Your Beautiful Life

Falling through the universe at the speed of life

By David Glenn Cox

I guess, the best way to head off potential violence is to over prepare. Put up tall intimidating fences and call in lots of troops. Announce, announce to the public beforehand that the soldiers are authorized to use lethal force, so as to avoid any unpleasant surprises on the day of the event. Display the side effects of lunacy, show Karen crying in the airport and share the stories of their lost careers. “You know, I used to be a Colonel in the Army before I became a Federal inmate.” Oh yeah? Me too, I was in the Army in Special Forces before I became a Federal inmate. “When are you getting out?” It doesn’t matter really; I lost my pension. My psychic connection to the ether tells me of conversations going on in kitchens across America. “Fuck Donald Trump! How are we gonna pay the bills dickhead! You take those fucking horns off and sit your ass down! If you think I’m asking my parents for money again, you’re nuts. You ain’t going no place!”

Like a sugar cube castle left out in the rain the orange manatee goes out with a whimper and simply, sullenly melts away. A shrug of the shoulders and a wistful “Oh well,” he moves on. No goodbyes, no regrets and most of all no responsibility. Eddie Haskell gets fired for stealing candy and casually walks to the door. “Big deal, I been fired from better places than this!” Mike Pence has been forced into the role of Presidential stand in, due to Trumpy’s reenactment of The Aviator. That scene with Leo talking through locked doors, uncombed hair with bottles of urine in the corner. Known in some circles as the Full Tilt Bozo Syndrome, Pence has been forced to say the goodbyes to the staff he only knows in a peripheral way. “The President and I want to thank for your service over these last four years, and ah he’d tell you himself if he wasn’t, well you know.”

They say Trumpy would not resign because he doesn’t trust Mike Pence to pardon him. Now that’s funny! Just goes to show, you set a guy up and make him Vice-President. And the first time you set an angry mob of rioters on him screaming for his blood, he turns on you. “Malaria get my lawyer on the phone!” You don’t have a lawyer. “We’ll then get me my phone.” You don’t have a phone.  “Well, then send someone to the post office for the biggest roll of stamps they’ve got.” A man without a wavelength locked out from Tesla’s universe. A man planning his insurgency from his luxurious cave hidden somewhere deep in the mountains with carrier pigeons and messengers, a sort of Osama Bin Trump.

The remaining White House veterans on the staff sit shell shocked, weary after fighting the battle of, “I’ll go down to the Capitol and talk to them myself!” Orange Trumpy’s brain solution after riots and bloodshed is to make a personal visit to Congress. “I’ll just go and talk to them, and they’ll be cool with it.” Mike Pompeo was all set for the traditional overseas trip to somewhere nice to escape winter and Trumpy’s icy grasp. He had his bags packed and was headed for Brussels for a luncheon. European officials sent a message which loosely translated read, “Stay the hell away from us! Go ruin someone else’s career!” And Pompeo was disappointed, not just because he was out a free trip to Europe but because now, he has to spend the week with angry Grandpa.

Rudy Giuliani is out as Trumpy’s attorney. Surprise, anyone who didn’t see that coming stand up. Generally, if a campaign has one major screw up, they are done but Rudy has become a Meme machine. Do you know what happens if you put two lit M-80s in a fresh cow pie on a hot summer day? Rudy knows. And a word to the wise, if you ever find yourself facing a trial in the United States Senate. It is probably best if you don’t publicly fire your current attorney and vow, never to give them a nickel.

 It makes future legal recruiting endeavors difficult. So Trumpy may be forced to call on oratory skills of Gym Jordan to defend him under the legal theory that two assholes are better than one. The President of the United States faces an impeachment trial in the Senate and no lawyer in the country worth his shoe leather is willing represent him. Lee Harvey Oswald had an attorney! Serial Killers find attorney’s and they know they won’t get paid, they do it for the exposure. But exposure to Trumpy after Giuliani and Wood and the Kraken is diving to the bottom of a piranha tank to retrieve your Casio. And so, Donald J. Trumpy faces trail in the United States Senate, with a public defender.

It is like that nagging question; could Jesus microwave a burrito and get it so hot that even he couldn’t eat it? Could Trumpy become so radioactive and so toxic that even the nut balls and kook Attorneys won’t defend him? To finally reach rock bottom, and to be so low that there is apparently no one beneath him anywhere on Earth. To become the undisputed, heavy weight, most despised man on the planet!

A Family Feud question; “Things Rednecks like:” Shotguns, chewing tobacco, dating your sister and the number one answer. Survey says, Donald Trump.

The New York sophisticate the jet setter, forever tied to a mob of knuckle dragging mullet headed zombies. Forever tied to failure and pandemic. Forever tied to violence and sedition and forever impeached twice. Like a, “your mama’s so dumb joke.” How dumb was he? They impeached him twice. For his followers’ Federal prison won’t be so bad, there will be other Trumpers there and you’ll have a decade or so to get acquainted. You can talk about your former careers and about the nice middle-class life you led before. And how you threw it all away after being led astray by the orange nightmare. A decade or so to ponder on how the orange nightmare scammed you out of your beautiful life.

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