A Moron in the Second Person

By David Glenn Cox

To anyone paying attention there are some issues which are pushing their way to the front and making themselves unavoidable. Because of the times and the issues, they can be missed or overlooked as minute details. As we say down south, the cheese is sliding off the cracker, the train ain’t pulling all the way into the station.

The Orange one never has had too tight a grip on the steering wheel of life. Like a college football star, he’s been pampered for most of his life. He’s lived in the Elvis syndrome, where Elvis tells a joke, and everyone laughs not because its funny but because its Elvis. But Elvis thinks the joke is funny and that everyone marvels at his wit. Pampered and raised to believe he is a special person, he believes. Perched on the lowest wrung of Hollywood he takes pride in his ratings. Unaware that he’s just another TV pitchman selling dish soap or dog food who could easily be replaced by Tom Bergeron in twenty minutes. The Cheeto is a game show host who thinks he’s Edison.

He takes credit for anything that will bring him publicity and openly denies responsibility for things he’s clearly responsible. It calls for a host of lambs to the slaughter, the little people thrown under the bus sacrificed to preserve the boss’s ego. You always have friends when you’re buying the next round. Friends or wives or children. A purposeful thing, this is what I need you for to do what I want to do. Checkers pushed around the board in a cartel of blind and naked ambition.  The Bad News Bears all grown up and taking on government. Only made possible by the hubris of the Democratic Party.

Hey! We could put a head a lettuce up there and they’d vote for it! They’d just have to! Hillary Clinton’s entitlement campaign. “I’m ready for my close-up mister Deville.” Hello everyone, I’m so glad you got to see me tonight. A generation of conservative wolf hounds raised on a daily diet of Clinton pseudo scandals. She energized the opposition while demoralizing the base.

We’ve all witnessed the on the job training curve of the Cheeto. The volumes of court ruling against him and his clear misunderstanding of what it is he’s supposed to be doing and not doing. Clearly a boorish thug, Broderick Crawford in “Born Yesterday.” Like a serial killer he has no empathy, you’re just one more grave in the woods. Something I needed for a moment to make me look good or get me out of trouble even if it takes the entire United States Senate. They freed the Cheeto and debased themselves and the founding principle of the nation.

You just knew, you just knew that after letting him go when he was clearly guilty, something bad was going to happen. A package from Acme for Wiley Coyote just showed up at the door. The Cheeto’s problems had been legal and self-inflicted. Legal help is easy to find but what about a more nuanced problem? A problem needing very clear scientific training not involving the Bible or reality shows. From the very beginning there are cracks in the cookies as the Cheeto’s tries to downplay the virus. In a much later press conference, he said there were those in his administration who just wanted to ride it out. Let the virus have its way with us to protect the economy. The Cheeto tells on himself, he was the ride it out faction in the administration.

History will look back on the Cheeto’s press conferences with “What the Fuck?” A bloviating cow spitting inaccuracy, fictions and outright lies to be immediately contradicted by a trained medical expert. Mike Pence is the long-suffering Ashley Wilkes of our story. Unlike other Vice Presidents he has been tasked to do stuff. Given the shit job as head of the corona virus task force. Just try to look good in charge of a pandemic committee buddy, just try. Pence is torn between his love of power and prestige and his desire for the top job, even if it means he has to suck off a moron five days a week.

But the top is starting to wobble and as it slows it spins more eccentrically. The Orange one only MC’s the briefings these days, the star is retiring. Taking questions and throwing back convoluted fantasy answers lashing out at reporters, accusing people of stealing because that’s what he’d do! With every slight, an eruption and a temper tantrum of a little boy lost in department store basement. His inhouse expert, Jarred Kushner, was laughed from the building for his national stockpile comments. The Cheeto was enraged at being called a moron in the second person.

It’s hard to say whether the sacking of the aircraft carrier captain was the Cheeto or not, but it sure sounds like him. Rash and ill thought out while firing the inspector general was just scratching one more name off a hit list. If you look at the Cheeto’s vacillations, first we’re going to open everything up by Easter. Then he gives a recalcitrant schoolboy speech, we’re not going to open everything up. We’re going to stay at home and practice social distancing. Yesterday, he started again with opening up. We can’t let the cure be worse than the disease.

But there is also a new policy at the White House. Everyone wishing to meet with the President must be swabbed with a fifteen-minute Covid test before entry. This replaces the policy of checking forehead temperatures.  Der leader is walling himself off in a medical cocoon. Fuhrer Bunker right this way. He’s telling you to struggle on at the Rhine, while he hides. Scared shitless, over seventy, obese and out of shape he’s the prime demographic. Another brick in a wagon already overloaded. The cheese is sliding off the cracker. The train ain’t pulling all the way into the station.

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