By David Glenn Cox
Donald Trump has never given two hoots in hell about his reputation or his legacy. Fellow Republicans tried to warn him after the election that he was damaging his legacy by fighting the outcome. They were traditional Republicans unable to follow the bouncing grifter ball. The tragic wounded hero figure slain on the altar by the same heathens who took “The Dukes of Hazard” off the air. He needs our help… quick, send money! Four years of fantasy, alternative facts and secret conspiracies have brought them here.
Under the Q-anon fantasy there is a secret cabal of pedophiles, cannibals, Democrats, witches, and warlocks who are having sex with and eating children. This secret cabal has their tentacles all through the Federal government and no one brother, but no one is strong enough or smart enough to stop them except for one man. “Look, up in the sky! It’s a bird; it’s a plane! It’s orange!” The orange one was waiting for just the right moment to spring the trap shut and catch all the conspirators in one net. Just like an episode of “Batman” or “The Dukes of Hazard.”
But since November 3rd the floor has gotten slick what with those little hard to explain details like losing the election but fear not. Isn’t it obvious? The man that went into Walter Reed Hospital with Covid-19 and the man who came out are not the same man. The devil got him and put an orange double in his place. A double they just happened to have hanging around in case the eventuality ever arose to replace Trump with a doppelganger. Trump’s wife and staff silenced with fear and all fall in line with the Zombie dance party. It doesn’t have to fit or even fill all the holes as details are strictly optional.
Other fears Trump is being set up as (I kid you not.) an “escape goat.” The Deep State does this, and the Deep State does that, and Donald Trump will be left to take the blame as the “escape goat.” A plot from a third-rate James Bond movie or a Superman comic book. William F. Buckley meets Larry the Cable Guy as the intellectual heart and soul of the Republican Party looks more like a group therapy meeting for the cast of Hee Haw. George Will is beside himself, “I don’t know these people! I have never known these people. I’m not with them! I came here in my own car!”
Trump let go a thunderbolt and rubs the entire Republican Congresses nose in crap by holding up desperately needed financial aid. Breathtaking in its scope and cruelty Trumpy takes aim at his own Party. The Frankenstein monster is tearing up the lab looking for the attending physician. The monster is marching with pitchfork and torch with the towns folk to burn the laboratory down to the ground. There is an old expression in politics, “If you rub my nose in shit and make me look bad in front of the voters at Christmas, you’ll get yours fella.”
More moderate Republicans like Ben Sasse break from the orange one. The New York Daily News headlines, “Knock it off, you lost.” The great divide, which side of the Republican Party are you on? “I’d like to talk about tax abatement but let’s talk about Trump instead.” Is Donald Trump the living embodiment of “The Dukes of Hazard” or am I just another lying member of the Deep State?” The Republican Party is kaput. Reduced to a Road Runner and Coyote cartoon of complicated schemes and Acme plans. Little green men playing on the garage roof or an orange Gremlin fooling with the engines as William Shatner screams.
But like the Anti-Christ, Trump’s days are numbered, and he’s made no friends. The ant steps in front of the magnifying glass looks large but when it steps away from the glass will look smaller than it ever was before. The hula hoop and the pet rock were once big deals which faded to a curiosity. Once Trumpy is removed from office, he becomes a leaking air mattress and not the news story. Once Trumpy is removed all those Republicans he so pointedly covered in crap will remember him. Fear not the Democrats; Cassius has a lean and red-faced psychotic look about him. Who knows for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for Trumpy.
The last act in the tragic comic opera and it ain’t over till the orange fat guy sings. The Republicans tried to stop Trump in Cleveland and they failed. They had a chance to stop him with the Mueller Report and failed. The Republicans had a chance to electrify the fence at the Impeachment hearings but failed. They were willing to treat with the devil and buy the monster a cigar and play the fiddle for him. Without knowing that sooner or later the monster learns “Fire Bad!” and tears the house down. They have sown the wind and are reaping the whirlwind.
Never has an American Political Party sold out to a gigolo before who has spent all their money and now blames them for ruining the relationship. The ugly break up where they are forced to justify falling for a loser or take the blame on themselves. He has taken the Republican Party for all that they are worth, when you lay down with dogs you get up with fleas. The Party of Looney Tunes and cracked pot theories of secret cabals and superheroes. Drifting ever drifting in a field of fantasy. Last year’s orange pet rock in reruns drifting towards obscurity. You know, that episode where the Dukes get chased by the Sherriff.
So, as you visit thrift stores, yard sales and flea markets snatch up any MAGA paraphernalia you might find. It will be collectible someday like Beanie Babies or old Tonka trucks. The relics of a by-gone era like peace signs or poodle skirts. Like Shoeless Joe Jackson’s rookie card more infamous than famous. Like the Whigs and the No Nothings, campaign paraphernalia from failed political parties always goes up in value.
“Say Kids! Now you can have your own Donald Trump decoder ring for only $9.95 plus shipping and handling. Amaze your friends and decode secret messages from Donald Trump himself “S-E-N-D M-O-R-E M-O-N-E-Y N-O-W-!”