By David Glenn Cox
Wow, what a glory time, a mosaic of crazy broken bits and pieces. He had worms eating at his brain, but good news! I guess the worms have all died. Hmmm, this stuff writes itself. Other than venereal, name a disease any more embarrassing. Partisans will insist, this explains everything! The weird voice and the odd behavior. It was obvious all along and we just couldn’t see it. The man had worms in his brain the whole time. Live and learn, I guess. I’ll be able to spot it next time, having now seen it.
But we forget the worms died with no cause of death listed. No next of kin were ever notified. There they were just sitting there peacefully eating away at Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s brain. And the next minute they were all dead. Had they eaten their fill? Did they find the diet somehow unsettling, disagreeable and hard to swallow? Even a worm deserves some pity sometimes.
What sort of candidates have worms in their brain? It just sounds so bad; it sounds so 1950s drive in movie science fiction. “The Brain Eating Worms from Outer Space!” What’s wrong with Bobby? Stay back! The worms have him now Cindy and they are eating away at his brain! Nooo! So bizarre, like a Hunter Thompson narrative of a made-up diagnosis by Doctor Gonzo. Isn’t it obvious? This man has worms in his brain!
It is so embarrassing, I bet from now on they will vet candidates for this. Come on! It’s time for your brain scan! You want to be President, don’t you? Like you check a puppy for worms. Certified 100% Worm Free! I got papers!
Place him on the shelf along with all the other broken political toys. Place him alongside the dog killer lady or Marge Traitor Greene. Greene finally pulled the trigger on her long-awaited threat to call a vote to remove House Speaker Mike Johnson. A move which would bring only pandemonium to the chaos. A call which was greeted with a near unanimous groan. You know the type of groan I’m talking about here. The please don’t waste my time with your bullshit again groan. The oh shit, she’s gonna do it again anyway groan.
Lucy Van Pelt wants to read her book report to the class. Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. Shh! Listen! I’m not sure, but the last I’d heard. Marge had somewhere in the neighborhood of two co-sponsors, making the odds in her favor appear long. Dame Quixote lance in hand headed for the windmill at a full gallop. It probably wouldn’t do any good to talk to her, would it?
Greene called the house a “UniParty” because the assembled members were united in not wanting to hear Greene drone on and on. Greene’s measure was called for a vote and failed miserably along Party lines. The House then let out a small cheer almost like a splinter had been removed from their skin. I can feel your burning question; is it brain worms? Probably not. It’s not a fertile enough territory for brain worms to open up an all you can eat buffet franchise.
It’s worse, It’s Trumpatosis. Marge talks trash for Donald Trump. As she sows pandemonium for Donald Trump. She is Donald Trump’s Agent Provocateur. Even brain worms have standards. Forced to spend their days eating Marge Green’s brain. Why me lord? Swing low sweet chariot! It shouldn’t happen to a worm.
Even worse and more debilitating than opening your head as a hostel for hungry homeless brain worms. Is the rare syndrome of failed Quasi-independent Republican Presidential candidates. Known as “Cranks” complaint or “Cranks” disease. Symptoms include, a reckless self-destruction of public opinion. Leading to eventual disrepute and forever being labeled as “Cranks.”
Just think; RFK could be this election cycle’s Kanye West, or would you prefer the brain worms? All this and Donald Trump shenanigans too! Some days you just can’t get a canvas big enough to paint all the madness into the landscape by the numbers.
Brain slugs, Marge and Trump, oh my! Brain slugs, Marge and Trump, oh my! Brain slugs, Marge and Trump, oh my!
It was announced this week, that young master Barron Trump was selected out of the clear blue sky to be an “at large” delegate to the Republican National Convention. What a surprise! Just a grassroots effort to draft the former President’s senior in High School son as a delegate. Here’s your badge and here’s a Coca Cola. The restroom is over there, if you need anything, call me.
Now listen up boy! As long as you live under my roof, you live by my rules! The other kids are all gone but you haven’t graduated yet! Your job is to go to that convention and report anyone who says anything against your old man. Ya understand me? But Daddy! Don’t you but Daddy me!
Like Smokey and the Bandit, a big Enos and a little Enos. The other children have all fled the coup. (pretty clever, huh?) But I still have you. I’ll fix you and mold you into a little me. I’ll teach you the family business! Your schooling is over, now comes your education. Odd don’t you think? A bashful child who has avoided the limelight up until now, is suddenly thrust into a public position. But Daddy!
Come on boy, show em your stuff. Tell them your goesintas or recite your multiplication tables! But no pressure. Trump needs family at the convention, any family, anyway he can get them there. This is my boy! He’s a chip off the old block! He’s always been interested in politics, ever since I told him he was and took away his Nintendo.
“Yesterday’s weirdness is tomorrow’s reason why.” ― Hunter S. Thompson
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