouldn’t? To merely feel within inches of the recently frictioned barrel. Imagine teasing your fingertip into it. The soft sting. I probably couldn’t dare risk anything more than a nervous finger. But I’m not brave like Donald F TRUMP. We’ll get into more of him later but now I must look away even while I tell you of Kasti’s early years so that you don’t think of me as a pervert.

This is Kristi at eleven years old. That’s what they told me. If you feel faint I can’t hold you. If you’re looking for her gun so am I. No doubt being felt under her blanket until you realize too late it’s under her hat. What a gal! Already protecting the coastline all the way from South Dakota on her vacation. Look at her eyes fully realizing her future. And she hasn’t even been anointed the Snow Queen yet. You can’t convince me she didn’t already know she was going to be the Snow Queen. The Mosnowiest princess cum Virgin Queen ever. Don’t get the wrong impression, Kristi is very much a virgin. You didn’t get the wrong impression did you? Only look at this picture once in awe then sit on it a few years. Look. She is a one man woman and marries her high school sweetheart. We’re not going to get into that too much here like, for instance, what his name is or whatever because no one cares. He still tends the pig farm. I’ll edit that out. Nevertheless here is a picture of the groom OH MY GOD he’s gorgeous. I want to marry him! But I’m getting ahead of the story. Put him away. Put him away.

Ma and Pa Arnold knew they had a firecracker on their hands. The Arnolds blessed their good fortune to live so many miles from the cities where their Kristi could not have been hid. And in those days there was no TikTok to expose her and out this-a-way no slick talkers neither.

Then A Tragic Accident

When she was fifteen, soon after the 15th birthday picture was taken and on the Fourth of July, Pa was kilt. Every Independence Day was the one secular day of celebration on the farm and Ron Arnold was bound to do it up. Not content this year with the usual Roman candles and ground spinners he had spent the past month engineering a homemade rocket he named The Liberty Bison; a four foot tall contraption crafted from grain silo scraps, gunpowder, and tractor parts. It blew up in his face. Kristi didn’t smile for another year.

I don’t know. I wasn’t there. Could it have gone either way? Does everything go only one of two ways? She said yes it does and while last month I didn’t agree today I do. Kristi thought back on her father’s death and remembered her stillness while all around her was chaos. The blown bits of her dad reassembled sharply back about her like a reversed strike of lightning piercing outward through her belly. She swears to this and so would I. Kristi looked at her dad and marveled. “Dad, you said so many words to me words straight from The Bible just not really but in plain Englush. Words that I will always remember.” Kristi began snapping out of her angst. If you speak plain you are true. Deadly.

“I remember my father more each day. I live my father more each day.”

Previously depressed Kristi became self assured beyond her years in weeks. She began speaking. A lot of it.

“Dad believed in tough love. He taught us to ride and rope, then dig a fence post’s hole, a shallow grave, or your heels in.”

“His morning wake-up call was ‘Get up. More people die in bed than anywhere else.’”

“I only caught him crying once and it was while watching a tractor commercial narrated by Sam Elliott.”

She wrote volumes including poetry. I’ve randomly selected three couplets.

O Ron, O Ron, you fireworks king,
You punched a cow once—then everything

He taught us hard work and how to drive in reverse,
Told us “Say grace” and “Sleep fast—time gets worse"

So here’s to the man who flew too close to July,
He didn’t go gentle—he lit up the sky.

“Sure, I was sad. But sadness doesn’t unstick a grain auger or pay estate taxes. So I put my boots on then pressed my sadness into hay bales and stacked them in the soul’s barn.”

Sitting with her mother and going through the finances of the farm she discovered they owed a significant amount in taxes.

“There wasn’t time to mourn—especially not when the IRS was grazing right behind the cows, chewing up the inheritance. I didn’t wallow. I composted my feelings and used them to fertilize the south field but the federal government still tried to tax the yield.”


More of her poetry.

Line 12b: Assets Held in Trust

After the funeral, the mailbox filled faster than the guestbook.
The bank sent condolences in Helvetica,
the IRS sent instructions in triplicate,
and the will said:
“She gets the piano,
he gets the plow,
and the government gets Dad’s silence,
measured at fair market value.”

Schedule F

I listed the cows.
I listed the land.
I listed the antique saddle,
though grief had already broken the stirrups.
They asked if I had receipts for
“emotional depreciation.”
I mailed them a boot with a hole in it.

Death Tax Waltz

We danced once,
me and the estate lawyer-
around the phrasing of
“irrevocable loss.”
He said it’s best to keep things in trust.
I said:
I trusted Dad.
He died.
Now the pasture’s in escrow
and the soul’s in collections.

Addendum A: List of Encumbrances

One hundred acres,
two barns,
three siblings,
and a memory of his voice saying,
"You’ll know what tool I need
before I do."
I handed him silence.
Now silence is taxable.

The Inheritance Packet Arrives

It came in a thick envelope
marked URGENT / PERSONAL.
Inside:
a stapled ghost,
a notarized shrug,
and instructions for converting
grief into liquidity.

Snow Queen

Destiny

The Snow Queen South Dakota version is chipped out of the Great Depression. Towns across the United States began holding festivals and beauty contests. I’d like to tell you why but I can’t. No doubt there is a great tradition that could have been documented here but that needs leaving to scholars not scurvents. Giving first ballot Hall of Fame S.D. Snow Queen obviously, Check? KRISTI.

“In South Dakota, we don’t complain about the weather—we chisel it into ice sculptures shaped like Ronald Reagan.”

Once again I’m thankful to the Arnold family for these actual stills.

“Growing up, I figured God must really love guns. He armed David with a sling and said, ‘Headshots only, son.’”

“Faith isn’t something you keep on the shelf for Sunday morning. It’s worn on the sleeve, the bumper, and occasionally branded on Uncle Wayne’s calf.”

Young girls become women.

Part Two
The Dominatrix

A nation crying out for a flag bearer and along came Kristi

Marvel

---

Tames Donald Trump
Not just a gun slingin rad babe. Also a wiz with baton and whip.

Dear Holy Ghost, for I am blessed, thank you for your beatings and your beatens. I will always strive to see you sharper in every newly raw flesh.

It was those eyes, maybe the lips, that caught Donald’s attention. He barely noticed the gun. It seems to disappear into her body only to reappear at her desire. Donald Trump has a thing for bathtubs. Talks about them and shower heads all the time. And he likes a little playtime. Let’s not sugar coat that. He’s entitled to it naturally after all the hard work he puts in. So he has a bit of a western fetish after binge watching West World. What of it? Those two don’t always dress up like cowpokes. Sometimes they don’t dress up at all.

As in all relationships as time goes by the games lose their original luster. Trump begins to stew. He was expecting Kristi to come up with something interesting. He tries to rise then thinks better of it. Hard to get out of these damn tubs.

“Give me that rifle. I’m bored.”

“Don’t do it.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Just kidding.”

“Wh…”

“Um… I like your tie. I can’t see it though. Can you…”

“I only have the best ties. I must have ten bazillion. I’m never short of ties. People send them. So many ties. I get tons of ties in the mail all the tiesmms. Times all the ties. Sometimes I hate them but you gotta. Gotta wear em. You should see so many ties. But I gotta wear a tie when I tell you you’re doing a great job, Kristi. Isn’t she doing a great job? A great great job. No one has done a better job. Lock em up like dogs. Am I right? I’m right. I’m right. You don’t have to tell me. ”

“You know, I was just thinking. If you’re bored maybe we could get some puppies.”

“Hmm. Tell me about that favorite gun of yours again.”

“You mean The “Bark Buster” Magnum 500?

“Yeah. Yeah. That one.”

“Because there was also The “Paws Control” Glock 43X. But I’ve still got a pretty good traveling arsenal. Let’s see…”

BAM! BAM! “Take that you little bastards!”

“Here let me do one.” BAM! BAM!
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
BAM!

The puppies fight back!

---

Finally a brave puppy picks up a gun and starts firing.

Then suddenly there are four more. All armed. All ready for war. BLAM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOM PING PEW PEW RATABOOM BOM BA BA BA BOOM BOOM BAM BAM BAM BA BA BOOB ZING PEW POOM BA POOM BOM BOM

Newsflash! Disturbing video just in.

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“They thought it was the puppies.”