This Carbon Based Life

By David Glenn Cox

The wheels and gears still turn, but the teeth are misaligned and chipped. The voice box still works, and the noises still come out right maybe. The eyes light up and the face still makes expressions. The porch light is on, but is anyone at home? Toys in the attic perhaps? Mr.Trump appears tired to the point of bleary. Tired until beyond numb.

Each Donald Trump public appearance only showcases some sort of mental lapse. Twenty-three hours a day or so, Mr. Trump hides behind the wall of media backstage where it’s safe. So, they let him out to talk to somebody just for a minute or two and Boom! It means he’s basically out of control. The message is whatever Donald Trump happens to say in the moment.

Poor J.D. Vance! He just thought he’d had it rough having his face rubbed in shit growing up on Tobacco Road. Mr. Trump has put him out on the road. Selling the soap of Mr. Trump’s 2020 actual election victory! Take another bite of that shit sandwich boy! Now chew it up real Good! “I believe Mr. Trump won the 2020 election. And I also believe the great pumpkin is coming on Halloween too! And I’ll be waiting for him!”

Here’s the fun part. Does this proclamation of election theft faith in any way help the campaign? It’s looking backwards trying to see forward. Look what they did to us, four years later. Either you believe it, or you don’t like space Aliens, but you won’t change anyone’s mind about it. Least of all with J.D. at the helm doing the speechifying. Flogging a brain-dead ballot from way back when.

Mr. Trump appears unable to coherently answer a basic question. The mental center of focus appears to have fled and is located elsewhere. Asked a question about breaking up Google. Mr. Trump replied with something stuck in his gears about the Justice Dept. and Virginia voter rolls. Being a softball interview, Mr. Trump was asked perhaps, if he would like to clarify his answer?

Mr. Trump went on a rant about how Google had been bad and mean to him, never touching the original question even once. It makes you wonder at the frightening prospects of a two AM crisis. Unable to gain his focus even a little. Or is it just Trump double talk? Just say anything and it will be fine.

“Sometimes I wonder if the world is being run by smart people putting us on or by imbeciles who really mean it.”  – Mark Twain

It is no longer a whoops or an oopsie. The man clearly has difficulty focusing. I can only imagine the heart clenching fear which seized the Trump staff. When “Let’s just listen to music” came over the P.A. in Donald Trump’s annoying drone. Plan? What plan? But we’re all Trump conditioned by this point and miss the true ridiculousness of the situation. Imagine any other President running for reelection swaying on stage to the oldies for 39 minutes. You just can’t do it, can you?

You can’t see George Washington leading 39 minutes of Virginia reels or JFK playing 39 minutes of his favorite Frank Sinatra tunes. Or maybe, Abe Lincoln calling a square dance for 39 minutes. “Swing you partners round and round!” Only by imagining someone else doing what Donald Trump does, can we fairly judge the significance of this behavior.

This was some sort of unplanned shutdown for brain maintenance. CTRL-ALT-DELETE. 404: File Not Found. Mr. Trump just shut down on the side of the road. The stubborn mule says, “no further, not today! And tomorrow is a maybe, as well! Let’s just listen to music! Weee!”

If your favorite uncle were to show up at your wedding and just stood on the dance floor swaying for 39 minutes. While attempting to keep the beat by snapping his fingers, you’d be concerned. If he couldn’t keep up a coherent conversation or brought you a package of dinner rolls as a wedding gift, you’d be concerned. These are the little symptoms which might indicate a deeper problem requiring medical attention.

But they sane wash Donald Trump with avoidance and sound bite management. They stroke their long beards and ask philosophically, should we be concerned? We’ll be right back, with that and other awe-inspiring questions for our overdressed panel of experts. After these messages from Preparation H and other products designed to rub you the wrong way.

It Nucking Futs! It’s Full tilt red nose Bozo! Ding, ding, ding! Escape velocity achieved.

But I’m a cynic. I had two older sisters growing up and had all the naive optimism stomped out of my life by age six. So, when I see Mr. Trump behaving in such a detached manner. I ask myself, what am I not seeing here? What am I missing? You know, the man is facing some serious Federal sentencing soon. Sure, they’d try and bribe Stormy Daniels again, It worked out so good last time! Didn’t it? If at first you don’t succeed, bribe, bribe again!

Could we see a Trump legal defense forming surreptitiously in the backwaters of the swamp? “You’re honor, I think it’s time we discuss my client’s declining mental competency. Isn’t that right Mr. Trump?  “Moo goo, goo, zip beep, beep, beep! Moon pie, buttermilk, my mother was a Capricorn, and my father was a protestant! We’re having chicken nuggets for lunch! And I can have as many as I want! Because I’m rich! I have ten dollars!”

How hard would it be to round up a panel of experts to agree with a [Full tilt red nose Bozo] diagnosis and incapable of understanding the charges against him? In view of my client’s declining mental state… Funny story from out of the past. Richard Nixon got real sick right after Watergate and was hospitalized in a fancy hospital with 24 hr. concierge. He had phlebitis real bad, and they even feared he might not live. But once Jerry Ford pardoned Nixon, Dick made an amazing rapid recovery and was soon resting comfortably at home in no time.

Yes, sick old man minus all his marbles is a viable legal defense theory. And what’s the cure for an old man losing all his marbles? Send him home to be with his family and let him alone in peace to live out his dotage. The poor bastard lost all his marbles and doesn’t know his ass from Atlantic City.