By David Glenn Cox
White House officials announced Donald Trump will spend the Thanksgiving weekend at the White House. This is a marked departure from the three previous years when Trumpy spent the holidays at his Mira Lago golf club. Requesting anonymity, a White House staffer confided that Trump had developed a “bunker mentality”. Bunker Schmunker! Trumpys too embarrassed to show his face. Fonzie slipped on a banana peal and got his ass kicked by Potsy and now is too chicken shit to show up at Arnold’s.
“Really sorry to hear about your loss. Better luck next time. We all voted for you!” Pink isn’t well he stayed back at the hotel, but he sent us along as a surrogate band. We are all aware of the pain and embarrassment of loss; most of us are anyway. The Orange one cannot accept his loss. He literally cannot accept his loss. “So, fuck you people, I’ll play golf and fire anyone who wasn’t loyal enough. I’ll hold my breath until I turn blue. No, green. Blue and orange make green. I dunno maybe I’ll start a war, that would fix them.”
In the early days of the Third Reich, Hitler loved to hold rallies and parades and give long winded speeches praising his own genius. The German media said, there was just no telling where the Fuhrer would show up next! But then the war went the other way, and the Fuhrer went into hiding. Surrogates made the speeches and no more rallies. Mister Bigshot had promised victory and there was no victory, so mister Bigshot stayed home.
The empty Orange envelope announces a sudden troop withdrawal from Afghanistan. Prompting Mitch McConnell to stop what he was doing to say, “That is a very bad idea!” The number two Republican representing Moscow just told the number one Republican representing the Twilight Zone, “Don’t do that!” The monster has broken loose from Dr. Frankenstein’s control and is tearing up the lab. Sure, Dr. Frankenstein can build another monster because this one is incomplete. Igor stole the jar with the brain marked, “Petulant Child.”
Too afraid to show his face because the other kids will make fun of him. “Deaf, dumb and blind boy lives in a quiet vibration land.” Fed only what he wants to eat, listening only to what he wants to hear. Seeing only what he wants to see. He’s is an angry baby with a nail gun and a rash. Living inside a virtual reality fantasy where whatever he says it is, is what it is. He isn’t just Grandpa being forgetful; Trumpy is seriously ill and his inability to come to grips with his loss reflects that. His hibernation reflects his turning inwards and taking on a fetal position no longer bellicose just angry. An angry orange fat man worried that he is about to become a curiosity. A dusty cigar store Indian in the back of the room. An orange novelty, a trivia question. “He used to be somebody, you know!”
Staffers are trying to pump air back into the Trump balloon trying to keep him inflated with bright prospects of better days. “You can run again in 2024, or you can lead the Republican Party. Oh, there are any number of exciting things you could do!” Trumpy nibbles but doesn’t bite, you are either the President of the United States or you are a LOSER! Trumpy has built his own prison cell and locked himself inside it. Becoming the textbook example of everything he hates. After spending his entire adult life creating a phony persona of a successful businessman, his mind cannot accept that he is a loser by his own definition.
Inside the walls of madness, every bell rings true. In February of 1945, less than six weeks before the end of the war. The Nazis approved plans to build a new four engine jet bomber. It was madness; they already had hundreds of planes but few experienced pilots and no fuel. If we pretend reality isn’t real, we can go on pretending everything is going to be okay. “Yeah, this bomber could turn everything around!” Trumpy’s bomber is named Rudy Giuliani and like the jet bomber runs on alcohol. Reports say Giuliani is billing the Trump Campaign $20,000 per day for his services. Think what a good attorney would cost! Fortunately, Trump rarely, if ever, pays his attorneys especially when they don’t win.
I’d give even money Trump won’t show for the Inaugural. He doesn’t want to be the bridesmaid doesn’t want to play the second lead. He will never admit defeat and will fire anyone who does. It is the last chapter of a book Donald Trump began years ago. “The Secret of My Success” the real-life drama of a man born with everything who ends up with nothing. The story of a little boy abused who never grew up and whose abusive parents were balls on right about. The story of a little boy never sanctioned for lying. The little boy never prepared for the breakdown scene.
That last scene in the batman picture on a darkened stage with a single spotlight. The orange supervillain carries destruction in his murder bag. Jumping from obstacle to obstacle, laughing obsequiously. “I’ll doom you all. I’ll teach you! I’ll show you! Then the last stanza breaks out as our hero cries, “I won’t be a has been! I won’t! And you can’t make me! I’m still the star, see? Everyone look at me! If you don’t all say I’m still the star right now, you’re all fired. Stay back, stay away from me, don’t you try to come any closer. I got Rudy in here with me and he’s loaded.”
Rod Serling does his sad somber soliloquy about the perils of fate and the left hook of Karma. A sad little man, a king dethroned by his own hubris and found naked in his new clothes. A sad little man who never once in his life had to face up to the truth…until now. This isn’t the disintegration of the Trump Administration this is the disintegration of Trump. Ritchie Ritch is headed for the high school with his AR-15 looking to settle scores.