Dum De D-U-M Dumb

Tonight Donald Trump reversed himself on dumb:

Trump: "Nobody knows that 'dumb' doesn't have a B"

(Dear reader, it has a B) pic.twitter.com/isCik2OK0Z

— Aaron Rupar (@atrupar) August 5, 2026

He came up with dumocrat all on his own, and since he can never be seen to be wrong, dumb shall no longer have a b. Hey, if Noah Webster, a low-ratings commoner, could Americanize flavour and colour by dumping the u, King Donnie can damn well un-b dum. Look for dum to become another MAGA litmus test, like Gulf of America and the Trump landslide of 2020.

Update (8/6/2026): I shared this post with a friend who refuses to believe he really means it. She responds: “I don’t think he knew what he was saying. But then, I suspect he doesn’t know what he’s saying most of the time.”

I’m convinced he does. Trump has a long history of coming up with disparaging nicknames, “dumocrat” being one of the more recent ones. I was surprised to hear him include that “not everyone knows there’s a ‘b’ in ‘dumb'” riff in recent speeches, because it’s an admission of wrongness (if there’s a “b,” it should be spelled “dumbocrat”). I think what happened is he finally realized he was pointing out his own mistake, and as ever, he cannot handle being wrong. Therefore, a kingly decree that henceforth ‘dumb’ is to be spelled ‘dum’ — he concocts alternate versions of reality and history; he thinks of himself as a king and has always tried to govern by decree. Changing the spelling of a word to cover up his own illiteracy totally fits, and is a logical next step in his narcissistic evolution. I look for MAGA to begin boycotting dictionaries soon.

My self-maintenance schedule: haircuts every fifth Tuesday at ten, pedicures every eighth Friday at nine-thirty. As an official oldster with typical oldster issues, I see my doctor, my cardiologist, and my dermatologist every six months, and then there’s the annual eye check I wrote about in my previous post. All my appointments are within a six-mile radius of home, as is the Starbucks I stop at afterward for a take-home frappuccino reward.

Here’s my haircut before and after. You may find it hard to tell much difference between these selfies, but there’s always a pile of gray trimmings under the chair when Jason’s done with me. Sorry for the intrusive wristwatch in the before photo — I thought I might post it to WatchCrunch later but decided they’d seen more than enough of me and my watches. Side note: I have a hard time telling my dark blue shirt from the black one, but the photo tells me I got it right for once, because I meant to wear blue that day.

And here are a couple of shots of vaguely-treatening monsoon skies over Tucson Monday evening. Donna and I were watching Rachel on MS-Now when our iPhones went off with loud weather watch alerts: a haboob was on its way, threatening zero visibility in blowing dust. The warning was premature — Phoenix did get blanketed in a dust storm, but not until Tuesday night; we didn’t get anything down in Tucson.

Do I enjoy saying haboob? You bet, because it annoys the dum-dums.

Stay fresh, cheese bags.