By David Glenn Cox
Trudie Junge was Adolf Hitler’s last personal secretary. Junge was chosen from among five candidates at random. There was no typing test or stenography test administered, Hitler went with his gut on these things. He liked to be surrounded by young pretty women and with the alternative being Goering, Himmler and Nazi war pigs crowd who could blame him. Junge lived and worked in the Fuhrer bunker and her eyewitness accounts have become historical text. A twenty-two-year-old Innocent amongst the world’s most vile criminals riding shotgun with the devil on the highway to hell.
Junge spoke about the emotional conditions inside the bunker. How any insignificant bit of news would excite everyone. There was hope; a happy ending was possible. Then slowly as the news was digested, the bunker would sink back into despair. Cyclical several times a day up and down on the emotional roller coaster. Der Fuhrer was out of his mind giving fantasy orders to distant outposts and having his Brother in Law executed for disloyalty. He was found missing from his post and one and one makes dead! This ain’t no Party, this ain’t no disco.
The dam broke when der Fuhrer received a message from Herman Goering. “Heard you are in a bad way [Stop] Hopelessly surrounded by the Red Horde without a snowball’s chance in hell of escape [Stop] “I’ll be the new Fuhrer and you can be the new attraction at the Soviet State Zoo in Moscow [Stop] Smell ya later! Goering [Stop]
In his rage the Fuhrer stripped Goering of all his offices and declared him a criminal to be shot on sight. Everything Goering told the Fuhrer was true. The Fuhrer’s rage was due to being told the truth and so the Fuhrer’s Administration refused to work with the incoming transition team. A lot of people were not showing up for work, and there seemed to be lot of folks calling in sick around the office. “I’m sorry, I won’t be in today I got as bad case of Russian tank in my driveway.”
The Pentagon seems to be emptying out with 24 of 60 top positions unfilled or filled by Presidential bench warmers. General Half brain wrote the President a very nice letter on the back of a bar napkin, so the President put him in charge of weapons development. Sidney Powell was going to blow up Georgia for Trump. Well… many a slip between a cup and a lip she is now no longer “on the President’s legal team.” You vill vin or you vill die! All in all, it was all just bricks in the wall. Many firings before and many more coming at a faster and faster clip spinning as the ground gets closer. The Trump train steam whistle is blowing hotter and hotter. “All Aboard! Destination nowhere!” Woo! Woo!
As the Fuhrer dictated his will, he explained to Junge how the German people had failed him. Him personally, and after all he’d done for them. He was trying to build an Empire on the backs of slavery mayhem and militarism and the German people had fucked up! “Oh, it was so much easier in the early days. But now, generals aren’t to be trusted, loyalty Uber allis. And because the German people had so let the Fuhrer down in the Fuhrer’s crazy war schemes the Fuhrer decided the German people didn’t deserve to live. He ordered the destruction of power plants and telephone exchange and water works. There! That’ll teach ya. Let me down will you. As his last official act, he wished death on his supporters. I sometimes think history doesn’t really repeat as much as it’s more like a long play record album stuck in a groove.
Same song different day. The orange historical footnote has cleared his calendar to allow for vital golf outings on the Wilhelm Strasse waiting on the V-2 test results. The American people have let him down, and Sidney Powell is just the first. If I can’t be President, I’ll blow it up. “I’ll teach you my pretty! And your little dog too!” First among his targets Faux News. Slavenly sickeningly loyalty to Donald Trumpy people working overtime trying to edit his interviews into cognizance. But oh, sometimes just sometimes, you just have to tell the truth just to keep your hand in. Just to show the others you still know how. So Faux committed the most unpardonable sin. They told the truth about Joe Biden winning Arizona. Joe Biden did win Arizona. Faux News called Arizona for Biden and for that sin they must die. “I’ll blow up your transmitters and your waterworks.” I’ll wager the executives at Faux Sports thank their lucky stars every day that Trumpy doesn’t like to bet on football! “I’m sorry Mr. President but he missed the field goal!”
Der Fuhrer poured over meaningless maps with pins in them. Trumpy pours over meaningless electron images with pinheads in them. Through this sieve he decerns the world. He wouldn’t think he could stay on if someone wasn’t telling him he could stay on. What shall we call it? The Rudy Coup? The Cotton Candy Coup? Robin Williams live at the Met? It is no longer about legacy that ship has sailed. We are shifting into darker realms. “Mommy, why is that spot marked out in the picture of all the Presidents?” Something to tell the grandkids about.
“Twilight of the Gods” Take one, “They are all against me! They are all out to get me! Why haven’t we heard from our forces in Georgia?” The Governor called; they certified the election sir. “Lies! Fake News! Treason afoot!”
Be honest now, how many of you thought we would spend the week of Thanksgiving like this?
With a narcissistic madman worried only for his own survival oblivious to the deaths of tens of thousands of his countryman. A leader telling straight up lies for the purpose of keeping it all going for just one more day. An administration slowly disintegrating as the thuds grow closer. A grand orange Fuhrer willing to punish his supporters for the crime of not loving him enough when the end is inevitable. This ain’t no Party, this ain’t no disco.