By David Glenn Cox
Et tu, Brute? Chapter 12 “The Long Knives Come Out.” You knew it had to come down to this one day. The politics of I knife you before you knife me in play. Liz Cheney’s failure to go along with the Republican play book and coup d’etat cost her. The orange apocalypse screamed in a rage and demand that she be drummed out of the Fascist Party.
Her insignia was ripped from her uniform. Her sabre was taken from her and busted across an officer’s knee as the drums rolled slowly. Then, she was sternly pointed out of the soldier fort and cast out into the wilderness.
Ms. Cheney has proven herself as able and competent, but she’s no hero. She is to be admired, for standing up and doing the right thing after participating in the Party which planned and orchestrated January 6th. Cheney just refused to go along with the crime and the cover up. But at the same time, there are some sharp-eyed political skills at work here. Waves crash on the beach and then they roll back out to sea again.
Only Cheney and a few other Republicans, were sharp enough to realize that the Twump bridgehead couldn’t hold. The naughty information was going to get out one way or another, and when it did. The numbers around Donald Twump would begin to ebb. Then the big boys would start to back away from the orange apocalypse. And then, they that were last, would now be first. Step one of the plan has already begun and like an amoeba with amnesia, has begun to split in twain.
Pro Twump or No Twump? The Republican Party and the Twump Party. Sitting side by side as conjoined twins who both dislike and distrust each other.
Ms. Cheney is in a tough political fight in Wyoming and the electorate there is very small. There are no large metropolitan areas to make up votes lost to the Twump howlers. But Liz has a secret wonder weapon, a V-3. The Dick Cheney missile. He’s so mean, he could make your dogs cry just by looking at them. Flowers wilt as he passes, morticians excitedly run to the window to catch a glimpse when he rides by.
And Dick, he’s got a message that he would like to share with the people of Wyoming and with the nation. Donald Twump is “Coward.”
“He is a coward. A real man wouldn’t lie to his supporters. He lost his election and he lost big. I know it, he knows it and deep down, I think most Republicans know it,”
“There is nothing more important she will ever do than lead the effort to make sure Donald Trump is never again near the Oval Office.”
Go on with ya, tell it on the mountain Dick. Testify! Rip each other to shreds, rip each other a new… Maybe a cage match with no time limit. But time is running out for Twump. A bad break up with Faux News, they won’t take his calls anymore and the reason is simple. Faux News owns a calendar and a pocket calculator and out with the old and in with the new.
TV people are TV people. When the hoosters get tired of watching one cop TV show, you change it around a little and replace it with another cop show.
You take the now worn Twump out and replace him with a newer snarling issue of death ray Ron DeSantis, just like changing a lightbulb. The old dim bulb is cast off and thrown away. The old ferry rots, since they built that new bridge. Give it twenty minutes and the hoosters won’t know the difference. “Didn’t he used to have blonde hair?” All the hate, with only half of the calories!
Don the con has been filling in time as a celebrity ball apprentice at his Bedminster and broomsticks Golf & Country Club. It’s all a part of the Saudi sponsored Blood and Oil Pro Golf tour. Don appeared without his trademark orange nightmare cosmetic. I’m gonna try some myself, because without it, he looked even bigger and fatter than ever.
That orange stuffs slimming properties are not to be discounted! But it was warm day and the sweat and grease was popping off him, like a pork roast in the oven at 450 degrees.
The Golf Tournament was poorly attended even with one-dollar tickets available. The Saudi (we aren’t all murderers.) Golf Tournament and charm offensive, offers fantastic appearance money, for the premier golfers. But it’s just a meaningless exhibition. It doesn’t matter who wins, the winner comes back next week to do it again, for more appearance money. So just take your check and go home.
It is a time to celebrate; the end is near! The opportunity to spend the whole afternoon with Donald Twump presented itself and was poorly attended. His speeches are getting longer and more fantastic and verbose in their imagination. He’s going to execute drug dealers and build concentration camps. The con man pleads trying to hold the sucker’s attention, but it’s no good. Twump has reached a level of spiritual enlightenment commonly known as “Irrelevant.”
The pageant officials are here, and they want Twump to give up the pageant robe. Give back the scepter, sash, and tiara. But it isn’t going to happen without a fight. The Party told Mr. Twump that if he runs again in 2024, the Party will stop paying his considerable legal bills.
Remember, this is the Republican Party we are talking about here. If the cow stops giving milk, you take her out behind the barn and have a barbeque. If the chicken stops laying eggs, it’s soup time! Twump is the freeloader creating a drag on the Party. Gumming up the works for the new and improved breed of the Republican version of madness.
The spell is broken and the hoosters are beginning to fade away back into the dank, dark basements of mom’s house. That train don’t stop here no more, its done moved on. The money men have turned away, and the donations are beginning to dry up. The courts are moving in getting closer and closer, while the Party tries to quietly slip out the back door unnoticed. Twump’s not gone yet, but he is past the point of no return and headed down a one-way street.
“Yesterday a sand snake crawled by just outside my tent door, and for the first time in my life I looked upon a snake not with a creeping phobia but with a sudden and surprising feeling of compassion. Somehow I pitied him, because he was a snake instead of a man. And I don’t know why I felt that way, for I feel pity for all men too, because they are men.
It may be that the war has changed me, along with the rest. It is hard for anyone to analyze himself. I know that I find more and more that I wish to be alone, and yet contradictorily I believe I have a new patience with humanity that I’ve never had before. When you’ve lived with the unnatural mass cruelty that mankind is capable of inflicting upon itself, you find yourself dispossessed of the faculty for blaming one poor man for the triviality of his faults. I don’t see how any survivor of war can ever be cruel to anything, ever again.”
― Ernie Pyle,
This Carbon Based Life 