This Carbon Based Life

By David Glenn Cox

Hey, look! Daddy’s got a new rug, kids! That’s right! It’s unknown if the new cranium cover was purchased and gifted to Mr. Trump by a foreign government or if it was billed to the Interior department as Presidential “Covering.” The rug made its first appearance in Las Vegas yesterday. Secret Service designation: “The Mop” I just flew in and boy is my new wig tired! Hello? Is anybody out there? Is this thing on?

It’s either a wig or some kind of magic fairy or Keebler elf came by and granted him a big head filled with bushy, blond hair! It’s really funny because it’s such a small vanity for such an old, old man that doesn’t really fool anyone. But for some reason, though, I now have more confidence in Mr. Trump! It’s the hair! All he needs now is a Ford three window coupe with a surfboard and a mad V-8 blasting out Jan and Dean, “Two Girls for Every Boy.” Then maybe we’ll forget he’s an eighty-year-old man who needs help getting around.

That’s how Chevrolet sells Corvettes! Guaranteed to make you look twenty years younger in the eyes of your new trophy girlfriend! It’s a double standard because when men take notice of their aging, haggard appearance. We point and laugh! An eighty-year-old man looking like a Beach Boy. An eighty-year-old man with cheeks of chemical tan and a bushy, bushy blond hairdo, Surfin USA!

My personal suggestion being that Mr. Trump is a man of considerable means. Perhaps a training wig? A rug with less enthusiasm and gusto to start off with. “Oh, look! His hair is coming back! That happens all the time. And blond too!” What prompted Mr. Trump to suddenly fly Hair Force One? That would be so uncomfortable as any question ever asked in any question-and-answer session ever. Thirty reporters in the room from all the top media outlets, all wanting to ask the exact same question without one of them having the nerve to do so. “So, what’s with the new ear to ear brain warmer ?” Does Brian Wilson know you’re rocking his hair style?

War, the economy, political strife, and falling poll numbers. Is it on straight? How does it look in the back? Does it look natural? You wouldn’t lie to me would you? (Yes, they would.) You’re sure? It’s as if the man is wearing a parrot on top of his head and we must all now ignore it. The emperor’s new fall collection is due in at any time now. It’s only funny to a point until it becomes Humpty Dumptyish and not funny anymore. He sees himself as nine feet tall and infallible with great hair again. He’s unable to make a deal, because he see himself as never wrong. The peace deal can neither come too early nor too late, because he alone decides the correct time.

It was sooo cute. I wish I could have been there. Jeanine Pirro drops the deflecting pool charges. Mr. Trump wets himself with rage and summons the soon to be former federal prosecutor to his office. It made me smile, though. Jeanine showed up with a little box filled with “evidence.” I’ll let that sink in for a minute. Bringing evidence to a Trump hearing after his mind is already made up. Is that a parrot on his head? Pirro did what any good Trump associate would do. She passed the blame and the buck onto the Interior secretary, Doug, Duh Burnham.

This is where the story gets kind of scary. Duh, Burnham had gone on TV to half-heartedly and publicly defend the president’s “vandals with box cutters” story. Proof! Pirro pointed out that her office was misled by Duh, Doug  and all the evil villains over at Interior as well. Three guesses who is getting fired anyway? (Hint: The one who doesn’t have a penis.)

Mr. Trump has become static and set in his ways. Some would say concrete. The very fact that Mr. Trump is still talking about the deflecting pool debacle and still sticking to his theory of “vandals with box cutters.” A clear inability to admit or take any responsibility, no matter how small. No matter how slight the error. The time for the President defect to drop his deflecting pool story was last week! They’ll forget all about it, sir. Just like all of your other scandals. Yet, Trump can’t help himself and brought it up himself again on Monday. “Vandals with boxcutters everybody!” Houston, we have a problem!

What is reality? What is reality inside the Donald J. Trump Memorial White Palace or cranium? Coming soon! A gaudy new ballroom! Unwilling to give up on a fantasy already compromised and completely explained away. Caught publicly in a lie and should have had the good sense to just drop it! Should have had, but didn’t. Hence, a foible becomes a problem. You know, you’ll always pass the cognitive tests if you fire anyone who dares to disagree with you. “All right! All Right! It’s an elephant, if you say so! 100% Very Good!”

But what if Mr. Trump is now isolated and insulated from reality and the surrounding truth? His mental door is only loosely connected to the frame, anyway, living in a dream world. Tommy, can you hear me? Tommy, can you hear me? Tommy? Tommy? With so much smoke blown up his ass, we worry about Smokey the bear’s health coverage. Really, You’re wearing a hairpiece? I never would have guessed it, sir!

Maybe this was just a test flight of Hair Force One. Since they were so close to Area 51 anyway they decided to give the wig a test flight. A wig designed by aliens, maybe. Let’s see if the new presidential carpet makes the flight back to Washington! Let’s see how long the Washington press corp can ignore the parrot sitting on top of the man’s head?

The State of New Mexico has issued a preliminary report on Jeffrey Epstein’s “Zorro” ranch. Pointing out that all of its subpoenas sent to federal agencies for information have been ignored. Shocking, isn’t it? But first things first! How’s it look? It looks wonderful sir. It makes you look twenty years younger! And it’s such a colorful parrot too!

“We struck up a conversation, but took pains to keep to small talk at first. We touched on the most trivial of topics: I asked if he thought the fate of man was unalterable. He thought it was.” ― Gunter Grass,