← Countdown with Keith Olbermann
Countdown with Keith Olbermann
TRUMP BLOWS UP THE EPSTEIN SCANDAL LIKE A BEACHED WHALE IN OREGON - 12.22.25
00:55:09
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This is an iHeart podcast.
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Guaranteed Human. Most people think their insurance will cover them when disaster strikes. The truth? Many are wrong. You pay premiums and assume you're protected until the fine print hits exclusions, limits, loopholes. Suddenly that coverage isn't coverage at all. My policy advocate reviews your policies Home, Auto, Life and breaks them down in plain English. They show what's really covered and what isn't. It costs just 27 cents a day less than a cup of coffee. For peace of before you assume you're covered, go to mypolicyadvocate.com you might be shocked at what you find. Mypolicyadvocate.com cleaning out your home is everything.
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It clears your space, your mind, and it can give you holiday shopping power. With Trashy Just buy a trashy bag, fill it with anything you no longer need, then ship it free and earn trashy cash points instantly. Keep earning points when you shop exclusive trashy deals and redeem for shopping wherever you want or even donate them to charity. Turn a home clean out into shopping power that also does good at Trashy IO that's T R A S H I E IO 10 athletes will face the toughest job interview in fitness that will push past physical and mental breaking points. You are the fittest of the fit. Only one of you will leave here with an IFIT contract worth $250,000.
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This is where mindset comes in.
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Someone will be eliminate Pressure is coming down.
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Trainer Games on Prime Video January 8th.
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Watch the trailer on trainer games.com want.
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To score when your favorite player does well?
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You can't unless you download Better Picks.
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Who is giving away a free $10? Download the Better app, pick more or less on player stats, watch the games and win some cash. It's that simple. Must be 21 or older in a jurisdiction where Better Picks operates, terms and conditions apply. Better Picks Sports just got better. Support for the show comes from Public, the investing platform for those who take it seriously. On public, you can build a multi asset portfolio of stocks, bonds, options, crypto and now generated assets which allow you to turn any idea into an investable index with AI. It all starts with your prompt. From renewable energy companies with high free cash flow to semiconductor suppliers growing revenue over 20% year over year. You can literally type any prompt and put the AI to work. It screens thousands of stocks, builds a one of a kind index and lets you back test it against the S&P 500. Then you can invest in a few clicks. Generated assets are like EFTs with infinite possibilities, completely customizable and based on your thesis, not someone else's. Go to public.com podcast and earn an uncapped 1% bonus when you transfer your portfolio. That's public.com podcast paid for by Public Investing Brokerage Services by Open to the Public Investing Inc. Member FINRA SIPC Advisory Services by Public Advisors, llc SEC Registered Advisor Generated Assets is an interactive analysis tool. Output is for informational purposes only and is not investment recommendation or advice. Complete disclosures available at public.com disclosures Countdown.
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With Keith Olbermann is a production of iHeartRadio. Remember when they blew up that dead whale? That's what Trump just did to the Epstein coverup. You've seen the video, right? 45 foot 8 ton carcass of a dead sperm whale washes up onshore at Florence, Oregon, November 1970. They decide the easiest way to dispose of it is to blow it up with dynamite. That's what Trump has just done to the Epstein coverup. So the geniuses in Oregon in 1970 figured some of it will wash away and the smaller parts will be eaten by scavenger animals. Only they had a highway engineer plan it out and he used half a ton of dynamite instead of the 20 sticks that would have done the job. And the next thing you knew the whale had become a thousand pieces of rock hard shrapnel. That's what Trump just did to the Epstein cover up. A piece of blubber and whale blubber is hard. A piece of blubber the size of a coffee table hit a parked car and crushed it. And the driver later swore he had just bought that car from a lot that was then running a promotion called Get a Whale of a Deal. That's what Trump just did to the Epstein coverup. I also want to know today why Trump renamed the Kennedy center the Donald J. Trump Memorial Center. But let me plow through the Trumpstein disaster first. It starts with image 468. Image 468 from the Epstein files, from which virtually all the Trump stuff had already been scrubbed, was not scrubbed. It was a photo of a bunch of framed photos in a drawer, all of which showed Trump and Epstein together. So 24 hours later, image 468, which hadn't been scrubbed, was instead deleted. And even in doing that, after they posted it and scrubbed it and deleted it, they left Image1346 a larger shot of framed Epstein photos on a credenza, couple dozen of them. And sure enough, zoom in on that as the impeccable Lauren Windsor did. And there is a framed photo of Epstein and Trump and Melania, the three of them. It doesn't look like anybody's being introduced to anybody else. At least 16 pages that were released on Friday had disappeared by yesterday. Some of the ones they did release had 100% redactions. 550 of them. 550 pages, fully redacted. Just the black boxes per Scott McFarlane and CBS News. And they are still counting. One Epstein victim says she was doxxed that Trump released her identifying information. And just to apply the chef's kiss, Todd Blanche, who believe it or not is the deputy Attorney General, gets on one of the Sunday shows and presents a self fulfilling prophecy case. A self unfulfilling prophecy. Quote, if there's photographs that we have of President Trump or anybody else, they of course will be released with the exception of any victims or survivors that we've identified, unquote. In other words, any photos proving Trump was with verified Epstein victims or survivors, they will not be released because. Because. Because they would show Trump was with verified Epstein victims or survivors. We can't show you the proof that would prove it. Hey, did you stuff the dynamite into the dead whale yet? Cool. Let her rip. The penultimate flaw of this administration has now once again moved center stage even ahead of his own instability. That second ranked fatal flaw is these people are idiots. Dan Bongino didn't say this as he quit as deputy FBI director, but the suspicion is Cash Patel is too much of an idiot even for Dan Bongino. I mean that's a lot of idiot. And apart from Patel screwing up every investigation he's put his eye on, so to speak. The key Trumpist exposure on the brain drain issue is the Epstein files. From first was Pam Bondi's empty Epstein loose leaf notebooks bought at a Staples in Georgetown or somewhere for all we know. Then it was her claim that there was a client list on her desk. Then it was Trump going from running on releasing the Epstein files to Trump calling the Epstein files a hoax to Trump signing the humiliating house measure to force him to release the Epstein files. Then it was Susie Wiles saying Bondi, quote, completely whiffed on the Epstein files. Then it was not releasing documents that must by law be released and instead releasing only some of them, then unreleasing others and therefore blowing up the metaphorical whale while simply spreading the metaphorical whale over a square mile area. And by the way, still not complying with the law Trump signed. So people at the DOJ could technically go to jail now or more likely later 2029 comes to mind. If you'd like to make sure the Epstein story stays alive, you do any one of those things I just mentioned it. If you'd like to make sure America is convinced Trump is again convicted of complicity with Epstein, I mean a second time, after the release of the Trump signed drawing of the nude, do all of those things I just mentioned. And if you'd like to escalate the Epstein scandal to indelibly mark it as the trumpstein scandal, do what these idiots did and plant things in the files and release the planted things and do it so clumsily and moronically that it gets community noted on Twitter X Abigail Marrone Jackson a Deputy Press secretary and remember, if you're a deputy press secretary, when Caroline Levitt is the press secretary, you are necessarily dumber even than Caroline Levitt is. Abigail Marone Jackson wrote that per the Epstein Files Transparency Act, DOJ was specifically instructed only to redact the faces of victims and or minors. Here is a picture of Bill Clinton with his arm around Michael Jackson and redacted into individuals might as well have had a picture of Abraham Lincoln. The picture of Clinton is of course available by Googling his name and Michael Jackson. And the redacted individuals in that picture are Michael Jackson's two sons and Evan Ross, the son of Diana Ross. And also Diana Ross is also in the picture. And apparently Abigail Marone Jackson doesn't know who she is. She's too embubbled to know who Diana Ross is. And the picture is from a Democratic fundraiser from 2003. And it doesn't have a damn thing to do with the Epstein files. But Abigail Jackson decided to try to deceive the American public into believing it has something to do with them. In other words, they blew up the whale and then they went back and assembled the pieces again and blew it up a second time. And that gives anybody an excuse to look at anything in the Epstein files and just assume that if it puts the finger on somebody else, Trump put it there. Nice work, Abigail Marone Jackson. This is Abigail's second job in life. The first one was as a press aid to Josh Hawley, the January 6th Running Man. There are in fact at last check at least eight Twitter X community notes on posts by Jackson by the deplorable Todd Blanche by Pam Bondi herself, Blondie, who simply cannot be long for her job. She just, just can't. New Year's Day would be a surprise if she's still in that job. Wasn't even posting about Trump's Dean and she still got Community noted about Trump Stein. She wrote about Trump setting all time great transparency standards for a presidency and nobody is buying it. Community note quote contrary to the claim instead of transparency the administration runs defense for pedophiles and rapists. And then there are links to four tweets, including two by Congressman Tom Massie. Keep up the good work Madam Attorney. Generic Trump not just covering up the Epstein files and breaking the law by not fulfilling the law passed by his own party. Not just doing that, but now faking things and putting them in the Epstein files and not even doing it very well and faking something about Bill Clinton. The day Bill Clinton left the White House, the average American of today was 15 years old. You might as well have faked something about Epstein and the Y2K computer crisis. Abigail this underscores why Trump's team, no matter what happens next, will be self perpetuating in a way nobody dreamed of last Thursday. This is the true danger of conspiracy theories as no one will find out more than Donald Trump will find out in the days and weeks to come. 20% of Americans do not believe the reality of what happened on 9 11. The Kennedy assassination only became more desirable as conspiracy fodder after the Warren Commission Report. Charles McKay's 1841 book Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds has been surpassed since its publication in explaining mass stupidity, but it is still always a wonderful reminder that while it has now been weaponized by everybody from the Nazis to Trump, people have always been this gullible. It is hard to get away from conspiracy theories except by massive and even shocking straightforwardness and transparency. And that is impossible if a government consists of conspiracy theorists and stupid conspiracy theorists like Harmeet Dhillon. If you don't know her, she is actually an Assistant Attorney General. Her previous job was Tulsi Gabbard's lawyer. She deliberately or otherwise turned the Brown University shooting into another fake conspiracy. Somebody tweeted that after the shooting Brown was removing articles from its website about one of its students. She retweeted it with the musk like addition concerning Anna Paulina Luna, the member of the House from Dipshit County, Florida wrote she found it suspicious that things were altered on the Brown website. Luna also probably finds it suspicious that the amount of daylight changes every day. Well, Dylan retweeted her too, adding just sus. Turned out the deletions had nothing to do with the shooting and the student had nothing to do with the shooting. As I recorded this, Dylan had not even deleted her misinformation suss this clown. One can argue that it is part of the Trumpist playbook, that it is part of the authoritarian playbook, that the less people who believe in official accounts about anything, the more they will turn to one seemingly authoritative source. And unfortunately for many of these idiots, that's still Trump. I confess, I think that's giving them too much credit. It's like reading Senator Mike Lee, who is so deep down his, let's see, what's the amount 1,000,000th Internet rabbit hole now that he would need to detox to find his way back to reality, and thinking that Mike Lee's borderline paranoia is some kind of reelection strategy. It's not. He's just a moron. These people are all just morons. They blew up the Epstein whale. They have not processed that conspiracy theories are like giant fire hoses. They're effective and decisive. Unless you lose control of yours and you drop it and the next thing you know the water has drowned you or the blubber has. The Trumpstein story would have, forgive me, exploded if everything had come out Friday. Just like a dead whale would eventually explode due to natural biological forces. And there would have been a significant, if probably inaccurate, sense that almost the whole thing was out in the open now. And however bad it might have been, there would have been a virtual end to it. But everything didn't come out Friday. All that did was just give you a reason to reread the nauseating New York Times story about Epstein Giving TRUMP A 20 year old woman of Trump denying, denying and denying. And nobody ever bothering to reread the Epstein evidence while playing Trump's words from the Access Hollywood tape and remembering that when Trump said that, it was after most of his sleaziness with Epstein had already occurred, so it didn't come out. Instead, you maniacs, you blew it up. Damn you. Damn you old to hell. And now the blubber will just sit there, everywhere. It will just sit there symbolically, a whole huge chunk of it the size of a coffee table in the crushed car next to Trump. Forever next to Trump as he dozes off for boasts about acing the cognitive test and being able to tell which one was the giraffe. Let's take another look at those Trumpstein photos. Is the giraffe in there too? How about the dead blowed up whale? Loaded up. Blowed it up real good. Loaded up real good. Okay, so why did Trump name it the Donald J. Trump Memorial Center? This is not the biggest problem with renaming the Kennedy center illegally after himself, but didn't anybody else notice this? He changed the name of the Kennedy center before anybody could file a suit to stop him. And he put up a new sign on it reading, the Donald J. Trump and the John F. Kennedy Memorial center for the Performing Arts. I mean, are we. Could we be. Is it possible that we're. We're missing the. The real lead story here? The Donald J. Trump and the John F. Kennedy Memorial center for the Performing Arts means. Well, it does include the idea that it's the Donald J. Trump Memorial Center. The word memorial applies to everybody in the new name. It's Trump Memorial. Did I miss a bulletin or something? He's not dead yet, right? I mean, officially. Officially. Not in terms of brain health or his own soul. The Donald J. Trump and the John F. Kennedy Memorial center for the Performing Arts. You read that? And it doesn't mean that only Kennedy is memorialized here. That's the construction you use when you are memorializing two people in the title of a building or a book or anything else. And don't tell me. Well, if you're gonna slap your name on the Kennedy center, that's the only way to do it. No, you take out the word memorial and you make it the Donald J. Trump and John F. Kennedy center for the Performing Arts. See? Or if you're Trump and you really think there is something too disrespectful even for you to do and you have to keep the word memorial in there for Kennedy's sake, you take a page from sports stadiums and you make it the Donald J. Trump Auditorium at the John F. Kennedy Memorial center for the Performing Arts. That way it's Kennedy Memorial and Trump, not Memorial. Obviously, the whole thing is sacrilege. But there's sacrilege and then there's stupid sacrilege. And what a surprise, Trump chose the stupid sacrilege. This needs to be undone now by court action later, just with pickaxes, maybe on pay per view, or people buy a $2 lottery ticket and the winners get to wield the pickaxes. You'd raise 1100 $74 trillion. But it's just so unsettling that anybody, even a guy as flat out crazy as Trump, would slap his name on an American cultural institution and make it read like it is now. The Trump Memorial center, sir. Memorial means dead, sir. On the other hand, if this sticks, Trump will have the last laugh. Because, of course, sooner or later, it will be. It will be Trump Memorial. So with Trumpstein kaboom. And here comes the blubber, I'm not sure why Trump probably got scared out of announcing an attack on Venezuela last Wednesday. Do not get me wrong, I would be happy to see Maduro go no matter the how. Just like I'd like to see Putin go, no matter the how. These aren't socialist countries or democracies or whatever form of government Russia has convinced its captive citizens they are in. These are dictatorships. But once again, if Trump has the right to try to force regime change in some place like Venezuela, Banduro necessarily also has the right to try to force regime change in some place like, oh, here. Plus, Trump's relationship to Venezuela is he wants it to be his Iraq. Bush managed to sell just enough Americans on the idea that the Iraqis had something to do with 9 11. And even if it wasn't much or they didn't really us, hanging him and destroying his country would be a lesson to somebody. In point of fact, it just amped up the terrorist threat and that secured Bush his narrow reelection in 2004. That obviously is why they have invented this nonsensical term, narco terrorism. Might as well name it after Rubio and call it Marco Terrorism. That makes just as little sense. The point is to repeat again and again and again and get the casual American to forge a connection between Venezuela and terrorism and then use that to, in a way, repeat Bush's success. Success. And yes, sorry, it pains me more than anybody else, I think in media. Yes, Bush was successful in Iraq. Not for America, not for the world. Certainly not for Iraq. Just for Bush. Where does that leave Venezuela? We'll find out after. Somebody has to tell Trump that the planted photo of Clinton did nothing and the deleting of photos of him was, well, somebody has to go in now and tell Trump about the exploding whale. Couple of headlines. No, It's Trump's economy. YouGov polling for CBS concluded Friday, released yesterday. What's more responsible for the state of the U.S. economy today? Trump's policies 47%. Biden's 22%. Both equally 22%. You put the key numbers together there. And 69% of the people think it's at least mostly or partly Trump's economy. Note to former UN Ambassador, former New York state candidate for governor, soon to be former representative Elise Stefanik, betrayed and abandoned by Trump because ET td the note is from the devil and it consists of two no refunds. Gavin Newsom brought it up again. Why do we pay federal taxes? Tweeted his press office in one of those kitschy Trump all caps satire posts. And then the governor reposted it seriously. Again, if Trump cannot provide the bare minimum to Californians, perhaps it is time. California withholds resources from the feds. I'm telling you, this is the way out. It'll be messy. It is virtually a declaration of war. It destabilizes the country. I mean, it destabilizes the country almost as fast as Trump is destabilizing it. And lastly, Peter Arnett has died. Peter Arnett was not the first reporter to tell the truth about Vietnam, but he was the one who paved the way for all the others to including the ones on tv, because he was for the Associated Press. When the Associated Press had a world duopoly on news services. He won the Pulitzer Prize in 1966 from Vietnam. He worked so long and took such personal chances that he was in Vietnam as early as 1962 and as late as the day we withdrew in the chaos of 1975. And he was covering the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979. And he covered the Gulf War from Iraq for CNN. And he covered the Bush War in Iraq in 2000, 2003 for NBC. But what made Peter Arnett a great reporter among great reporters is that in between when he was based at the CNN bureau in New York in CNN year one and year two and that day, they didn't need him at the UN or he wasn't packing to go overseas, and instead they needed somebody to go interview commuters during a snowstorm or to get a sound bite about the latest, I don't know, exploding whale. Peter Arnett was the first to volunteer. He liked reporting. Or when the rookie sports reporter needed some advice on how to put together his rookie sports story, Peter Arnett not only gave it, he sat through nearly the entire editing session of the sports piece in question. When I was next on the same channel as him 21 years later, he was live from Iraq. And before we went on in the commercial break, he said over the satellite, hey, in that New Zealand accent of his nice career. And I got to say, well, I had a lot of help from the real pros when I was just getting started. Peter Arnett was 91 years old. Thank you, Peter. Also of interest here, I'll mention this again later. For your planning purposes, no podcast Thursday. It's a holiday. The holiday season, of course, does not stop the worst. Of course. Mehmet Oz wants you to know that the price of penises is a going up. And in an unexpectedly possibly related topic, Lindsay Halligan misspelled Virginia. So it looks like maybe she wasn't trying to spell Virginia. Maybe she was trying to spell. That's next. This is Countdown. Most people think their insurance will cover them when disaster strikes. The truth? Many are wrong. You pay premiums and assume you're protected until the fine print hits exclusions, limits, loopholes. Suddenly, that coverage isn't coverage at all. My policy advocate reviews your policies, Home, Auto, Life and breaks them down in plain English. They show what's really covered and what isn't. It costs just 27 cents a day less than a cup of coffee. For peace of mind, before you assume you're covered, go to mypolicyadvocate.com you might be shocked at what you find. Mypolicyadvocate.com decluttering is everything.
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It clears your space, your mind. And now it can give you shopping power With Trashy. Trashy is the easiest way to clean out and donate all that clutter you've been meaning to deal with. Eventually, just buy a trashy bag, fill it with anything you no longer need. Any brand, any condition. We take everything, then ship it free and earn trashy cash points instantly guaranteed. Keep earning points when you shop exclusive trashy deals and redeem them for gift cards to brands you love, or even donate them to charity. It's simple, it's satisfying, and it's sustainable, since 95% of what you send gets reused or recycled. So you know those excuses that keep you from decluttering. You don't have time. You don't know what they'll take. Trashy solves all that. Just get a bag, fill it, send it. It's never been easier to turn clutter into shopping power. Buy your bag and start decluttering today at Trashy IO that's T R A S H I E I O 10 athletes will face the toughest job interview in fitness that will push past physical and mental breaking points. You are the fittest of the fit. Only one of you will leave here with an IFIT contract worth $250,000.
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This is where mindset comes in.
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Someone will be eliminated.
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Pressure is coming down.
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Trainer Games on Prime Video January 8th.
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Watch the trailer on trainergames.com do you like free money? Well, today's your lucky day. Better Picks is offering a free $10 just for signing up. Download the Better App. Pick more or less on your favorite player's stats, stats, watch the games and win some cash. It's that simple. Better picks available in 33 states, including Texas, California and Georgia. Download the Better app today. That's better. B E T R and get a free $10 no deposit necessary must be 21 or older in a jurisdiction where Better Picks operates terms of condition supply. Better Picks Sports just got better.
- [30:03]
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Support for the show comes from Public, the investing platform for those who take it seriously. On Public you can build a multi asset portfolio of stocks, bonds, options, crypto and now generated assets. Allow you to turn any idea into an investable index with AI. It all starts with your prompt. From renewable energy companies with high free cash flow to semiconductor suppliers growing revenue over 20% year over year, you can literally type any prompt and put the AI to work. It screens thousands of stocks, builds a one of a kind index and lets you back test it against the S&P 500. Then you can invest in a few clicks. Generated assets are like EFTs with infinite possibilities, completely customizable and based on your thesis, not someone else's. Go to public.com, and earn an uncapped 1% bonus when you transfer your portfolio. That's public.com podcast paid for by Public Investing Brokerage Services by Open to the Public Investing Inc. Member finra SIPC Advisory Services by Public Advisors llc SEC Registered Advisor Generated Assets is an interactive analysis tool. Output is for informational purposes only and is not investment recommendation or advice. Complete disclosures available at public.com disclosures this.
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Is Countdown with Keith Olbermann. Olbermann. Still ahead on this edition of countdown. Hey, it's Christmas. I haven't done any Thurber in a long time and I don't know if you've noticed this, but the news hole as it is colloquially known, colloquially known, Mr. Brokaw, it's kind of small this week, so let's give you a little something to do if you want to laugh at and with everybody else, his most famous story, the story which began my relationship with the Thurber family and the literary trust. And my favorite Thurber story, a holiday threefer ahead from James Thurber. But first, believe it or not, there's still more new idiots to talk about. The roundup of the miscreants, morons and dunning Kruger effect specimens who constitute today's other worst persons in the world, the bronze worst, Dr. Oz. You heard him. While millions of Americans are about to fall off the economic cliff because he's part of the dictatorship determined to cut health care to save money for billionaires, he gave an address on how inflation is hitting transgender care, quote the creation of a penis, unquote. All right, pro tip. If you are ever giving a speech and you see that phrase on the page in front of you Simply throw the script in the air, make some sort of diversion and run from the podium. In fact, run from the room as fast as you can. Mehmet Oz chose not to do this. He continued, the creation of a penis costs on average in America $150,000 per child. Then he added a scrotal plasty where you add testicles, that's extra. Wait, you can add testicles? Has anybody told Mike Johnson, the silver worser Riley Gaines, America's also ran sweetheart. Her podcast will migrate from the deplorable outkick to the home of the devil fox. And interestingly, it has already reached the podcast charts where it's finished. Oh, in 85th place. Sources say in the first episode, Gaines will confess she never really learned how to swim. But the winner, the worst, Lindsey Halligan, Miss Uncongeniality and third runner up from the Colorado Miss USA Pageant. Many, many, many years ago. And now the unqualified attorney Trump keeps trying to install as the U.S. attorney in the Eastern District of Virginia, even though she didn't know any of the rules. Like you have to show the grand jury whatever it is you claim they voted on and get approved by somebody for your office before you start indicting people as political vengeance for the guy who used to own the Miss USA pageant, El Trumpolini. She didn't know stuff like that. Well, she's done it again. Only this one is way simpler and way funnier than the Star Chamber indictments in her name. She keeps having trouble with details. Details and trouble. Like Lionel Hut's from the Simpsons level. Trouble noted by someone, I think on Blue Sky. Her self identification on one of the legal documents she filed reads Lindsay Halligan, United States Attorney, Eastern District of Virginia, Florida bar number 10943 Jameson Avenue Alexandria, Virginia 2234. Wait, what? United States Attorney, Eastern District of Virgina. Virgina. Virgina. She misspelled Virginia V I R G I N A Virgina. Well, we're assuming she was to trying. Trying to spell Virginia. Lindsay, what was the name of that old minstrel song from the 19th century? Carry me Back to Old Virgina Halligan, Today's other worst person in the world. Sam. Most people think their insurance will cover them when disaster strikes. The truth? Many are wrong. You pay premiums and assume you're protected until the fine print hits, exclusions, limits, loopholes. Suddenly that coverage isn't coverage at all. My policy advocate reviews your policies, home, auto, life and breaks them down in plain English. They show what's really covered and what isn't. It costs just 27 cents a day, less than a cup of coffee. For peace of mind, before you assume you're covered, go to mypolicyadvocate.com you might be shocked at what you find. Mypolicyadvocate.com decluttering is everything.
- [37:16]
A
It clears your space, your mind. And now it can give you shopping power With Trashy Trashy is the easiest way to clean out and donate all that clutter you've been meaning to deal with. Eventually, just buy a trashy bag, fill it with anything you no longer need. Any brand, any condition. We take everything, then ship it free and earn trashy cash points instantly guaranteed. Keep earning points when you shop exclusive trashy deals and redeem them for gift cards to brands you love or even donate them to charity. It's simple, it's satisfying, and it's sustainable since 95% of what you send gets reused or recycled. So you know those excuses that keep you from decluttering. You don't have time. You don't know what they'll take. Trashee solves all that. Just get a bag, fill it, send it. It's never been easier to turn clutter into shopping power. Buy your bag and start decluttering today at trashee.IO that's T R A S H I E I O 10 athletes will face the toughest job interview in fitness that will push past physical and mental breaking points. You are the fittest of the fit. Only one of you will leave here with an IFIT contract for $250,000.
- [38:33]
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This is where mindset comes in.
- [38:35]
A
Someone will be eliminated.
- [38:37]
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Pressure is coming down.
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Trainer Games On Prime Video January 8th.
- [38:41]
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Watch the trailer on trainer games.com not everyone can be good at fantasy football and at Better. We understand that. That's why we're giving you $10 for free just for signing up. Up. Download the Better app, pick more or less on player stats, watch the games and win some cash. It's that simple. Better picks available in 33 states, including Texas, California and Georgia. Download the Better app today that's Better Betr and get a free $10. No deposit necessary. Must be 21 or older. In a jurisdiction where Better Picks operates, terms and conditions apply. Better Picks Sports just got Better.
- [39:14]
C
Support for the show comes from Public, the investing platform for those who take it seriously. On Public, you can build a multi asset portfolio of stocks, bonds, options, crypto and now generated assets which allow you to turn any idea into an investable index. With AI. It all starts with your prompt from renewable energy companies with high free cash flow to semiconductor suppliers, growing revenue over 20% year over year. You can literally type any prompt and put the AI to work. It screens thousands of stocks, builds a one of a kind index, and lets you back test it against the S&P 500. Then you can invest in a few clicks. Generated assets are like EFTs with infinite possibilities, completely customizable and based on your thesis, not someone else's. Go to public.com podcast and earn an uncapped 1% bonus when you transfer your portfolio. That's public.com podcast paid for by Public Investing Brokerage Services by Open to the Public Investing Inc. Member FINRA SIPC Advisory Services by Public Advisors, llc SEC Registered Advisor Generated Assets is an interactive analysis tool. Output is for informational purposes only and is not investment recommendation or advice. Complete disclosures available at public.com disclosures.
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As promised Merry Christmas. Not just one Thurber story, Since we haven't done any of them in a while. Not two, but three, and all of them with special connotations. My favorite, his most famous, and the one that first connected me to the Thurber literary tradition. As I've mentioned many times, I read this story first aloud in a class in College in 1979, and a friend of mine came up to me and said, you should forget that sportscasting thing. You should read Thurber for a living. And I said, yeah, that'll ever happen. This is, for some reason, salvation for me, catharsis, and every other emotion that is appropriate after it has been a long week. A Box to Hide In By James Thurber I waited till the large woman with the awful hat took up her sack of groceries and went out, peering at the tomatoes and the lettuce on her way. The clerk asked me what mine was. Have you got a box? I asked. A large box. I want a box to hide in. You want a box? He asked. I want a box to hide in, I said. What do you mean? He said. You mean a big box? I said. I meant a big box big enough to hold me. I haven't got any boxes, he said. Only cottons that cans come in. I tried several other groceries and none of them had a box big enough for me to hide in. There was nothing for it but to face life out. I didn't feel strong, and I'd had this overpowering desire to hide in a box for a long time. What do you mean you want to hide in this box? One grocer asked me. It's a form of escape, I told him. Hiding In a box. It circumscribes your worries and the range of your anguish. You don't see people either. How in the hell do you eat when you're in this box? Asked the grocer. How in the hell do you get anything to eat? I said I had never been in a box and didn't know but that that would take care of itself. Well, he said finally, I haven't got any boxes. Only some pasteboard cartons that cans come in. It was the same every place. I gave up when it got dark and the groceries closed and hid in my room again. I turned out the light and lay on the bed. You feel better when it gets dark? I could have hid in a closet, I suppose. But people are always opening doors. Somebody would find you in a closet. They would be startled and you'd have to tell them why you were in the closet. Nobody pays attention to a big box lying on the floor. You could stay in it for days and nobody'd think to look in it. Not even the cleaning woman. My cleaning woman came the next morning and woke me up. I was still feeling bad. I asked her if she knew where I could get a large box. How big a box you want? She asked. I want a box big enough for me to get inside of, I said. She looked at me with big dim eyes. There's something wrong with her glands. She's awful, but she has a big heart, which makes it worse. She's unbearable. Her husband is sick and her children are sick and she is sick too. I got to thinking how pleasant it would be if I were in a box now and didn't have to see her. I'd be in a box right there in the room and she wouldn't know. I wondered if you had a desire to bark or laugh when someone who doesn't know walks by the box you're in. Maybe she would have a spell with her heart if I did. That would die right there. The officers and the elevator man and Mr. Gramage would find us funny. Doggone thing happened at the building last night, the doorman would say to his wife. I let in this woman to clean up 10F. And she never come out, see? She's never in there more than an hour, but she never come out, see? So when it got time for me to go off duty, I asked this to Krennic, who was on the elevator. I says, what the hell you suppose has happened to that woman? Cleans 10F. He says he didn't know. He says he never seen her after he took her up. So I spoke to Mr. Grammage about it. I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Grammage, I says, but there's something funny bout that woman. Clean's 10F. So I told him. So he said we better have a look. And we all three goes up and knocks on the door and rings the bell, see, and nobody answers. So he said we'd have to walk in. So Krennic opened the door and we walked in. And here was this woman, cleans the apartment, dead as a herring on the floor. And the gentleman that lives there was in a box. The cleaning woman kept looking at me. It was hard to realize she wasn't dead. It's a form of escape, I murmured. What say? She asked dully. You don't know of any large packing boxes, do you? I asked. No, I don't, she said. I haven't found one yet. But I still have this overpowering urge to hide in a box. Maybe it will go away. Maybe I'll be all right. Maybe it will get worse. It's hard to say. A box to hide in By James Thurber. James Thurber's best known work, best loved work, and maybe just best work has been made into two different films, neither of which is really satisfactory, but each gives you just a glimpse of what your imagination is doing as you hear or read his words. It is a universal it is the story of everybody who's ever lived, who has ever daydreamed. It is the Secret Life of Walter Mitty By James Thurber. We're going through. The commander's voice was like thin ice breaking. He wore his full dress uniform with the heavily braided white cap pulled down rakishly over one cold gray eye. We can't make it, sir. It's spoiling for a hurricane, if you ask me. I'm not asking you, Lt. Berg, said the commander. Throw on the power lights. Revver up to 8,500. We're going through. The pounding of the cylinders increased to pocket. A pocket, a pocket, a pocket, a pocket. The commander stared at the ice forming on the pilot window. He walked over and twisted a row of complicated dials. Switch on number eight auxiliary. He shouted. Switch on number eight auxiliary, repeated Lt. Bird. Full strength and number three turret. Shouted the commander. Full strength and number three Turret. The crew, bending to their various tasks in the huge hurtling eight engined Navy hydroplane, looked at each other and grinned. The old man'll get us through, they said to one another. The old man ain't afraid of hell. Not so fast, you're driving too fast, said Mrs. Middy. What are you driving so fast for? Hmm? Said Walter Mitty. He looked at his wife in the seat beside him with shocked astonishment. She seemed grossly unfamiliar, like a strange woman who had yelled at him in a crowd. You're up to 55, she said. You know I don't like to go more than 40. You're up to 55. Walter Mitty drove on toward Waterbury in silence, the roaring of the SN 202 through the worst storm in 20 years of Navy flying, fading in the remote, intimate airways of his mind. Your tense step again, said Mrs. Mitty. It's one of your days. I wish you'd let Dr. Renshaw look you over. Walter Mitty stopped the car in front of the building where his wife went to have her hair done. Remember to get those overshoes while I'm having my hair done, she said. I don't need overshoes, said Mitty. She put her mirror back into her bag. We've been all through that, she said, getting out of the car. You're not a young man any longer. He raced the engine a little. Why don't you wear your gloves? Have you lost your gloves? Walter Mitty reached in a pocket and brought out the gloves. He put them on, but after she had turned and gone into the building and he had driven onto a red light, he took them off again. Pick it up, brother, snapped a cop as the light changed and Mitty hastily pulled on his gloves and lurched ahead. He drove around the streets aimlessly for a time, and then he drove past the hospital on his way to the parking lot. It's the millionaire banker Wellington McMillan, said the pretty nurse. Yes, said Walter Mitty, removing his gloves slowly. Who has the case? Dr. Renshaw and Dr. Renbow. But. But there are two specialists here. Dr. Remington from New York and Mr. Pritchard Mitford from London. He flew over. A door opened down a long, cool corridor, and Dr. Renshaw came out. He looked distraught and haggard. Hello, Mitty, he said. We're having the devil's own time with McMillan, the millionaire banker and close personal friend of Roosevelt. Obstreosis of the ductile tract tertiary. Wish you'd take a look at him. Glad to, said Mitty. In the operating room there were whispered introductions. Dr. Hammington, Dr. Mitty, Mr. Richard Mitford, Dr. Mitty. I've read your book on streptothricosis, said Pritchard Mitford, shaking hands. Brilliant performance, sir. Thank you, said Walter Mitty. Didn't know you were in the States, mittie grumbled. Remington coals to Newcastle. Bringing Mitford and me up here for a tertiary. You are very kind, said Mitti. A huge, complicated machine connected to the operating table with many tubes and wires began at this moment to go poca pocketa pocket. The new anesthetizer is giving way. Shouted an intern. There is no one in the east who knows how to fix it. Quiet, man, said Mitty in a low, cool voice. He sprang to the machine, which was now going pocket to pocket. A creepy pocket, a pocket, a creep. He began fingering delicately a row of glistening dials. Give me a fountain pen, he snapped. Someone handed him a fountain pen. He pulled a faulty piston out of the machine and inserted the pen in its place. That will hold for 10 minutes, he said. Get on with the operation. A nurse hurried over and whispered to Renshaw, and Mitti saw the man turn pale. Coreopsis has set in, said Renshaw nervously. If you would take over, Middy. Mitty looked at him and at the craven figure of Benbow who drank, and at the grave uncertain faces of the two great specialists. If you wish, he said. They slipped a white gown on him. He adjusted a mask and drew on thin gloves. Nurses handed him shiny back it up, Mac. Look out for that Buick. Walter Mitty jammed on the brakes. Wrong lane, Mac, said the parking lot attendant, looking at Middy closely. Gee, yeah, muttered Mitty. He began cautiously to back out of the lane marked Exit Only. Leave her sit there, said the attendant. I'll put her away. Mitty got out of the car. Hey, better leave the key. Oh, said Mittie, handing the man the ignition key. The attendant vaulted into the car, backed it up with insolent skill, and put it where it belonged. They're so damn cocky, thought Walter Mitty, walking along Main street. They think they know everything. Once he had tried to take his chains off outside New Milford, and he got them wound around the axles. The man had to come out in a wrecking car and unwind them, a young grinning garage man. Since then, Mrs. Mitty always made him drive to a garage to have the chains taken off. The next time, he thought, I'll wear my right arm in a sling. They won't grin at me. Then I'll have my right arm in a sling, and they'll see I couldn't possibly take the chains off myself. He kicked at the slush on the sidewalk. Overshoes, he said to himself, and he began looking for a shoe store. When he came out into the street again with the overshoes and A box under his arm. Walter Mitty began to wonder what the other thing was his wife had told him to get. She had told him twice before they set out from their house for Waterbury. In a way, he hated these weekly trips to town. He was always getting something wrong. Kleenex, he thought. Squibs. Razor blades. No. Toothpaste. Toothbrush. Bicarbonate. Carborundum. Initiative? Referendum. He gave it up, but she would remember it. Where's the Whatsits name? She would ask. Don't tell me you forgot the Whatsits name. A newsboy went by, shouting something about the Waterbury trial. Perhaps this will refresh your memory. The district attorney suddenly thrust a heavy automatic at the quiet figure on the witness stand. Have you ever seen this before? Walter Mitty took the gun and examined it expertly. This is my Webley Vickers 50.80, he said calmly. An excited buzz ran around the courtroom room. The judge rapped for order. You are a crack shot with any sort of firearms, I believe, said the district attorney insinuatingly. Objection. Shouted Mitty's attorney. We have shown that the defendant could not have fired the shot. We have shown that he wore his right arm in a sling. On the night of the 14th of July, Walter Mitty raised his hand briefly and the bickering attorneys were stilled. With any known make of guns, he said evenly, I could have killed Gregory Fitzhurst at 300ft with my left hand. Pandemonium broke out in the courtroom. A woman's scream rose above the bedlam and suddenly a lovely dark haired girl was in Walter Mitty's arms. The district attorney struck at her savagely. Without rising from his chair, Mitty let the man have it on the point of the chin. You miserable cur. Puppy biscuit, said Walter Mitty. He stopped walking and the buildings of Waterbury rose up out of the misty courtroom and surrounded him again. A woman who was passing laughed. He said puppy biscuit, she said to her companion. That man said puppy biscuit to himself. Walter Mitte hurried on. He went into an A and P. Not the first one he came to, but a smaller one farther up the street. I want some biscuit it for small young dogs, he said to the clerk. Any special brand, sir? The greatest pistol shot in the world. Thought a moment. It says puppies bark for it on the box, said Walter Mitty. His wife would be through at the hairdresser's in 15 minutes. Mitty saw in looking at his watch. Unless they had trouble drying it. Sometimes they had trouble drying it. She didn't like to get to the hotel first. She would want him to be there waiting for her as usual. He found a big leather chair in the lobby facing a window, and he put the overshoes and the puppy biscuit on the floor beside it. He picked up an old copy of Liberty and sank down into the chair. Can Germany Conquer the World through the Air? Walter Mitte looked at the pictures of bombing planes and of ruined streets. The Cannonadin has got the wind up in young Raleigh, sir, said the sergeant. Captain Mitty looked at him through tousled hair. Get him to bed, he said wearily. With the others, I'll fly alone. But you can't, sir, said the sergeant anxiously. It takes two men to handle that bomber, and the Archies are pounding ell out of the air. Von Richtman's Circus is between here and Solyer. Somebody's got to get that ammunition dump, said Mittie. I'm going over. Spot of brandy. He poured a drink for the sergeant and one for himself. War thundered and whined around the dugout and battered at the door. There was a rending of wood and splinters flew through the room. Bit of a near thing, said Captain Mitty carelessly. The box barrage is closing in, said the sergeant. We only live once, Sergeant, said Mittie with his faint, fleeting smile. Or do we? He poured another brandy and tossed it off. Never seen a man could hold his brandy like you, sir, said the sergeant. Begging your pardon, sir. Captain Mitty stood up and strapped on his huge webley Vickers automatic. It's 40 kilometers through L, sir, said the sergeant. Mitty finished one last brandy. After all, he said softly, what isn't? The pounding of the cannon increased. There was the rat tat tatting of the machine guns, and from somewhere came the menacing pocket, pocket, a pocket, a pocket of the new flamethrowers. Walter Mitty walked to the door of the dugout, humming out Pray de ma blonde. He turned and waved to the sergeant. Cheerio, he said. Something struck his shoulder. I've been looking all over this hotel for you. You? Said Mrs. Mitty. Why do you have to hide in this old chair? How did you expect me to find you? Things close in, said Walter Mitty vaguely. What? Mrs. Mitty said. Did you get the what's its name? The Puppy Biscuit. What's in that box? Overshoes, said Mittie. Couldn't you put them on? On the Star? I was thinking, said Walter Mitty. Does it ever occur to you that I am sometimes just thinking? She looked at him. I'm going to take your temperature when I get you home, she said. They went out through the revolving doors that made a faintly derisive whistling sound when you pushed them. It was two blocks to the parking lot. At the drugstore on the corner, she said, wait here for me. I forgot something. I won't be a minute. She was more than a minute. Walter Mitte lighted a cigarette. It began to rain, rain with sleet in it. He stood up against the wall of the drugstore, smoking. He put his shoulders back and his heels together. To hell with the handkerchief, said Walter Mitty scornfully. He took one last drag on his cigarette and snapped it away. Then, with that faint fleeting smile playing about his lips, he faced the firing squad, erect and motionless, proud and disdainful. Walter Mitte, the Undefeated, Inscrutable to the last. The Secret Life of Walter Mitty By James Thurber. The Peace, like Mongoose, is the starting point of my relationship with James Thurber's daughter Rosemary, and his granddaughter and his publishers. It was my dad, fatally sick in the hospital, to whom I would read Thurber every night, who suggested I should read Thurber on the TV news show. I thought he was crazy. I told him if I did that I'd probably hear from his literary trust. But I did it anyway. And so I read the piece like Mongoose, and I heard from his literary trust, because at the moment I read this story, Rosie Thurber was on the horns of the proverbial dilemma. A British publisher wanted to put the piece like Mongoose in an anthology for school kids. It is placements like that which keep an author alive. But that publisher wanted to remove one word from the story, and Rosie was now torn. Edit her father's work or don't publish her father's work. Unbeknownst to me, she and her daughter Sarah were both Countdown viewers and were watching as I read the piece like Mongoose. Sarah then called her mother and said, I think you've got your answer right there. Not long after, the British publisher, probably a coincidence, changed its mind about excising the word Amen. The word, by the way, is mongoosexual, which is a perfect creation of the perfect James Thurber. And the complaint from NBC was about the moral to the story, which I will not read first and without any other pointless ado. The Peace, Like Mongoose by James Thurber In Cobra country a mongoose was born one day who didn't want to fight cobras or anything else. The word spread from mongoose to Mongoose that there was a mongoose who didn't want to fight cobras. If he didn't want to fight anything else, it was his own business. But it was the duty of every mongoose to kill cobras or be killed by cobras. Why? Asked the peace like Mongoose. And the word went around that the strange new Mongoose was not only pro cobra and anti mongoose, but intellectually curious and against the ideals and traditions of Mongoosism. He's crazy. Cried the young mongoose's father. He's sick. Said his mother. He's a coward. Shouted his brothers. He is a mongoosexual. Whispered his sisters. Strangers who had never laid eyes on the peace like Mongoose remembered that they had seen him crawling on his stomach or trying on cobra hoods or plotting the violent overthrow of Mongoosia. I'm trying to use reason and intelligence, said the strange new mongoose. Reason is 6/7 of treason, said one of his neighbors. Intelligence is what the enemy uses, said another. Finally the rumors spread that the mongoose had venom in his sting like a cobra, and he was tried, convicted by a show of pause and condemned to banishment. Moral ashes to ashes and clay to clay. If the enemy doesn't get you, your own folks may. A box to hide in. My favorite Walter Mitte, his most famous, and that one that connected me to the eternal Thurber tree. The peace like Mongoose. Okay, I've done all the damage I can do here. Thank you for listening. Most of our Countdown music was arranged, produced and performed by Brian Ray and John Philip Chenale, our musical directors of Countdown. And it was produced by TKO Brothers, Mr. Ray on guitars, bass and drums and Mr. Schnail handling the orchestration and keyboards. Our satirical and pithy musical comments are by the best baseball stadium organist ever, Nancy Foust. The Olbermann Theme from ESPN2 written by Mitch Warren Davis, courtesy of ESPN Inc. Is the sports music, other music arranged and performed by the group. No horns allowed. My announcer today was my friend Larry David. The program was produced by Ted and everything else was, as always, my fault. That's Countdown for today. Day 337 of America held hostage again. But just 1,126 days until the scheduled end of his lame duck and lame brained term. Unless he is removed sooner by MAGA or by Jeffrey Epstein or by Affordability or by Susie Wiles, there is no Countdown Thursday. You know, Merry Christmas. Bluntly, I'M still undecided about next week. Maybe I'll do one for Monday, maybe not. I will advise on social media and via the conduit that is provided with your subscription, if you have one. In any event, happy holidays. And until the next one, I'm Keith Olbermann. Good morning, good afternoon, good night and good luck. Countdown with Keith Olbermann is a production of iHeartRadio. For more podcasts from iHeartRadio, visit the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Most people think their insurance will cover them when disaster strikes. The truth? Many are wrong. You pay premiums and assume you're protected until the fine print hits exclusions, limits, loopholes. Suddenly that coverage isn't coverage at all. My policy advocate reviews your policies, Home, Auto, Life and breaks them down in plain English. They show what's really covered and what isn't. It costs just 27 cents a day less than a cup of coffee. For peace of mind before you assume you're covered, go to mypolicyadvocate.com you might be shocked at what you find. Mypolicyadvocate.com decluttering is everything.
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This is when Mindset comes in.
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Pressure is coming down.
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Trainer Games on Prime Video January 8th.
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