This Carbon Based Life

By David Glenn Cox

As he sat in his chair in the cabinet room, I couldn’t help but notice how the king looked somehow smaller and hunched over in his chair. It almost appeared as if he’d shrunken or as if his chair had grown larger. His color looked bad, worse than his spray tan normal. His tweets at all hours of the day and night told me clearly that he had developed the dictator’s lament and can no longer sleep at night. Malaria isn’t rubbing his forehead and whispering sweet nuttings into his ear.

A cowboy no longer riding the bull, but a cowboy just hanging on for dear life. What mother would describe as a man with a guilty conscience and overburdened with fear for the future. And clearly, his staff isn’t helping matters any. The Air Force has done studies on the effects of sleep deprivation on a pilot’s reactions. Decision making goes down and they suffer a near brown out of consciousness. The pilots, though awake, hardly know what is going on around them. Sound somehow familiar?

For Trumpty Dumpty, it is almost easier to list the departments not embroiled in scandal. A man who is losing sleep and deservedly so. A Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde scenario or in this case, a Hyde and Hyde scenario. When awake, he makes poor decisions, and when sleepy; he makes worse. Pardoning the former Honduran president convicted of drug smuggling. While claiming a righteous, holy war against drug trafficking. Furthering his reputation as “Pardons are US.” Like Earl Shibe, “I’ll pardon anyone for just two million dollars!”

Desperate to change the subject away from Epstein. Trying to put out the Pete Hegseth fire storm. Dragged down by the slow drip of bad news. And nothing he can manufacture seems to stick. There is an uncivil war going on inside the Republican Party. Just what Trump needed right about now. Like he didn’t have enough troubles. South Carolina congresswoman Nancy Mace says she’s not leaving congress early. After her top aide just quit out of loyalty to Trump. Ironic…huh? Mace exclaims, she doesn’t know where the internet gets this stuff. I don’t know, maybe it’s from the half dozen Republicans who have already announced their early retirements recently?

Maybe it’s from the evil elf on the shelf, Mike Johnson. The yes man in knee pads, always ready to do the misadministration’s pleasuring. Fighting to protect the Orange house no matter how many Republican seats it costs them in the midterm elections. Agendas? They have no agenda except to protect Humpty Trumpty. And no matter how many Republican seats they must throw into the volcano, Johnson is willing to do it. Marge Tater Greene’s defection and party in exile. Health care, inflation, employment, and immigration. The orange king is losing ground on all fronts and losing sleep at night because of it. Plus Epstein, Hegseth. Lindsey Halligan, Krash Patel and Pam Bondi, is it any wonder he can’t sleep?

I would wager he’s too afraid to go to sleep. Too fearful of what might happen while his eyes are shut. What new disaster will he awaken to? Take, for instance, the carefully constructed feigned outrage over the sedious six calling for officers to reject illegal orders. Trump calling for the death penalty as a video emerges of Bourbon Pete Hegseth saying exactly the same thing. Or the five or six narratives about multiple airstrikes on a fishing boat. Trumpty ups the ante, declaring every innocent fishing boat attacked saves 25,000 American lives. But under his breath, he calls for a halt on attacking any more fishing boats. Yes, no. Stay, go. Maybe so. I don’t know!

The economy lost 32,000 jobs last month, that we know of. 53% of all homes for sale in America lost value this year. Floriduh and Texas? Don’t ask. The ratio of income to home prices mirrors 2006, only larger. Plus, the nearly two trillion dollars in subprime auto loans makes 2008 look like a backyard barbeque. The king’s crack team of financial advisors on crack have no answers except lowering interest rates. I don’t know which is worse, the decline of bitcoin or the feeble obvious attempts to pump it back up. If we throw ten billion in, we can pump the price back up to maybe get our hundred billion out. It is a warning rocket on the Titanic. Time to run for cover, boys. God knows this doofus can’t save us.

The absolutely disastrous peace negotiations in the Russia-Ukraine war. Driving another wedge between the US and our former NATO allies. No matter what language you say it in, fuck you always sounds just the same. The UK is no longer sharing intelligence with the US. The faith and trust in the United Snakes is shredded worldwide. Crazy man at the helm, let’s get out of here! Let’s take our money and our investments and get the hell out of here before the roof falls in. Anyone want to buy a like new battery factory in Georgia? (Some assembly required.)  

Humpty Trumpty, in his racist exhaustion, calls American citizens from Somalia “Garbage!” You know the old, shit hole countries routine. Trump calls the governor of Minnesota the “R” word. Sleep deprivation or mental collapse? The dictator’s lament, all-powerful but all-powerless. Instead of the dictator controlling events, events are now controlling the dictator. Demanding the sun rise on command or the tide to go out. Frustration building with every failure. The Fuhrer blames his generals for losing the war he started. As frantic calls came in from Normandy seeking permission to move the panzers. The generals were told Der Fuhrer had taken a sleeping pill, and they don’t dare wake him.

Don’t bother Nero during his violin lesson. Caligula had named his horse proconsul. Trump had named a horse’s ass to be Secretary of Defense. Pistola Pete likes the term Secretary of War better, because he thinks it sounds cooler. But by law, he can’t change the name, so he just pretends he can. The Secretary of War. The Gulf of America. The Jeffrey Epstein memorial ballroom. Greenland and the 51^st state. Inflation is under control and the economy, like frosted flakes, is GGGreat! Who can sleep?

“You perceive, now, that these things are all impossible except in a dream. You perceive that they are pure and puerile insanities, the silly creations of an imagination that is not conscious of its freaks—in a word, that they are a dream, and you the maker of it. The dream-marks are all present; you should have recognized them earlier.” – Mark Twain