Proof that mindfulness is no match for irony. No filters, bitches. All natural pain in full color.

I’m taking mindfulness classes. You read right, mindfulness. That’s the big buzzword these days; it’s what all the cool kids are doing.

Mindfulness simply means trying to live in the present moment, enjoying life as it happens without judgment, comparisons, or expectations.

In other words, not allowing fears of the future or regrets of the past wetting the bed of the present.

It’s not as easy as you think. In our age of screens saturation, multitasking mania, and stress-inducing anxiety, most people are frazzled.

Mindfulness classes teach meditation, yoga, and keeping a singular focus on basic things like eating, drinking, nature, body, emotions, life. This past Sunday, we had a mindfulness retreat in Serenbee, Georgia, a beautiful community of tree huggers and simple lifers.

Coincidentally, many episodes of The Walking Dead have been shot around Serenbee. Zombies seem pretty mindful, don’t you think?

It was a silent six-hour retreat. No talking, no phones, no nothing. Just each of us in the class being led in meditations, yoga, contemplations, and lectures.

We broke for lunch and mindfully ate our food. It was an hour break, and our teachers encouraged us to explore the grounds and feast on nature’s wonders. I took the instruction to heart.

I came upon a tree with a couple of wooden rope swings. I sat in one of the swings and immediately had fond memories of my childhood, I used to swing on the large swingset in our backyard. I began swinging (the skill came back to almost immediately, without lessons). Back and forth, back and forth, higher and higher. I was mindfully lost in the moment, swinging on a beautiful summer’s day when at the apex of my backswing…

But, I did not swear. I did not say a word. I examined my arm; my forearm was bleeding. I got up, dusted myself off, and trundled to the bathroom and cleaned my wound. I used paper towels to sop the blood and rested my arm on it for an hour or so in the class to stop the bleeding. No bandage necessary.

After class, I showed my teachers the boo-boo and told my tale. They looked worried, probably thinking I was a litigious mook seeking a big payday. I laughed recalling the incident.

It was funny to me then and now. The irony of working to settle the tempest in your mind, finding genuine tranquility and connectedness with the moment, only to have nature show you who’s boss.

Irony 1. Mindfulness 0.

The prez won’t be pushed around.

Tweetstorm to follow.

Here’s what may be on tap for the bigwig talks in Germany!

In an exclusive, The Lint Screen has acquired the list of possible conversation starters President Donald J. Trump will be using for his meeting with Russian President Vladimir Putin at the G20 summit.

1. I won the election in a landslide. Huge victory. Incredible feat. No one expected it. I’m president, and they’re not!
2. Even with my enormous victory, crooked Hillary had over three million fake votes. Even cheating, I still beat her like a drum.
3. My inaugural crowd was massive. Biggest ever.
4. I like Russian dressing. So good for dipping.
5. You don’t get pestered by fake news, right? How do you shut it down?
6. My daughter’s name is Ivanka. That’s Russian, right? Beautiful name for a beautiful woman. It’s not weird to want to marry your own daughter, right?
7. Do you like my tie? The label has my name. Buildings all over the world have my name on them, too.
8. Are you excited about “Game of Thrones” coming back? I am. I have a big screen TV. Huge picture. Incredible picture. I like horses. You like riding horses, right?
9. Could I get your autograph? You give me yours, I’ll give you mine. We can be pen pals.

This adorable meme has changed one man’s world view!

If a picture is worth a thousand words, a meme with three letters may be worth a gazillion!

In a historic first, a meme has completely changed the world political view of a man in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania. It happened on a popular social media website called Facebook.

Robert Chesney has been a registered Democrat for 42-years, his Facebook friend, Mitch Questor, is a 41-year registered Republican. “We’ve been debating politics forever,” Chesney told The Lint Screen. “If I lean left, Mitch leans right. We counterbalance each other.”

Not anymore!

On Friday, Chesney posted a message on Facebook that was critical of the Trumpcare legislation being written in the Senate. Upon reading his friend’s post, Questor sprung into action and posted: “You lost snowflake! We won! Get over it!!!” Along with his victory cheer, Questor attached a meme with a laughing cat and the message LOL (pictured above).

SHAZAM–- Chesney’s life was changed!

“Suddenly, I came to embrace Trumpcare,” Chesney said. “I realized we need to cut Medicaid and Medicare and give big tax cuts to the wealthy and medical companies. Then, the free market will take care of unhealthy poor people, children, old people, and soon the economy will trickle down riches for all of us to enjoy. That laughing cat made me see the errors of my ways!”

Questor was happy his laughing cat meme worked. “I may have discovered the secret weapon in bringing our country back together again,” he said. “Social media is a good tool for changing the minds of idiots!”

Jules is known for his uncanny ability to communicate without words.

Washington is abuzz with the announcement White House press secretary Sean Spicer will be stepping aside and mime “Jules” will be replacing him.

“Sean did a great job,” White House spokesman, Andy Lomack told The Lint Screen. “He will be sorely missed, but we think he can serve better serve this administration by scrubbing the fleet of Presidential vehicles. With Summer heating up, the number of bugs smashed into the windshields and grills of cars and SUVs is absolutely incredible. But we’re sure Sean’s the man to get the vehicles looking like new. Spicey just needs to apply some good old-fashioned elbow grease and American know-how!”

Lomack had little to say about Jules and his background or qualifications. “The President speaks for himself through Twitter, and the role of press secretary is pretty much for show only. Nonetheless, we’re confident Jules will do a great job!”

Jules then came to the podium and pantomimed a man trying to walk into a severe wind. The amused press corp gave polite applause.

Then, Jules pretended to be trapped in a small box. Was this a metaphor for the mime assuming a no-win position as press secretary, or, was it a sly statement on Jared Kushner’s effort to achieve peace in the Mideast?

Finally, the mime pretended to pull a rope. His arms strained visibly as he tugged and tugged. Was this a comment on the United States striving as it goes it alone in world affairs?

The press corps gave the quiet man a standing ovation and cheered.

One thing is certain, White House press conferences will be more informative and entertaining with Jules.

An early draft of Comey’s Valentine’s Day dinner with Trump shows the ex-top copper has true writing talent.

In a blockbuster exclusive, The Lint Screen has obtained some notes from the first draft of former FBI Director James Comey’s written testimony. It follows

“It was a dark and stormy night. Dark as ink in a windowless closet, wet as a drunk underwater. The President invited me to dinner. He said he wanted to invite my whole family, but he thought there might not be enough ice cream to go around. ‘Screw them,’ he said. ‘Come solo.’

I walked into the Green Room where a small table was set for our satiating needs. Hunger is like a hunger that eats us from within. Delicious irony, how I love thee!

At the table, there were two seats. The lights had been dimmed and four candles illuminated the room warmly. I recalled it was February 14, Valentine’s Day. The President asked me to sit. He winked and pulled my chair out for me.

I sat. He sat. Curious behavior. Obviously, he was mirroring my actions. Why?!!! Immediately, the appetizer was served. Unfortunately, it was not loaded potato skins–– Lordy, how I love me some loaded potato skins, they’re so yummy!

Alas, no skins, it was soup. Soup in a bowl, a bowl round in shape.

The President did not use his eating utensils. He shoveled soup into his mouth with his hand and asked me to pass the bread. I did. I wondered if the butter had been softened. It had not!

Hard butter, a problem.

He asked me if the FBI was investigating Michael Flynn. I said, yes, we are. He said, ‘Flynn is a good guy. Spectacular man. Tremendous talent.’ Then he cupped his soup hand to his mouth and whispered, ‘I hope you can let the investigation go. Look the other way. Take a dive. Forgettaboutit, capiche?’

I said nothing. He said nothing. It was quiet, no talking–– like a mute parrot. The silence enveloped us like a sheet of soft silk over an anvil. It was soft, yet hard.

‘You know,’ he whispered, as he touched my hand with his wet soup-eating hand, ‘I admire you, Jim. I crave your loyalty and I expect it. I need your loyalty, Jimbo. I need it so bad. I’ll give you an extra scoop of ice cream for your undying loyalty.’

I said, Mr. President, I can give you honesty. He said, ‘Honesty’s nice, but loyalty’s nicer.’

I said you will always have my honesty.

‘Screw honesty,’ he bellowed, as his soup fist slammed the table. ‘I’m the boss, and I demand your loyalty!’

I was quiet–– quiet as a church mouse with laryngitis.

I stared at him. He stared at me. We locked eyes for the next 48-minutes. Neither of us blinked. Four eyeballs in a shoving match in which none would yield.

Optic nerves with nerves of steel.

Finally, Mike Pence entered the room. The Vice President was dressed in cowboy pajamas and announced that Hannity was on TV. The President rose and dismissed me. Skeedaddle, he said.

I left. Hungry.

On my ride home, I wondered if the butter had softened. Lordy, how I hate hard butter.”

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