This Carbon Based Life

By David Glenn Cox

MISSING! Have you seen this man? He goes by the name of Pete. Big mouth, macho guy, greasy hair, probably closeted and overcompensating. He thinks he’s a cross between Gunnery Sergeant Hartman and Rambo. And most importantly, he thinks we believe him. He thinks his patter is ten out of ten. He thinks he could sell cow shit to cowboys. In the run-up to the Trump war in Iran, Pete was the head cheerleader, goose-stepping all the way. Where did you go, Pete? Where are you now?

Stage-managed, when we’re selling war, we bring out Pete to rile everyone up and kick over the trash cans. “We’re going to kick the shit out of them! We’re going to huff and puff and blow their house down! We’re going to kill everything bigger than an inch long!” But now that scene is over. Now the administration is trying to sell an unpopular peace scheme and an Iranian lottery winning ceremony. No Pete, no Kash, no little Marco. The little man in the big job. He’s been seen recently pulling out Trump’s chair for him. Apparently, he’s been sidelined to a non-speaking role. Speaking of not speaking, it’s the video they don’t show you! The video they’re certain we don’t want to see. Trump struggling to sit down in a chair or struggling to take a step up! Cut! Print it!

Do you hear the crickets in the room? Suddenly, there is a silent separation. Do they pull the ejection seat handle now or wait? The apogee has been reached, and a new destination has been declared. Terra-firma! Helter Skelter, coming down fast. “is this it? Is this the end?” Where did everyone go? Nobody loves you when you’re down and out. An eighty-year-old-man all alone with his, well, all alone.

Not one good word from anybody on either side of the aisle about Trump’s pay-off peace deal. Most Republicans speak in guarded, cloudy terms. We’ll have to wait and see, but no money! Which will put Mr. Trump sort of in a bind. You see; Mr. Trump has promised these people lots of money, and Congress isn’t likely going to give it to him. He’s reached his Waterloo; even Donald Trump can’t sell this whopper.

Every conservative publication in the country was in a meltdown mode. The Wall Street Journal, The Hill, and even Fox News. Stunned and with moist reddened eyes, they shouted. “Quick! Change the subject!” Oooh, look, bad weather in Topeka, and look! A terrible car crash in Los Angeles! Even before the war began, Trump’s butt was dragging around 30% popularity. That is the number they would admit to publicly. Can you imagine what that actual number looks like now? Because that number is news, it is no longer news. That number is now a national security matter.

What if they told you that Trump’s actual popularity was at 6%? And 94% of the country outspokenly and virulently hated Donald Trump’s guts. Are you crazy? They couldn’t tell you that! They’d tell you all about Roswell and JFK before they would tell the public the president was universally despised. And apparently, no longer safe to take into public without a leash.

You see; this sort of thing happened between Mr. Trump and Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni. It seems Mr. Trump always has problems when dealing with female heads of state. Mr. Trump says Meloni “begged” him for a photograph together. Because Trump’s like the Beatles and women just find him irresistible. But Ms. Meloni said, Mr. Trump made it all up? Gosh, America, who are we to believe, now? Was this an awe-struck fan dying for a chance at photographic immortality with her idol and dream love prince, or did the old man just make it all up? Gosh, it’s so hard to decide. Well, anyway, you can add Italy to the list of countries no longer speaking to us.

What does team Trump have to say about the blue paint peeling up in the green reflecting pool? Nothing! Not a mumbling word! Crickets! It’s too small a scandal to register on the Trump-o-meter tote board. But it’s almost as if the reflecting pool was the last straw. Say this, do that! A new scandal every couple of days. Nonsense talk, war, peace, war, peace, war, peace. Greenland! Tariffs! Fifty-first state! Mixed Martial Arts! Iran! High gas prices and now, after everything else. After bragging to us about picking out the color his own self. The blue paint is coming up in sheets and being collected by tourists and carried away.

For Marie Antoinette, it was one little careless crack about eating cake. There is a growing silence around this White House. Almost as if Mr. Trump had been diagnosed with something contagious. “Oooh, that smell. Can’t you smell that smell?” This administration is completely blunted and wrecked asunder. Their keel is broken on the rocks of the reef, never to rise again.

It’s the twilight of the gods. What are you going to do when you get out of prison? What is YOUR book of White House experiences about? How are you going to plead?  

Yet the gears still turn in Froggy Bottom. They may be missing a few teeth, but they aren’t licked yet! There is a plan afoot. JD Vance was going to fly to Switzerland! JD was going to initial this turd for us. JD was going to be the administration’s point person on Iran. “Here, JD, hold my anchor for me! Thanks, JD! Well, I’m off to Mar-a-Lago, I think. Handle it, JD!” Already, Republicans in Congress take up his cue. “Gee, I hope JD is up to this.” Gosh, I hope JD doesn’t screw this up. You know what? If this doesn’t work out, that JD is in so much trouble!

Now Mr. Vice-President, this bus weighs approximately 40,000 pounds empty. That’s twenty tons, sir. It cost three-quarters of a million dollars when new, and has a top speed governed of around eighty-five miles per hour. Now, according to the plan sir. When the bus comes by, we’re to throw you under it, sir.

The sacrificial lamb approach. Everyone goes into the volcano to save the king. The administration is at the point of bargaining. What time is it, when they come for the head of Number Two? You know! Don’t you! The plan is the same as last time! And Mike Pence tried to warn him! Sat him down and had a long talk with the boy about Donald Trump, and now, it’s Deja vu all over again. They’re planning to pin it all on JD.

“Those are my principles, and if you don’t like them…well I have others.”
― Groucho Marx