This Carbon Based Life

By David Glenn Cox

It is like something out of an episode of South Park. There was a big secret meeting that was planned for at the Vice President’s residence. But the news leaked, and the meeting was moved, and now JD Vance is stuck with half a dozen Domino’s pizzas. The plan was to work on a strategy to handle the Jeffery Epstein situation. All the heavy hitters were to attend. Attorney General Pam Blondie, U-Boat commander and former Trump attorney Todd Blanch, FBI director Pastel.

Gee, whose name is missing from the big secret meeting? Shouldn’t the principal be there? Or will they just fill him in later? Will they fill him in at all? Was this meeting for their own protection? “Okay, the first order of business. What are we going to do when this thing blows sky high?” The fact they are holding strategy meeting after hours speaks for itself. They can’t decide on a strategy between eight and five, probably because of you know who. President boom, boom in his pants.

Holy Watergate Batman, somebody call the plumbers this White House has leaks! And leaks mean someone is failing their loyalty oath. Which signals either stupidity or desperation. You can’t hold one secret meeting without the press being all over it. All that can be said for sure is if your future is being chaired by JD Vance. It’s time to look up countries without extradition treaties. The secret, not so secret meeting ended up being held at the king’s white palace. “Nothing sir! We’re discussing the wallpaper for the new ballroom.”

But maybe, could it be? The meeting was about the king and what to do about the king? What to do about the king after the king is gone? “This is the story of Johnny Rotten?” Maybe that’s why they originally wanted to meet some place besides the white palace? The public can only see through the keyhole. And as bad as it looks from the cheap seats, it’s probably ten times worse up close. Maybe they’ve hung up his tire swing again to keep him pacified.

It’s all going wrong. The numbers are all going the wrong way. They’ve lost the base, and the spell is broken. The king has struck an iceberg and is taking on water. The great unwashed don’t believe in Tinkerbell any more. Gerrymandering in Texas is failing. The public wants the truth and the truth they cannot ever tell. A nineteen-year-old out at 3 AM gets beat up, and the king wants to Federalize Washington. Something even Abe Lincoln didn’t do during the Civil War. Toys in the attic! The porch light is on, but no one is home! Did Mr. President just make a boom, boom?

President Lula da Silva of Brazil says, if you want to talk trade. Let’s talk trade. But to send an insulting form letter like an authoritarian dictator isn’t talking trade. It’s insulting to the people of Brazil. So, expect coffee prices to rise. If you want to talk trade…call me! I wonder just how common a sentiment that will become. How many friendly countries are now less friendly? Canada, India, China, Mexico, Greenland and now Brazil. Maybe the entire world doesn’t spin around the United States after all?

An eighty-year-old man who cheats at golf and then brags about what a great golfer he is. When everybody saw the caddie drop the ball on the fairway. “Here it is, sir! I found your ball!” Wow, did you see that shot? I must be really great! But does the king know about this secret, not so secret meeting? Now that everyone else does. What are we going to do about king dum, dum? Part time Attorney General and part time babysitter Pam Blondie says. Get Karoline Leavitt to beaver in here to watch him. She’s an unwed mother. She knows about handling babies! What do they need with the head of the FBI here for? Their usefulness has been usurped by the ICE Gestapo.

Speaking of the Gestapo. Chief thug and dull-witted bottle washer Tom Holman’s description of the new concentration camp in Indiana as the “Speedway Slammer.” Did not go down well with the fine folks at the Indianapolis motor speedway. You see, Indiana doesn’t have much in the way of tourist attractions. Indiana is a place on the road to somewhere else. “See, Mike Pence’s boyhood home!” Visit the office where Dan Quyale never showed up! Visit the world-famous farm implement museum! For some odd reason, the speedway doesn’t want to be compared to a concentration camp. And the Speedway throws a long shadow in Indianapolis.

The king wants to build a ballroom! The king wants to reopen Alcatraz! The king wants to Federalize Washington D.C.! You know, take it over. Like Germany took over Austria. Sparks in every direction and circuit breakers blowing off the wall. Madness blooming everywhere! The king fires the head of the BLS because he didn’t like the numbers. The king wants to fire the head of the Federal Reserve because the king thinks he could do it better. The king wants the head of Intel to resign because the king says so! The king now extends his authority to corporations.

The king demanded discovery in his ten-billion-dollar lawsuit against the Wall Street Journal and demanded Rupert Murdoch be deposed immediately! Then Murdoch’s attorneys demanded Trump be deposed immediately. (What woah!) And the king’s attorneys suddenly dropped the matter. The Republicans in the house demand an investigation and posted a list of prominent former notable nobodies to testify about the Epstein affair. What a bone head stunt! You really have to wonder who at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. thought that was a good idea. Let’s keep the Epstein matter on the front burner until the midterm elections. Let’s depose Hillary Clinton and all the king’s enemies!

Maybe that’s what the secret meeting was about. With top drawer thinking like that, maybe it’s time to plan escape routes. Their foreign policy is a disaster, and their domestic policy is a disaster. The future looks darker than the inside of a goat. The king is mad. The king is nuttier than a Claxton fruitcake. The king wants to remodel the White House to look like Albert Speer’s chancellery.

“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.” ― William Shakespeare

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