This Carbon Based Life

By David Glenn Cox

I’m not a big fan of Jimmy Kimmel. I don’t watch his program. I don’t dislike him; he could drink at the bar with us. I didn’t really think his joke about Malaria Trump was particularly funny. Death is rarely ever funny, but I don’t blame Kimmel. I’m not incensed or outraged; we live in extreme times. Too extreme to be enraged over something so small. Because even an aging escort and porn model, married to a senile madman, is entitled to some dignity as she declines towards her impending dotage. Remember, Pretty Woman was just a work of Hollywood fiction.

Kimmel’s problem is that the subject of Trump humor is all but fished out. Most of the good Trump jokes have already been told and retold. The subject is overrun and overwrought. Try telling a new joke about Trump without using orange, age, sleep, or crazy as hell! As Mr. Trump slides down the senility scale, the jokes somehow lose their humor and punch. More crazy = Less funny. When you look at recent photographs of Mr. Trump, it’s frightening. The President speaks to reporters from the Resolute Desk, just like FDR, and for the same reason!

Mr. Trump has fallen asleep publicly, how many times now? Three? Four? And we’re just seeing the tip of the iceberg. We’re only seeing the accidents. The faux pas that slip through the Fox News matrix. Mr. Trump says this today, and says the exact opposite tomorrow. It’s like living inside the looking-glass with Lewis Carroll. I can no longer look. What’s the Red Queen doing now? Red Queen derangement syndrome? Red Queen exhaustion syndrome.

Of all the dystopian novels I’ve ever read. I don’t think that any of them adequately expressed or explained the stress and anxiety involved with living in a dystopia. “Where everything isn’t meant to be alright.” A constant state of upheaval, of crises and calamity. Either the most clever and devious, diabolical Frankenstein plan of political science ever devised or the largest collection of the politically entitled losers, nutballs and ideologs leading us into a true American dystopia.

War in Iran? Record high oil prices! Wall street going up and down like the elevator at Macy’s. And what does the President want to talk about? The ballroom, everyone! The ballroom, the spheristorium! Somewhere in the White House, the Chief of Staff had scrawled in his little notebook. Chief to give remarks on “Ballroom.” Who thought that up? Who thought that was an important subject to bring to the public’s attention? But the Trump team had big news, and they couldn’t wait to share it with the American public.

Remember how Donald Trump told us his four hundred-million-dollar spheristorium wouldn’t cost the public a penny? Mr. Trump had these grateful billionaire supporters who were willing to pony up a portion of their lunch money to pay for Trump’s ballroom. But the Republicans have come up with an even better idea! The Republicans now want YOU, dear taxpayer, to pony up $400 million for Trump’s ballroom plus whatever his Iran war costs us. But relax, the Marie Antoinette Rehabilitation Act will never survive. The Republicans head into campaign season facing a hostile electorate and now pushing Trump’s ballroom? Now, that’s dystopic comedy gold.

“My dear Republican constituents! I know the war in Iran has distressed you. I understand your fear of rising fuel prices, inflation, and a shaky economy. But vote for me, and I’ll see to it that Mr. Trump gets his ballroom! After all, it’s only four hundred million dollars! Vote Republican for smaller government!

Where did all of his grateful billionaire supporter types go? Now, the million-dollar question. Did these billionaire donors ever exist in the first place? Was this just another Trump scam? We’ll dig a big hole and fill the yard with heavy equipment. Then, Congress will have to fund it! I’ll call Lindsey! Did the administration seek written pledge donations or just “Raise your hand if you’ll give us forty million dollars or so, someday.” Did the donors ever really exist and why have they all started fading away?  Did the billionaires even consider whether Mr. Trump was serious? Or were they just appeasing the old duffer by saying, sure, whatever. While Trump was talking out of his ass. Maybe these guys felt safe, assuming Trump would never really ask them for a check.

But the ballroom plan was shut down by a federal judge. Only work below ground can continue. They’re planning to build a James Bond-style underground headquarters. With a hospital, a military command center, and two atomic disintegrator ray guns. Okay, I made the last one up. But you get the idea. The ballroom is just cover for the military command center underneath like something out of a science fiction movie. I can see it now. Four hundred millions is not going to be near enough money. A 90,000 square foot ballroom to cover the 90,000 square foot Ernst Stavro Blofeld outrageous command center and nuclear bunker.

Did they make this announcement at random? In between the war, the economy and the eroding world conditions. They decided to tell us now? Wake up! There never were any billionaire donors. Lindsey Graham, South Carolina’s Senior Comic relief Senator, says Donald Trump really needs this ballroom. Mr. Trump, the man who doesn’t dance, really needs a ballroom? We all know Trump by this point. For example, Mr. Trump’s plan to build 25 battleships. In a world that hasn’t built a battleship in over fifty years. Trump gets excited by artist renderings of things which could be named after himself. Like a little boy, tanks, airplanes and battleships just get him excited. With big lighted buttons to push and leavers to move back and forth.

The thought of making Malaria Trump a new widow is terrifying. Donald Trump must either be removed from office legally and constitutionally, or leave the normal way. Imagine the craziness that would ensue, if Mr. Trump suddenly kicked it! The Republicans would try to make a martyr out of Trump. In remembrance of his great service to our nation, we’re going to build his ballroom and his Arch of Triumph and build the battleships too! The last time we martyred a president who died in office we went to the moon.

“Friends, Romans, Republicans, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him;
The evil that men do lives after them,
The good is oft interred with their bones, – William Shakespeare