Are You Too Good for Locusts Now God?

By David Glenn Cox

It’s a new world Golda, where all that is, is not and all that is not is. The orange ape throws feces between the cell bars from his tire swing. Every day, hour by hour step by step the orange ape moves further from reality. His daily infomercials become his soap box. “It’s not my fault! Wha! Look at all these boxes we’re shipping! Listen to all these very important statistics!” Yet missing from the Apeathon’s response is any word of compassion for the victims or sympathy for the American people. I want you all cleaned and washed and in Church on Easter Sunday morning, so you can go back to work on Monday. So, what, the devil be damned! You were going to die sometime anyway!

First, it was a hoax. Then it was no problem, the numbers are going down. It’s all going to magically go away. No problem, we got this. Miracle pills! We understand the social distancing problem thoroughly, all nine of us crammed up here on this little stage. Did you know…If you put a monster behind Mike Pence, he looks almost human? Mike Pence, not the monster.  A Trumpian version of the good moron bad moron scenario. Threatening Governors and the American people all at one whack. You better be nice to me! They don’t need that many respirators. I’ll quarantine New York!

Frozen, panicked in magic thinking. He’s never worked at Domino’s on a Friday night. Never worked a Sunday church rush at Burger King. He’s never worked a real job. He’s always been the boss’s kid. Always able to insulate himself with Michael Cohens, fixers and a cast of no good nicks. Always able to clock out and go home when the shit hits the fan. Uniquely unqualified on the spear point of history he flails like a fish on a dock and thrashes about. Every day the orbit becomes more eccentric, every day his statements become more irrational. If I were Biblically inclined, I’d say we have at least five more plagues coming. First Trump and then and a worldwide pandemic. Are you too good for locusts now God?

During the course of this crisis, he has usurped the crisis itself and made himself the crisis. History is mocking us, convicting us with treble damages. Angering the Chinese alienating the Europeans and destroying forever the myth of American exceptionalism. No friends or colleagues, only sycophants and co-conspirators, multiple wives and not even a dog. The signs of a disconnected man without roots, a sociopath and a narcissist. Willing to trade lives for dollars because to him success and accomplishment are judged by the stock price on the Dow Jones Industrial Average. In his fantasy shared by many, the economy is going to come roaring back. Undamaged, hiding in a broom closet waiting for the bug to pass.

Ford will send a car to the house and defer three payments and forget three more. Cadillac wants to send a car to the house too, no payments for six months. Only, is this the right time to buy a car? They’re trying to lower inventories and doubtful they will make any money. They’ll even come to your house pick up your car service it and bring it back. Only, do you want strangers in your car, what with social distancing and all? Everyone delivers now. Governor Cuomo asked drug stores to deliver for free. Long lines at the always speedy local pharmacy become a public health threat.

Sure, why not? I’m over sixty, why not drive a new Caddy to the apocalypse? I might not be here in six months anyway. In a time when uncertainty reigns six days is the new six months. He’s not going to call it the China virus anymore. He’s not going to quarantine New York, this is pandemonium on the jungle gym. He swings and sways and blows hot or cold with the wind. It’s why he argues, a request for ventilators he doesn’t have is a direct threat to his self-esteem. It’s not about ventilators…it’s about Trump.

That my friends, is what you call good old-fashioned country madness! What we call down home, crazy as fuck. Fucked up like a worm. You buy the boy books, give him lunch money and put him on the school bus each morning and look how he acts. If your performance is so bad it makes Mike Pence look good, that’s pretty much your baseline fucked up. Romania’s last communist was leader Nicolae Ceausecu. He had a bad stutter, so it took hours of editing for a short speech. The phony image machine, the tough cowboy in the ten-gallon hat with pearl handled six shooters exposed as a wimp and we’re full Jan Michael Vincent here.

This is what they show us, this is their projection of putting the best face on it. If this is what’s going on when the cameras are on what’s going on when they’re off? Why didn’t he react properly when he was told about the coronavirus in January? It doesn’t take a genius to pull the fire alarm if there’s really a fire. Unless so harassed by poll numbers and enamored by approval ratings you gloss over unpleasant subjects. The boss doesn’t like to talk about unpleasant subjects you know. As a career move, it’s a long walk on a short pier.

The President, and I use that word as an identifier and not as a descriptor has yet to publicly intervene in the oil war between Russia and Saudi Arabia. It’s the hole in the bucket. When something as valuable as oil loses its value everything around it loses its value as well. All the formulas strategies and practices for a good business model are out the frigging window. It’s a new world Golda, where all that is, is not and all that is not is. Any chance for the world economy to stand up will depend on stabilizing the oil market.

And there it is again rising like a new moon against an ink black sky, the Trump – Putin connection. He will not confront Vladimir Putin, why? He’s willing to let the world go to hell in a hand basket. Willing to let the markets fall while ignoring the new economic pandemic just like he ignored the last. It’s about Trump, it’s always about Trump. He’s too busy fighting his own battles to fight ours and lost like Amelia Earhart because of it.