Trump Dies In Sleep!

Now what?

Darkness falls across the land…

Prologue: The Set Up

It is no secret that I abhor Amerika’s political duopoly which, in effect, is a political monopoly. Please abort any prattling of political conceits, for 'tis naught but the excrement of folly and I’ve no stomach for thy sanctimonious sludge. Should one possess the modicum of intelligence required to span the annals of the history of “US,” that dullard would be compelled to come to the conclusion that the United States, as it is known, is exactly what it was four centuries ago. It just morphs in appearance, but not in substance.

Donald “Smitty” Trump is a coward. And though there is nothing necessarily wrong with anger (which can be quite righteous), there is something inherently wrong with being a coward. When the two politically fornicate in the seedy geopolitical motel room of Amerika their luciferous child is an angry coward. “Have you heard of him?”

His face is orange.

But his hands are white.

Ghostly white.

He has been president twice. Not twice as in two consecutive terms; literally twice in terms of being both the 45th and 47th president of the United States. Do deeply contemplate the implications of that stark reality, as they are many and he exists because of a failure to look in the mirror. But, alas, ugly always catches up to its reflection. As we can clearly see.

Smitty Trump is angry at many things and many people. He has been green-lighted to initiate a proverbial “night of long knives” all day long. He has not forgotten the impeachments. He has not forgotten the mugshots, the indictments, the lawsuits. He has not forgotten his “stolen” election. This Garfield lookalike is on a mission and when an angry coward (also known as a bully) goes on a mission one gets what one has.

His craven anger informs him to “tear it all down.” And frankly, I have no problem with that idea because that is exactly what needs to happen. If it had been torn down and rebuilt before, Smitty would still be throwing metal chairs around at wrestling events in Tupelo, Mississippi and groping young women or men. However, if it is to be torn down it must be torn down for the benefit of all people; not for the harm to some.

The United States, the “US,” still doesn’t get it and until it does this is going to get quantitatively worse. It is providence. People that claim to be intelligent political pontificators, no matter stripe, focus on Smitty Trump as either God or devil. Yet, not one of them seems to understand that the very systems, institutions and practices that “Made Amerika Great” are what produced Smitty. As the late guitarist and vocalist Bill Withers once said “The same love that made me laugh, made me cry.”

The Vicarious Headline

Let us enter the Twilight Zone momentarily. Upon awakening tomorrow morning you open the newspaper, or turn on the idiot-box, with your morning coffee and drop the scalding cup on the floor upon hearing or reading the headline: “Trump Dies In Sleep!” After half-a-day in the emergency burn unit and bandaged feet, several shots of morphine and sheer exhaustion, the pain subsides and you start to think. If you are capable of such a feat.

Did you see what I did there?

You convinced yourself that Smitty was the problem; that if you could just be rid of Smitty all would be well. Well, too much KFC and Big Mac’s finally caught up with Smitty as he was recently diagnosed with Chronic Venous Insufficiency (CVI). This condition impacts the veins' ability, particularly in the legs, to return blood to the heart, potentially leading to swelling, pain, skin changes, and ulcers.

The good news, in terms of skin changes, is that his face is still a burnt orange and his hands are the same ghostly, ghastly white. The bad news is that if they are publicly disclosing this medical malady, there is even more that they are not. “They” being the incestuous relationship between the main stream media and the dear leader’s administration.

Nonetheless, he is gone, now. Ergo, tell me, what do you think will replace him? He had a racist formulae so potent and reliable that he has cowed all three branches of government, and all three branches breath should smell like shit from kissing his ass. Do you think his demise will bring forth something better? Or something far worse. Who will succeed him? What do they represent? After all, they are political prostitutes mandated so by the system that produced the now deceased president.

Stop. Look. Listen.

As strange as it may appear on the surface, I present to you that the death of Donald Trump, by whatever modality, could potentially be the worst possible thing that could happen domestically. Let alone the global implications which are unfathomable. I know it is an uncomfortable premise and an even more uncomfortable thought. But, as Sadhguru so eloquently stated: “Truth is not for comfort – it's for liberation. It's not a medicine – it's a killer.”

Laugh until you cry, or cry until you laugh. In either event I suggest you give some serious thought to the intellectual and sociopolitical Rubik’s Cube before you. And, please, don’t shoot the messenger.

I just work here.