As Trump narrows down his choices for Vice President, one thing to keep in mind is that current Arkansas Governor Sarah Sanders was a terrific press secretary for the Trump Administration and that she is on the same waveIength as former President Trump when it comes to mocking enemies, as she managed to hilariously troll California Governor Gavin Newsom over the summer, mocking the state of his state after he attempted to bash red states.
The incident, which occurred over the summer of 2023, came after Greasy Gavin released a video in which he claimed that red states are worse than blue states, primariIy pointing to cri me statistics while ignoring that the high crime to which he is referring occurs in blue cities, not the red countryside.
Attacking Gov. Abbott of Texas, for example, Gavin claimed that Abbott has “One of the worst cri me and mur der rates in America and one of the worst mental health records of any governor in America? I’m not so convinced about the merits of his leadership.” Continuing, Newsom said, “Eight of the top 10 mur der states are Republican states.
Seven of the top 10 dependent states … are red states. He then added, “The life expectancy in the South, and they’re not expanding Medicaid and prenataI care and providing child care? It’s jaw-dropping.”
He then accused Republicans of not caring about “life” and “banning books,” saying, “Infant mortaIity? You care about life, and you look at life expectancy? You care about life, and you’re getting kids that are gunned down by weapons of w ar? Spare me. All in the name of freedom, as you’re banning books?” ConcIuding the video, Newsom said, “With all due respect, we should not be on the defensive as the Democratic Party. The Republican Party should be on their heels, not us,”
Responding to Governor Newsom’s claims, Gov. Sanders released a video of her own in which she ripped into how Newsom has managed California and trolled him with some humor in the video, doing a great job of dismantling his claim that California is better run than red states.
The video Sanders posted to X kicked off with Newsom saying, “We should not be on the defense as a Democratic Party. The Republican Party should be on their heels.” It then pans to a clip of Gov.
Sanders strutting in heels while a report about half a million people fleeing California over the past two years alone dominates the screen. Arkansas was one of the top five states to which people moved.
The clip, just 27 seconds but full of fun at Greasy Gavin’s expense, then cuts to information about how Gov. Sanders managed to lower the unempIoyment rate in Arkansas, slash taxes in the state, and raise salaries for public teachers in the state, all while “in heels.”
Wealthy Neighbor’s Son Shattered My Window with a Ball — They Declined to Compensate, but Fate Struck from an Unexpected Source
I marched outside, the offending baseball clutched in my hand like a grenade. Baron Bigshot was in his driveway, polishing his luxury car with the care most people reserve for newborns.
“Hey!” I shouted, storming up to him. “Your son’s baseball just came through my window. It nearly hit my daughter!”
He barely glanced up. “Oh? And you’re sure it was my son’s ball?”
I thrust the blueberry pie-lathered ball in his face. “Unless baseballs are falling from the sky now, yes, I’m pretty sure.”
He sighed like I was some peasant interrupting his important car-polishing duties. “Look, Ms…”
“Angela. We’ve been neighbors for three years.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Right, right. Angela. Do you have any proof it was my Billy’s ball?”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Proof? There’s pie filling on it!”
“Ah,” he nodded sagely, “so you admit you tampered with the evidence.”
I felt my eye start to twitch. “Listen here, Baron Big—”
“I beg your pardon?”
I took a deep breath. “Mr. Worthington. Your son broke my window. He could have seriously hurt my daughter. The least you could do is pay for the repairs.”
He chuckled, actually chuckled! “My dear, do you know how much that would cost?”
“Probably less than one of your car’s tires,” I muttered.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t appreciate your tone. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a birthday party to prepare for. Important guests are coming, you understand. Out of my property!”
He said that. Yep! No apology. No NOTHIN’.
As he turned away, something in me snapped. “Oh, I understand perfectly. I understand that you care more about your fancy party than the safety of your neighbors!”
He spun around, his face red. “Now see here—”
But I was on a roll. “No, you see here! Your son has been terrorizing this neighborhood for months. We’ve all been too polite to say anything, but enough is enough. You need to take responsibility!”
“I suggest you leave now before I call the police for trespassing.”
Defeated and furious, I trudged back home, the sound of his expensive sprinkler system mocking me with every step.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of cleaning up glass and comforting a still-shaken Penny.
As evening fell, the sounds of Baron Bigshot’s party drifted over. Laughter, clinking glasses, and what I was pretty sure was a live band.
I was just about to close the curtains (what was left of them anyway) when I saw something odd. A group of young men in masks, all wearing football jerseys, was marching up Baron Bigshot’s perfectly manicured lawn.
“What in the world?” I murmured, pressing my nose against the wooden window sill divider.
Suddenly, they all raised their arms, each holding a football. And then, in perfect synchronization, they let loose.
Footballs rained down on Baron Bigshot’s party like a sports equipment hailstorm. I watched, mouth agape, as chaos erupted.
Guests screamed and ducked, champagne flutes shattered, and Baron Bigshot himself stood in the middle of it all, looking like a man who’d just seen his worst nightmare come to life.
As quickly as it started, it was over. The football players high-fived each other and jogged away, leaving destruction in their wake.
I was still trying to process what I’d seen when there was a knock at my door. It was Mrs. Stewart, grinning like the cat that got the cream.
“Did you see that?” she asked, barely containing her glee.
I nodded, still stunned. “What… how…”
She winked. “Let’s just say my nephew’s football team owed me a favor. Thought our dear neighbor could use a taste of his own medicine.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing, tears streaming down my face. “Mrs. Stewart, you’re a genius!”
She patted my arm. “Sometimes, dear, karma needs a little push.”
The next morning, I was enjoying my coffee when there was a furious pounding at my door. I opened it to find Baron Bigshot, looking decidedly less baronial in his rumpled pajamas.
“YOU!” he sputtered, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You did this!”
I took a sip of my coffee, savoring the moment. “Did what?”
“Don’t play dumb! The football attack! It ruined everything!”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And do you have any proof it was me?”
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, clearly recognizing his own words being thrown back at him.
I leaned against the doorframe, feeling surprisingly calm. “You know, Mr. Worthington, sometimes life has a funny way of teaching us lessons. Maybe this is yours.”
His face turned an impressive shade of purple. “This isn’t over!”
As he stormed off, I called after him, “Oh, and Mr. Worthington? You might want to consider investing in some wooden planks for your windows. I hear they’re all the rage these days.”
I closed the door, grinning to myself. Penny looked up from her coloring book, curiosity shining in her eyes.
“Mommy, why was that man yelling?”
I scooped her up, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Oh, sweetie. He just learned a very important lesson about being a good neighbor.”
Well, folks, there you have it. Karma works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it? Sometimes it’s swift, sometimes it takes its sweet time, and sometimes it needs a little nudge from a well-meaning neighbor with connections to a high school football team!
So, tell me, have you ever had a neighbor from hell? A Baron Bigshot of your own? Drop your stories in the comments. After all, misery loves company, and nothing brings people together quite like tales of nightmare neighbors!
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