By David Glenn Cox
If Rod Serling were still here, he might say, “Portrait of a big man grown small. A lofty never was who dreamed too big. Who built sugar cube castles to his own greatness only to see it all washed away and now sits in his own decrepitude dreaming of his big come back.” I used played music with a guy who back in the mid-1960s played bass guitar in a band in California. They recorded some tracks on an old reel to reel and played it for a promoter. He put up the money to record them in a studio and then went to the record companies for them. One of their songs was a top forty hit. For six months he was a rock star with a tour bus and groupies. He was living the life of a celebrity. But there was no second song and the record company dropped them. It was twenty years later, and he was still looking for that second song.
I liked the guy and would never say so, but it was sad. This guy pushing fifty with dreams of returning to the limelight. It had a lot to do with the demise of my own musical career. If he was a starry-eyed dreamer, what was I besides twenty years younger? It wasn’t the force, Luke got lucky. Sometimes you just get lucky.
After one trip around the universe with Donald Trumpy, what do we know? Haphazard, sporadic, lazy and poorly planned. “Tonight, is the formal dinner with the Queen of England is the President’s Tuxedo ready?” I thought you brought it. “No matter, we’ll just pick one up from Ed’s House of Fashion and Tire Care Center.” The little desk, oh how I love the “Little” desk. A hundred years from now if you visit the Smithsonian you will see the “little” desk. Cordoned off behind velvet ropes next to the boots of the first man on Mars. Come early there will be a que. Like George Washington’s chamber pot, it can’t help but bring a giggle.
Orange Trumpy held a strategy session, and all the big brains were there. Mike Pence, need I say more? It’s like getting two for one, you get Mike and Mother. “We are going to kick off my 2024 campaign for the Presidency on Inauguration Day in Washington D.C.” But I was going to run in 2024. “What? Did you say something, Mike?” No, sir. “It’ll be great! We’ll set up on the Mall, biggest crowd ever!” Do you think the Park Service will let us do that sir? “Of course, they will. Why not? I’m the President.” Yes, you are sir, but you are only the President only until noon. Then you turn back into a pumpkin and Cinderella walks home. Oh good, two Republican Parties.
Already we see the collision between Trumpy world and reality. “It’s fake! It’s all fake! I was cheated and scammed by the Democrats and this corrupt system! The vote is fake, the recount was fake too! Don’t forget to vote in the runoff! The ghosted image of Donald Trump will stand on stage with every Republican candidate like Marley whispering sweet nonsense into their ears while rattling his chains. The ghost doesn’t know he’s dead yet. It wasn’t long after I’d moved to Denver that this big storm cloud was headed my way. Dark and ominous with lighting strikes and thunder. It looked fierce and I began to worry but as the sun started to dip behind the mountains. It was like someone had pulled the plug, this threatening thunderhead filled with winds and fury became a small limp black shriveled cloud, hanging impotent in the sky.
What do you suppose are the chances that Jimmy Carter woke up one day and said, “Hey, I think I’ll build houses for poor people! That’s way better than being the President! Roselynn get my toolbox out of the garage! I’m gonna be a hammer swinging son of a bitch!” Mr. Carter was educated as a nuclear engineer, but you don’t have to be a nuclear engineer to figure out that you only get one bite of the apple. Trump’s insistence in staying on the political scene is probably his greatest gift to Democratic America ever.
The tour is over, Trump has been dropped by the record company. The plugs have been pulled, and the black cloud is weakening. Paris Hilton flew into a rage after being asked, “What’s it like to be a has been?” Trump flew into a rage after asking if he’d concede the election. Same question, “what’s it like to be dead?” Nature’s way of saying, maybe you don’t need to do any more interviews because you are a has been and those are the kind of questions that has beens get asked. “And now from our Remember When section we interview former President, Donald Trump.”
And what have you been doing with yourself since leaving the White House? “Well, as you know I’m running for reelection again in 2024.” That’s more than three years away. “Yes, but I was cheated. The system was rigged against me! I should have won!” Well, thank you former President Trump for taking the time to speak with us. Coming up, are your house plants plotting against you? We’ll meet a doctor who says, yes!
No matter how hard he tries there is no second song. A poor zombie who doesn’t know he’s dead yet. A sad vaudeville comedian telling the same tired jokes as the house lights come up and the crowd empties. “Wait, wait, have you heard this one? I was cheated and the election was a fraud! Ugh, get it?”
And to you Shriners of Wetumpka, Alabama, I say, “I was cheated. The election was a fraud!”
If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Then quit. No use being a damn fool about it.
– W.C. Fields