This Carbon Based Life

By David Glenn Cox

I’m glad to see it. The poor woman has been stuck in that old house for weeks on end with no one but paid servants and sycophants to talk to her and keep her entertained. Nothing to do, which can’t be completed by ten o’clock in the morning and then her whole day is wide open. He never takes her anyplace. It’s all work, work, work with him. Malaria Trump is a turd in a golden cage. She’s been in the house so long; she squints when she steps outside. She’s an attachment and an accessory. She goes with Donald’s tuxedo.

A trip to Great Britain, how exciting! For her, not them. A chance to get out of that dreary old house. A chance to meet the king. No, a real one! Sleep at Windsor Castle. Dress up! Get your picture taken a few hundred times. Travel with Sir Donald of duck. The Duke of disillusion, the prince of parsimony and the Ug, in ugly American. How would you like to travel with that big ape? Just you and him all alone locked in a small room in a foreign country?

It can’t be easy for her. Every meal making sure he doesn’t eat his peas with the wrong spoon. What must that be like? A formal dinner with the Trump’s. God save the King! From a formal dinner with the Trump’s. He hasn’t been king all that long. Do you think he’s ready? What do you talk about? How do you make small talk with Donald Trump and Malaria? “What’s new with you two?”

Have you ever thought about turning this place into a hotel, Chuck? We could probably squeeze in a par three golf course out back. “Those are the playing fields of Eton.” Well, we can talk to the Eton’s then and make em a deal. No cash up front, of course. “This palace is over a thousand years old, founded by the Norman French!” Well, yeah, I figured there would be some updating necessary. Change all the wall outlets, upgrade the plumbing and redecorate. Say, does this palace have a ballroom? If not, I know a guy! You know, people tell me all the time how you can’t have a really great hotel without a great ballroom.

“This isn’t a hotel. It’s a royal residence.” Say, that’s a good name for it, let’s go with that! The Royal Residence! By Trump, I like it! “What do you do in your spare time, Ms. Trump?” Um, I, um, I. Well, I ah, I ah, I co-coordinate things for Donald. “How interesting that must be for you.”

Poor Charles and Camilla how they would trade their crowns if they could. You’d have to pay me a pretty penny if my job duties required entertaining the Trumps in my home overnight. Meet down at the KFC and share some chicken and biscuits, sure. But in my home, overnight? Still gonna be there in the morning when I wake up overnight? Wow, we’re gonna have to talk about that! That could be a deal breaker right there.

Not just the Trump’s. but the whole security gaggle rooting through everything. The press gaggle just rooting! And the White House staff with Trump’s new proconsul “Trigger.” An entire horde of invading Americans to feed and water led by Donald and Malaria. It must be like Chuck E Cheese for the Uber wealthy. 

A whole country forced to put up that famous stiff British upper lip and pretend they’re glad he’s here! I heard several British Trump supporters, and it is amazing. They’re even less informed than their American cousins. They get a little information, mainly second hand. But you can tell that they don’t really understand what Trump is all about. They see the image of Trump, but they see it from a great distance. They don’t see it up close like you and I do. Misinformed respects no geographical boundaries.

I had wondered where he went? After angering most of the free world, and I thought maybe he’d take a few days off. But Elon has been dabbling in his favorite sport of Reich wing politics. Encouraging them in the UK and telling them violence is coming, so be strong! It’s like he made a bet with the devil that he can run Tesla out of business with just his mouth. It’s none of your business, Elon. You are from South Africa, and you live in the United Snakes. This is not your problem.

Making your company name synonymous with right-wing authoritarian politics is your problem. Go be rich for a while and shut the hell up. Have a container ship full of cocaine delivered to your private Greek Island with the liquor and the hookers. Have a party for a year or two. It couldn’t hurt his image any. His public image is so tarnished now almost nothing could hurt it. He’s the  Charlie Sheen of automakers. Encouraging violence by encouraging a strong defense. This billionaire thousands of miles away has got your back fellas! Go get your teeth kicked in. He supports you! Sound familiar?

The rich man telling you who you should hate and who you should fight. All wrapped up in billionaire problems, he makes time in his busy day to think about you! Appears on zoom and uses his celebrity to promote issues which are none of his business. Like a rock star promoting a cause de jure, until after a while it just sounds tinny and self-serving. After a while, all the celebrity is used up. “What’s he on about, this time?” Celebrity used least is indeed used best. Once the mystery is gone, so is the mystery man.

And in the end, it doesn’t matter what Elon Musk thinks or wants. He’s a billionaire living in a dream world pretending he’s important. Surrounded by people telling him how important he is. Paid to tell him how important he is. It’s a psychological trap of wealth. With wealth comes insecurity. People treat you differently. (Or so, I’ve been told) Is he really your friend or does he want something from you, like everyone else? So, they have to build a support network around themselves to reassure themselves. The network says, “Good idea boss!” and “Damn, why didn’t I think of that? You sure are smart, boss!”

Imagine the surreal nature of being saddled with the Trump’s visiting. But at least Malaria got out of the house for some fresh air.

“No sympathy for the devil; keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride…and if it occasionally gets a little heavier than what you had in mind, well…maybe chalk it up to forced consciousness expansion: Tune in, freak out, get beaten.”― Hunter S. Thompson