The Poor Mortal Deceived

Falling through the universe at the speed of life

By David Glenn Cox

The dawn has arrived and ever so slowly and the orange apocalypse has taken his first bite of the shit sandwich known as a one term Presidency. America has spoken and they said, “Not you!” Jimmy Carter was eclipsed by events beyond his control and George H.W. Bush was a man so boring he put the country to sleep during a war. He was like Mister Rodgers threatening to beat someone up, just not very convincing. Sometimes you skate and other times you slide. Calvin Coolidge said, “the business of America is business.” And the business of the President was to keep the office neat and stay out of the way.

Woodrow Wilson staked his career on his thirteen points and a League of Nations. The President proposes and Congress disposes, so they start a League of Nations without the support or membership of the United States.  Ever wonder why the United Nations building is in New York? Now you know. After the War to End All Wars, America wanted to go back to sleep. Back to the good old days but the world had changed. A tractor was pulling the plow, and the truck was replacing the wagon. The water pump and the electric light were changing the world. How you gonna keep em down on the farm?

The rush of times exceeds the failure of politics. Like generals fighting the last war you have politicians negotiating the last Century. So as the 1920s began to roar with the sound of Model T Ford’s the political failure was already baked in. The failure of the elected Senate of the United States to support the President was instrumental in bringing disaster on the whole world. But then as now they didn’t trust foreigners or foreign entanglements. The Party of fear thought it was just a scheme laid out to swindle us out of our money. They have no problem with lending the money at interest they just didn’t like the idea of giving it a way without a war to justify the expenditure.

John Kennedy didn’t even finish his first term and you have the Peace Corps. Nuclear Arms testing treaties, the Space Program and raising the minimum wage by 25%. Kennedy also liked his executive orders, desegregating interstate commerce and outlawing housing discrimination in federally backed loans and desegregating the University of Alabama. Do you think he would have been re-elected? I dunno, Barry Goldwater the Republican was pretty certain the government was riddled with Communists. His plan was to drop nuclear weapons on Communist China to show them who is boss around here. To begin witch trials with loyalty oaths and dunking stools…let us pray.

Donald J. Trumpy and the J stands for jealous gave a sixty-four second press conference yesterday to take credit for the record stock prices on Wall Street. The rise was credited to Joe Biden’s possible naming of former Fed Chair Janet Yellen as Treasury Secretary. The little orange fat man runs out of the dugout to doff his cap and take credit for someone else’s home run. The Trump administration will be remembered for Trump and chaos, nothing more. And Trump being a performer is looking for a Grand Finale. As Trumpy draws down troops in the Middle East the Air Force suddenly moves B-52 bombers into the region. “It’s just an exercise Mr. President. It’s called operation, “Stop the Idiot.” We are testing to see how fast we can fill a void caused by someone who doesn’t have their Oreo’s glued together properly.”

Friends close to his orangeness say he is coming to grips with his future. He will be living full time in Florida at least as long as the state of New York is in pursuit. Then there is the whole gaggle of Federal charges and lastly, managing a hotel empire during a raging worldwide pandemic. Retaking the business reigns from Quinn the Eskimo and Eric. I wouldn’t want to be in the office the day his orangeness shows up to check the books after fours years of Bert & Ernie running the show. Malaria, America’s first lady by the hour is busying herself decorating the White House for the holidays counting the hours to evacuation. “How come I have to work if Donald doesn’t?”  It won’t be long before they’re taking down the Presidential tire swing out of the Orange room of the White House.

It will be given a place of prominence in Trumpy’s little shop of horrors and Presidential library. Actual cages with childproof locks with the anti-science anti-mask position papers. Monthly exhibits, become a member, “The Wit of Stephen Miller” or “Kelly Ann Conway, a life unexamined.” Over in the corner between the Coke machine and the drinking fountain in the hallway where the restrooms are will be the small display on Covid 19. A picture of the President posing to take credit for a victory he had nothing to do with. The parade is starting to move on, the building will become a time capsule like Jesse James robbery of the Northfield bank. More infamous than famous, guaranteed to earn you a stare. “You’re going where?”

As they say in Hollywood, fade to black. Pick up your satchel and begin your epic suffering march to Calvary. Every day chained to a rock and the electors come from the electoral college and eat out your liver. Every morning when you open your eyes, it will be with the song, “You Lost!” Tra, la, la ringing in your ears. Every minute of every hour your significance fades like cheap barn paint.  Stand on your desk and throw lightening bolts, Thomas the Tank joins the Luftwaffe you’ve got them all scared hiding under their desks. Trumpy plans on ruling the world from exile. The Fuhrer in absentia but fate and time don’t work that way.

Come January 20th about one o’clock local time, Trumpy becomes Mr. Used to be. Didn’t you used to play third base for the Yankees? Weren’t you on that show with Tom Sellick? He’s selling reverse mortgages now, what are you doing with yourself these days? I remember him; he was orange, wasn’t he? The lion becomes a house cat with bladder control issues “And I’ll run the Republican Party from my house in Florida!” You’ll run your mouth in obscurity. Nobody much cares what a failed one term Ex-President thinks. And in my head, I hear a crimson red horned devil laughing manically with side splitting laughter at the poor mortal deceived.

“God only know, he’s grown farther from home, he’s no father

He goes home and barely knows his own daughter

But hold your nose, cause here comes the cold water

These hoes don’t want him no mo’, he’s cold product

They moved on to the next schmoe who flows

He nose-dove and sold nada, and so the soap opera is told

It unfolds, I suppose it gets old, partner

But the beat goes on: da da dum da dum da da”


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