This Carbon Based Life

By David Glenn Cox

Rudy Giuliani wins Anti-Lottery! A Shirley Jackson Lottery. Ordered by the court to pay the two plaintiffs $148 million dollars or basically, all the money you could possibly practically ever earn in a lifetime. It is all very on the waterfront, “I could have been a contender.” The old warhorse smelling powder and getting one more crack at the big-time in a mid-alcoholic crisis.

I could be a bigshot again if I hitch my little wagon to Donald Trump. I could be in the White House! Maybe even in the cabinet! Hic! Sure! Don says he thinks I’m a genius! It’s all so very Rod Serling, On exhibit, one little man who used to be really big! Through the telescope lens of a thousand whiskey bottles, he finds his career on the rocks and at a low ebb. Enter the devil in the form of one Donald J. Trump. 340 pounds of miscreant goo in a 240-pound suit.

Rudy sees his chance to be on top again. And the devil laughs at another victory, another poor troubadour,  another one bites the dust. He’s the attorney for the President! (thumbs under suspenders) A glorified title for a political dirty tricks’ song and dance man. The grift collection agent in chief. A Roger Stone wanna be, if only it wasn’t for that libation problem.

Trump sees a useful (don’t say it) desperate character willing to do unquestioningly whatever task is asked of him. It’s his last shot at the big time. Kindred spirits in crime, “Go to Ukraine and dig up dirt on the Biden’s, yes sir!”

Then it all began to go sideways on them. Joe Biden won the election and Trump lost. It all begins slipping  away, the comeback and the titles. That last chance, if only there were some other way or some other alternative? Then everything will be alright again…tee hee, tee hee.

Rudy went on a spree defaming these two women trying desperately to save himself. Being an attorney, however besotted, Rudy had to know he was leaving himself wide open to lawsuits. The magic of reelection would make them all go away. All or nothing, one roll of the dice, tonight only. Putting two completely innocent civilians in the crosshairs to put an actual face to an imaginary crime, headless of the affects.

You know it’s bad when the jury awards more than the plaintiff had originally asked for. A princely sum beyond the reach of 99.999% of humanity. The court sends out a thunderbolt, YOU SHALL BE BROKE FOREVER! Every nickel which shall from this day forward cross your grubby little paw is ours! The silver bullet, a wooden stake in the heart . “The highways are jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive.”

Trump used Rudy, he used his wants and desires and his alcoholic cloud. “Rudy, we need you to do this for us. Come on Rudy; we really need you!” If Trump loses this election, you go back to being nothing again. This is Rudy’s last chance to get on board that train to glory. But the train couldn’t get up enough steam to leave the station. Then Trump yells, “Everybody off!” Trump rejects Rudy’s massive bill and refuses to pay it…Surprise! Who didn’t see that one coming?  

Rudy? What does Trump need with a Rudy now? Lock the liquor cabinet and send him away!

Rudy doesn’t have $148 million or even one million dollars and his future job prospects are looking mighty thin. But a $148 million judgement against Rudy has been filed. Firing a shot across the bow of those who gave Rudy airtime and who do have $148 million.

Rudy sold his soul to the devil and the devil walked away laughing. Robert Johnson at least learned to play the guitar, what did Rudy get?

Speaking of Zombies who are dead yet continue to move. There has been yet another leadership shakeup in the Ron DeSantis campaign. Jeff Roe, not to be confused with Jethro, was a senior voodoo strategist for little Ron DeSantis. He left slamming the back door saying,  “I cannot in good conscience stay affiliated with Never Back Down.” Wow! How do you really feel about DeSantis? Bad breakup, huh?

The feud is simple and common. The campaign money people want to bring in Washington campaign experts to manage the campaign. It’s all very “The American President” with Michael Douglas, insiders and outsiders jockeying  for position. That move is resisted time and time again by the Florida homeboys, who see the Washington sharpies as out to steal their lunch.

“He’s ours! We found him and we cleaned him up and knocked the crust out of his eyes. You’re not going to come along now and take him away from us and leave us all Pete Best! The money people point to Ron’s spinning tires burning through cash without ever getting anywhere as proof the campaign needs expert help. The candidate leans towards the homeboys, and the money leans towards the experts.

All of a sudden there are new people in the office, and we don’t do the TPS report cover sheets like that anymore, didn’t you get the memo? It would be hard not to feel usurped. But the problem isn’t in the stars, it’s in the candidate. Ron made a big splash early, but has been unable to follow it up with another hit song to sing. He’s at risk of becoming a one hit wonder and his grand strategies and broad vistas have been reduced to staking it all on Iowa.

The unlikeable man meets the immovable object.

Please allow me to introduce myself
I’m a man of wealth and taste
I’ve been around for a long, long years
Stole million man’s soul an faith

And I was ’round when Jesus Christ
Had his moment of doubt and pain
Made damn sure that Pilate
Washed his hands and sealed his fate

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guess my name
But what’s puzzling you
Is the nature of my game

• Jagger/Richards