This Carbon Based Life

By David Glenn Cox

It is a barely manageable obsession. But an unavoidable one. There is no news but the king’s news. If Godzilla were running loose in the hinterland, you’d hardly be interested in sports scores. It’s a rational obsession like watching a NASCAR race. A horrible spectacle just waiting for the accident to occur, eyes fixed and unable to look away.

Surrealistic idiotic spender as they take the big orange baby on the kiss his ass and butter up the old buffoon tour project. Give him a carriage ride and let him inspect the troops. Mr. Trump says, “it’s an honor!” They’ve never honored someone twice before. He must be special! He must be like Napoleon or George Washington or something! They don’t roll out the red carpet and break out the ‘good’ carriage for just anyone! Mr. Trump confuses respect for his office with respect for himself as an individual.

Is it possible Mr. Trump misses their true motivation? The British people should add the moniker “Good” to the title of King Charles from now on. He’s taking one for the team and it’s an ugly one at that. A Royal Lost Weekend. Queen Elizabeth repaired Jeeps during WW2 and now her son has to mud wrestle with the orange swamp monster. Monarchy is apparently harder than it looks! There are six levels of hell before you reach “Entertain the Trumps for a few days.”

Can we talk about a purple hat borrowed from Mad Magazine’s Spy vs Spy? They said it was Mrs. Trump under that hat, but you can’t tell it by me. I asked myself, if I was traveling with Donald Trump, would an oversized purple Greta Garbo hat fit the bill? You bet it would! It’s like she was pretending not to be with Donald. She was waiting for a courier at Rick’s Café American. Apparently, someone had told Malaria the British were famous for their women’s millinery and she wanted to fit in like tourists often do. You wear the hat to the ascot dear, not to the airport.

It’s like that person in the room who doesn’t want to be noticed who is the most noticeable. Whoever suggested a purple hat should be forced to publicly wear the hat themselves. You have this picture of King Charles and Queen Camilla greeting Donald Trump and an unidentified woman in purple hat. It’s unexplainable that someone told Malaria that hat was a good idea.

Maybe she’s a fashion plate and next year everyone who’s anyone will be wearing oversized purple hats with the big UFO flying saucer style brims and bumping into each other. Jackie Kennedy set fashion trends. Why not Malaria? “I was the man who accompanied that unidentified woman in the purple hat to London.” It’s comic relief amongst the ruins. A tyrannosaurus Rex in a funny hat.

Maybe it’s Malaria in her own silent rebellion. Maybe she wears a gaudy hat to distract everyone? “I’ll show you Donald! Do you see this hat? I’m gonna wear it to meet the king! How do you like those apples? Take that Donald! I’ll ruin your big day!” I don’t suppose a hat could ever start a war. But if it could, it would probably be some kind of high-tech oversized purple space sombrero. Malaria has a wildcard for a fashion sense.

I remember the day when she and Donald visited with the Pope. Malaria looked like she was a stage extra from an Italian opera company. Dressed in lace and in all black. It made me laugh out loud as I thought. She’s practicing! I bet she’s had that black dress hanging in the closet for years. And was just looking for the right opportunity to wear it.

Seeing the public dynamic between the two of them is always fun. It’s always so formal and professional. Like it’s all been prearranged beforehand. Don’t touch me! Don’t try and hold my hand! Don’t speak to me! It’s like the prom queen lost a bet and has to go out with the goofiest boy in the fraternity house. I sympathize with her, but only for a moment. Trapped in the gorilla cage at feeding time is her own fault. She chose this hell voluntarily and so can’t hardly complain about the weather now.

King Charles was explaining history to Mr. Trump when Mr. Trump noted, We have history in our country too! Mr. Trump calls the King “Charles” Not your majesty or sir, but just ‘Charles.’ Cozy, huh? I don’t think even Winston Churchill ever called the king, George or Georgie or old spud. George, you old sack of potatoes, how are you?”

Which is the most noble cause for a British monarch? Defeating the French at AginCourt? Flying Spitfires over the English Channel during the Blitz or entertaining the Trumps for a few days with the full Monty? If you wrote it up for a made for tv movie, you couldn’t sell it. The Slovenian porn actress meets the queen of England. Oh, boy! I bet that was quite some kind of conversation. Birds of a feather. Two of a kind, it’ll be a real hen party of girl talk once they get going!

The very thought of entertaining Donald Trump and Malaria for even one hour makes my flesh crawl. Could you imagine days of it? It’s your job! You’ve got to do for the sake of the nation! It’s difficult to imagine Trump and Windsor as a comedy team. The bombastic shoot from the hip Donald Trump and the steady and austere house of Windsor. It sounds almost like a network sitcom. He’s the steady king of England until he meets his irrepressible American cousin when he comes for a visit! Expect hilarity!

On the gritty streets of London town, where crime never takes a holiday! He’s the dirty, streetwise New Yorker, and he’s the educated English nobility! And together, they fight crime! Camilla and Malaria doesn’t exactly work on the tongue like Laverne and Shirley either. She’s upper crust English nobility and she’s a former porn actress and together, they fight crime! Nope, you just couldn’t sell it. Not even to Netflix. Okay, maybe Netflix.

Did you notice? It’s much quieter around here when he’s gone off to fuck up somebody else’s country.

The day-to-day absurdity of treating Trump and his moll like spoiled eight-year-olds at six flags. Live in interesting times, they said. You’ll like it, they said! It’ll be fun, they said.