Tag: Satire

5th Avenue Shootout

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Beelzebub bowed down to the Don. “What an easy mark he is,” thought the Devil. “Just a little bit of flattery and he’s eating out of my hand.”

The Donald looked around him. They were alone, so no one else could see this remarkable exchange taking place. He had finally arrived! Someone the Donald looked up to was paying homage to him. “Go on, get up. No need for formality here.”

Beelzebub took advantage of the proffered familiarity, and slunk over to the Donald’s side, taking his arm. “You already have just about anything I can offer. The best women money can buy, the camaraderie of those leaders you like to pal around with, sycophants who thought they held power in this nation until they came up against you. What more do you desire?”

The Donald thought for a brief moment. “I want to make it certain I get elected, then I want to never have to have an election after that.”

Beelzebub pondered on how best to make this bargain. He had already received the Donald’s soul wrapped up in a bow. The only thing left was the submission of the foreclosure notice. Then he knew. He knew what he could do that would provide the ultimate takedown for this preposterous charlatan so looked up to by his admirers. “You know that thing you said about shooting someone on 5th Avenue and not losing a supporter? Well, we can make that happen, and once it does, no one will ever challenge you again.” Beelzebub looked around, making certain no one else could overhear them. “I’ll get you Alvin Bragg out there on 5th Avenue. You can’t ask for anything more.”

The Donald appeared gleeful. “That’s wonderful. I’ve always wanted to take down that stuffed shirt. How he ever got elected, I’ll never know. One of those affirmative action hires for sure. Probably has immigrant blood in him.”

Beelzebub stroked his goatee. This was going better than he had any reason to expect. Not only was the mark accepting the bargain, he was pushing the bounds by asking for more.

Since Beelzebub was nearly omnipotent, the Donald instantly found himself outside of his namesake tower, holding a semi-automatic rifle just like the images he would see festooned on banners his followers liked to display. Only those banners had muscular definition that the Donald sorely lacked, though no one dared to mention it to the Donald. Sure enough, walking across the street the Donald could pick out the form of Alvin Bragg. The Donald raised the rifle, and pulled the trigger. Since this was still under the control of Beelzebub, the Donald found that the rifle he held was fully automatic. The rapid firing did bring down the Manhattan DA, but also brought down dozens of other denizens of Manhattan as collateral damage.

The Donald yelled excitedly. “Got him. I got him.”

Swiftly the Donald’s Secret Service escorts came up and grabbed the offending weapon from his hands. One of his escorts put his finger on the trigger, and it fired wildly across 5th Avenue. That unlucky agent was instantly gunned down by the others in the patrol. The agents huddled, and soon came up with the story that it was only a rogue agent who was responsible for the carnage. The Donald was totally innocent.

His legend grew. Those who were hesitant at giving their total allegiance, now could barely stand the wait in line to give their own obeisance to the Donald. Those who had spoken up previously somehow mysteriously lost their voices. It was strange to see the leading subject matter on networks like MSNBC, now disappearing into the cable void. They had to find new topics to take the time. Did you know that Anthony Fauci is now employed by pharmaceutical companies? I didn’t until the topic of the Donald disappeared from view. So what that his employment is truly with academia, we all know who’s really paying the bill.  

The campaign flew past in a blur. Those who had talked about the interminable length of the upcoming campaign, had to swallow their words as the news cycle swung around to the unbearable lightness of the Donald’s being, as each pronouncement became more favorable for the Donald. Election day was upon the US, and the outcome was a foregone conclusion. Not only was it possible for the Donald to shoot someone on 5th Avenue, and not lose support, but somehow the actual act of shooting folks on 5th became part of the allure of the Donald. Why vote for steady competence when you could vote for the nation’s latest superhero! The Donald, with his photo shopped abs, holding an AK! The voters of this nation spoke with almost one voice, selecting the obese one to lead the country. Soon it would be inauguration day.

Beelzebub rubbed his hands together in glee. Time to foreclose.

Slimey’s Merchandising

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I luxuriated in the feel of the February sunshine as I sat on a bench next to the Tidal Basin. It always felt good to enjoy the pre-spring warmth, tempered by the air cooled by the water nearby. Soon the trees would be wreathed in blossom, and this walk would be overwhelmed with tourists intent on capturing the perfect Instagram picture of the cherry trees. But for now, I had the entire basin nearly to myself.

Nearly to myself. That is what I thought I had. But soon I became aware of another presence coming towards me from behind. I turned around on the bench, and saw my friend Slimey approach me. Now Slimey was the original DC swamp monster, in fact, I first saw him coming out of the Tidal Basin. He is an 8’ tall reptile, sporting rapier-like claws and teeth that could tear you from end to end. But as Slimey became more used to human life, he began to lose some of his ferocity. Of course, the tailored suit he wore helped a great deal. Why, except for his tail which his trousers failed to cover, he looked just like any lobbyist from K Street.

Slimey came up, and sat at the opposite end of the bench. He said, in his sibilant-accented voice, “Friend. I hoped to find you here. Would you have a minute or two to help me with my research?”

Now, I did have plenty of time. But it is always the best of discretion to do whatever Slimey requested. We had a good relationship, but the possibility of his tearing my head off was constantly in my mind, whenever Slimey and I shared a space. So I said, “Sure. How can I help?”

Slimey smiled, then began. “I’ve been appointed merchandising manager for the Donald J. Trump On-line Emporium. Because of the overwhelming success of the shoes, we are trying to come up with new products that will move the needle just a bit, and manage to knock off just a few mill of the penalties that the legal system has imposed. You.” And here he paused for a moment, to turn and look at me. Slimey’s head could not move independently of his body, so it took longer for him to look directly at me. He continued. “You are part of my focus group. Not everyone I meet is willing to overlook my appearance, but you always have. Thank-you for that, friend.”

Well, flattery will get you anywhere, and even if it is coming from an 8’ tall reptile, I felt warmth run through me that wasn’t induced from the sun. I said, “Go on. I’m dying to hear about the products you have come up with.”

Slimey took that in, and bobbed his head slightly. He began. “First, there’s the Donald J. Trump hot air balloon. Just an ordinary latex balloon, but covered in a pithy saying, and complete with an inflator that exposes the saying, while filling the balloon with hot air. Floats for just a while, then comes back down to earth.” He stopped, awaiting my reaction.

I had to say, this was an underwhelming offering. “I’d pass on that one.”

Slimey didn’t seem to take the rejection personally, just went on to the next product. “We’ve come up with a dual-use product. It is a tube of Donald J. Trump laxative and hemorrhoid cream. Put a little in your drink, and then a bit on your tuckus. A little dab will do you.”

I thought for a moment. “That has some promise. I can see that being useful for your key demographic groups.”

Slimey shook his head up and down in agreement. “Yes, I thought we had a winner with that one. Now just wait till you hear about this next offering. It’s Bigley Condoms. Each package guaranteed to fit even the most demanding customer.”

That one took me aback a bit. “Wouldn’t that product offend some of your key constituents? I know some of them hold to the belief that every sperm is sacred. A product aimed at recreational sex? Don’t think it will fly.”

Slimey looked a little sad. “I had high hopes for that product. Ah, well, this next one is sure to be a winner. It is toilet paper, but not ordinary toilet paper. It is paper with each square embossed with a T, outlined in 24k gold. This is aimed at our more discerning followers.”

Slimey had done it again. I could see this being a runaway success, especially if paired with the laxative. And this was the first product I could see with major cross-over appeal. Even those who oppose the Donald would jump at the chance to apply this to their bodies. “Slimey, you have a real winner here. I can see this one becoming a product for all Americans. This one could bring about true unity in our country.”

Slimey got up. He had received enough feedback to proceed. After he said his farewell, and disappeared beyond the Jefferson Memorial, I thought I would look forward to the opportunity to purchase some of this new product and give it the honor it deserved as it served its purpose.

State Secrets

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I got the call in the middle of the night. I could barely make out the words for all of the hissing and sibilance that came across the line. Those hints made me aware it was my friend Slimey, the original swamp monster from DC, who was calling me and disturbing my sleep.

Slimey was my friend, and I’m glad he took a shine to me. Imagine an 8’ tall reptile, with razor-sharp claws and teeth more reminiscent of an alligator than anything else you could come across in DC. Whenever I heard talk about “draining the swamp”, I could see humanity encountering the rest of Slimey’s family. It was only Slimey who had attempted to mingle with the rest of humanity, and really, once he put on a tailored suit which covered most of his tail, I had difficulty in picking him out from the rest of the K St. lobbyists. The one thing that always stood out though, was his size. He towered over the rest of us, and I guess that is why he was invisible to most of the inhabitants of DC. They were used to ignoring the biggest thing in the room, so of course, Slimey had the perfect disguise.

I tried to listen carefully. Slimey was directing me to come to the Tidal Basin as soon as possible. He wasn’t fooling around with any attempt to hide his abode. There had to be a good reason for this urgency.

It took me almost no time to pull on my pants and a t-shirt. Since it was still late summer, I didn’t need much else to stay warm. I ended up driving on the nearly deserted streets down towards the Jefferson Monument, where I would encounter Slimey. That was the place of our first meeting, shortly after the 2017 inauguration. Ever since then, I had encountered Slimey on streets, and at my front door. I instinctively felt that this retreat to Slomey’s home turf did not bode well for any of us.

I found myself near one of the streetlamps, sitting on a bench. Surely he could see me, and would approach. I still was taken aback when he emerged from the water itself, shaking to rid his skin of the extra water he brought up with him. No clothes this time, he was holding only a single document inside of a clear waterproof envelope. He took the few steps over to the bench and took his seat beside me.

“Well met, friend. I’ll bet you are wondering why I called you here.” Slimey was always one for delaying getting to the point. I had grown accustomed to his procrastination, so I remained silent, waiting for Slimey to proceed.

“I’ll not deceive you, this is the biggest thing I’ve ever had. I realized I could not deal with this myself, so that’s why I called you.” Slimey held up the envelope with the single piece of paper. “After this, I’ll not be able to show my face at all in this town. I’m going back home till all of this blows over.”

I finally found my curiosity was aroused. “Just what sort of thing do you have there?” I pointed towards the envelope, which was still grasped tightly in Slimey’s claws.

“This? This is the secret that will release all of the enemies. I can’t tell you how I got this.” Slimey looked agitated, and that is one state I hoped never to see – an agitated 8’tall reptile. I found myself sliding over to the edge of the bench, as far away from his claws as I could get while still staying somewhat close. I knew it would do no good if he ever really decided to use his immensely powerful, instantly deadly claws to tear open my unprotected gut, but the survival instinct kicked in, if only partially.

Slimey stood up. “All of the documents taken, all of the secrets. This one document explains everything. And I found I must turn it over to you.” He handed over the envelope, and gave only one instruction. “Wait until I’ve disappeared before you look at it.” With that, he quickly covered the distance to the water, and not caring who saw, he disappeared under the murky water into the DC swamps.

I waited for what seemed like minutes as he never breached the surface again. Finally, I opened up the waterproof envelope, and pulled out the single piece of paper. On it, there was only the following writing.

6’ 1” and 320 pounds.

Slimey Works For George Santos

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I was ambling down the sidewalk when I spied a familiar form speeding along coming towards me. It was none other than my old friend Slimey, the original DC swamp monster. His 8’ reptilian form was hard to miss, even if he tried to disguise it with clothing.

“Slimey” I shouted, as I attempted to intercept him before he could race past me. It was obvious he was in a hurry, but he did stop as soon as he heard my voice.

“Friend,” he called out. “You are just the person I was looking for. You may be able to help me out,” Slimey hissed in that distinctive accent of his. Amazing what a reptilian accent sounds like. Some of the consonants just don’t come across completely.

“What can I do for you?” I responded. Most of the time, I scarcely knew what to do with Slimey’s issues. I could guess this was going to be another time where I would be at a loss.

“You may be able to help me out with a situation concerning my employer. See, I’ve taken a position in a Congressman’s office.”

I shuddered to think of any representative who would employ an 8-foot tall reptile who crawled out of the Tidal Basin. Then it came to me.

“You are working for George Santos!” I exclaimed.

“A very good guess.” Slimey confirmed my suspicions by his nodding of his enormous head packed full of razor-sharp teeth. “Now, I need your help with a problem he has.”

I thought for a moment about the massive fraud that is George Santos. How he was elected to office as the epitome of a volleyball-playing, large bank lackey, college graduate, with parents who survived the holocaust but somehow didn’t survive the consequences of 9/11, only to be discovered after election as a member of the checked box “None of the above” club. It seemed George Santos didn’t need any of my ideas about how to deal with his issues. Still, I owed it to Slimey to at least provide an effort at a response. “What exactly is George’s problem.”

Slimey took a second before answering, stretching his neck as his head surveyed the heavens, then he said “George really doesn’t need his glasses. He wears them strictly for effect. He’d like to alert the world about this, in order to give up having to remember them, but no one is ready to believe the truth coming from his mouth.”

It took me almost no time to form a response. “You say he’s having a problem since no one would believe anything he says is the truth?”

Slimey shook his head in affirmation. “Yes, that’s his problem in a nutshell.”

I walked along the Washington street in silence, trying to come up with a response that would be practical but also represent my deep concern about this fraudster polluting the halls of Congress. “Can I ask just one question? Given his proclivity to, er, enhance his resume on serious matters, why is he concerned about something he wears?”

Slimey looked down at me, and even though his face was mainly frozen due to his massive jaw and rapier-like teeth, it seemed as if he was sneering at me. He said, “I can’t believe you are diminishing his problem so much. This one item is occupying his mind full-time, and it’s up to me to come up with a solution.”

I nodded my understanding, and stood still in silence. Around us, the hordes of K Street denizens barely took notice of our presence, save to slightly swerve around us, Everyone was engaged with their phone. Indeed, I wondered whether Slimey could have existed in the pre-cellphone days. Someone would have noticed his enormous form.

I finally said, “Maybe you could try this. Since everyone is convinced what he says is a lie, try just one more lie. Say that he has contracted an eye disease requiring him to expose his eyeballs to full air flow. That way he can take off his glasses, and everyone will think, yeah, just another one of his frauds, er, enhancements. He won’t have to worry about carrying those glasses along, and this will slide down to the bottom of the list of items for the press to be concerned with.”

Slimey stood staring at me. Then he went, “Why didn’t I think of that? That is a brilliant solution. I can’t wait to tell him about it.” And he turned away from me and went on down the street, leaving me alone.

All I had to do now was try to remember what I was doing before Slimey showed up, Fortunately, my stomach chose this time to emit a rumble, reminding me I was in search of the perfect chili dog before I was interrupted.

For a previous look at Slimey in his DC abode, see this: https://wordpress.com/view/evenabrokenclock.blog#:~:text=evenabrokenclock.blog/2022/07/19/yosemite%2Dsam%2Dmeet%2Dslimey

Washed in the Bodily Fluids of The Man

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Let me introduce myself. I am the newly anointed nominee for Senator in this state. Why, the big man has approved me because I was willing to lick his boots in exchange for his endorsement. And once I’ve gotten the endorsement for the nomination from The Man himself, I’ve been forgiven of all of my sins in the past.

What sins, you may ask? Well, let me go and summarize just a few of them. But it is important to note that all of my sins are now washed away in the blood of the lamb, or whatever bodily fluid happens to emanate from The Man.

There was the time I may have paid for one of my many admirers to have an abortion. It is important to note that now I am totally against any abortion at any time, no matter the circumstance. But in my past, my sinful past, I had many admirers, and one of them seduced me in a moment of weakness. Wouldn’t you know it? The condom broke, and this admirer found herself in a state of pregnancy. Well, I couldn’t allow that to happen, could I? A good family man like myself carrying on like a teenager? I was much older than that, and I knew better. And I knew there was a way out of this dilemma. I took it, and I’m not proud of it. But you already knew about my sinful past, now that I’ve been totally forgiven for all my earlier transgressions.

Oh, and about the school set up in my name, that seems to have been totally a scam? I can’t believe I could convince so many people to grab another mortgage on their house just to hear my words and learn my tricks. Of course, talking a foreign bank into taking yet another flyer on me and my wonderfulness for a high-rise development is so different from convincing a local bank to allow you to leverage yourself further in order to buy another rental home. But the rubes just kept coming. I couldn’t believe it when the state required me to desist and broke up my school. I even had to refund a portion of the fees! Imagine that. I was held responsible for my actions! Never happened before, never will again. Remember I’ve been forgiven of all of my previous transgressions.

Then there was the time when I used my own weapon to put down some of those rioters way back in 2020. See, I was only trying to protect the law-abiding property owners from the potential harm from the sea of protestors marching down the street. What else was I to do when some of them actually tried to pry my gun from my twitching fingers. Yeah, I’m sorry that two of them were killed, but all of that was in my before times. All of that has now been forgiven.

Look, I know some of the lamestream press went off when they saw those pictures of me in a confederate uniform. For God’s sake, I was at a battle reenactment and you needed some of those taking part to be on the losing side, even though their cause was just. And the uniform fit so well, I just had to wear it for Halloween, and that fancy costume party I went to. And can you imagine someone took pictures of me, and tried to show I had a pattern of only wearing the greys?  Just because I made some posts during the early days of social media wishing wistfully for the return of the previous era, it doesn’t mean I haven’t been totally redeemed and forgiven. I’m a changed man now.

As far as my beliefs go, I will admit that I dabbled in Q-anon, but all of that is now behind me. Just because I have called for my state to reverse its actions in the election two years ago, it does not mean I really believe a group of Democrats are kidnapping tens of thousands of babies, and draining their blood in satanic rituals in order to extract the youth-restoring compounds. Who in their right mind would believe that? And after all, this all occurred in my before times, before I found forgiveness. My past does not matter.

I will admit I had to grovel in front of The Man and proclaim him the rightful winner of the last election. Of course, that means the person in the White House is a usurper, and any actions taken to remove a usurper are perfectly in line with the moral compass of the universe. I do believe we will be able to reinstate The Man to his rightful role, and ignore that stupid clause in the Constitution limiting the terms in office. Why, I see no reason ever to limit the length that The Man can serve in office. And as healthy as he is, he should be able to drive that golf cart down the fairway of life for a long time. Not like that relic usurper, pretending that bike riding is morally and physically better than golfing. You won’t find me doing useless exercise. I don’t want ever to take away from my lifespan by breaking a sweat.

Well, there you have it. I hope you now know much more about me, and you will certainly want to vote for me instead of that Nobel Laureate I am running against. What do those folks on the Nobel committee ever do? Just keep rattling on about contributions to humanity. Well, I have so much more to offer than one of those fakers the Nobel committee chooses to honor. I don’t see that my opponent has ever been forgiven by The Man. That is the highest honor in the world to me.

Yosemite Sam? Meet Slimey!

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I was slumped over sitting on one of the benches overlooking the Tidal Basin. Work recently had taken quite a toll on me, being as I had finally been forced into appearing in person in my office. For too much time during the pandemic, I silently was grateful for being able to sleep until just before my scheduled work hours, and commute into the spare bedroom where my desktop was stationed. Having to physically go down to an office in dress attire took far too much out of me, considering how reasonable that request really was.

Anyway, I was lost in thought as I sat on the bench, letting the occasional tourist pass by me as they surveyed the murk of the true Washington swamp. As I allowed myself to be distracted, I suddenly was aware of the approach of my old friend, Slimey. Now Slimey is one of the most unforgettable creatures you will ever see. Eight foot plus, a reptile with razor sharp claws but who managed to walk on his rear legs, he kind of grabbed your attention and never let it go. Since I was so familiar with him, my eyes were drawn towards his new belt, with dual AR-15’s stuck in his holsters. I can’t imagine who the leather worker was who created this for Slimey, nor could I imagine what the source of the leather was, knowing Slimey’s propensity for taking out anything within reach of his claws. But I had to know why he felt it necessary to open carry such weaponry.

“Slimey, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you,” I greeted him as he approached.

“My friend, it has been a long time. Good to see you.” Slimey sidled up alongside me, then suddenly turned and tilted one of his long guns, pointing it at seemingly no one. Fortunately, he didn’t fire, but his sudden move alarmed me.

I thought long about how to broach this subject, since I did not want to become the object he decided was a threat. “Slimey, why is it you find it necessary to carry such a wondrous arsenal?” I finally said. I figured a bit of flattery might disarm my friend, so to speak.

“My friend, you just cannot count on anyone in this town. So many people want to stab you in the back, I finally found it necessary to go armed.” Slimey reached down to caress his left rifle, while giving his right rifle an affirming pat. “Now I feel naked if I go out without my trusty friends.” And he swung around, scaring a tourist couple who were strolling along the basin. He withdrew his clawed hands, and the rifles swung back to their neutral position.

“You’ll have to excuse my friend” I said to the still shell-shocked couple. “He’s still getting used to open carry.” They turned around and walked rapidly away.

“Slimey, I would never have thought you would need to carry heat. You’ve always seemed like someone capable of defending yourself.” I was really wondering what caused my reptilian friend to change so suddenly.

He reverted to the low growl I had heard before. I engaged my own senses, knowing his lightning fast reflexes could overwhelm me before I even knew what hit me. And now he had two weapons to extend his reach! Things were definitely not looking good for me.

The moment seemed to pass for Slimey, and he actually lowered his girth onto the other end of the bench. I was glad for the sturdy construction, and I relaxed just a bit.

Slimey inclined his head towards me. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve already had to use these things.” Here he patted his side arms. “Of course, so far I haven’t had to hit anything, people tend to take off as soon as I fire off a clip.” He gave off a low rumble I recognized as his laughter. “I’ve even seen their rear ends turn brown as they try to get away.”

Only Slimey could laugh about human defecation. Probably since his kind did that always in the water, where it was not normally visible. But I let his joke pass.

Slimey still seemed agitated. I had to ask. “Has someone threatened you? Why did you suddenly decide you needed protection?”

Slimey stood up, and I understood our interaction was near its end. “It’s just everywhere in this town. It’s gotten so much worse since the last President left. I knew he had a soft spot in his heart for me. But now, I’m not so sure.”

I knew I was not going to get much more out of him. I’d had enough interactions with Slimey to know he was a reptile of few words. And armed as he was, I didn’t want to see any more of his actions. As he prepared to leave, I said, “Don’t be a stranger. You know where I live.” It was only after I said that, I realized it might not have been the wisest thing to say to an 8’ reptile armed with dual AR-15’s. But it was already too late, and Slimey was already striding down the path, heading towards the Memorial, ready to take on the next interloper on his path.

What It Takes To Get That R

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The Scene: Local office of the Republican Party in Useless County, WV

The Players: Secretary of the local party Hugh Jim Becile; Applicant Seeking Office E. Ger Beaver

Secretary: So you’d like to run under our party label, right? Which position are you seeking?

Applicant: I want to run to be the dogcatcher for Big Ugly West Virginia.

Secretary: Is that so? Well, there are a few questions I have for you before we can allow you to share our label. You ready to hear them?

Applicant: Sure. I’m willing to do anything within reason.

Secretary: Ok. First, are you now or have you ever been associated with the Communist Party.

Applicant:  Of course not. Boy, I hope the rest of the questions are as easy.

Secretary: Do you believe that the Presidential Election was stolen in 2020? Do you pledge fealty to Donald Trump’s position?

Applicant: Uhm, I’m not sure. Didn’t Trump win this state by about 40%?

Secretary: We’re not going to get very far if you reject the core principles of the Republican Party. Let me ask you again, do you believe the Presidential election of 2020 was stolen?

Applicant: Sure, I guess so. If you say so, it must have been.

Secretary: Good. We can proceed with the rest of the questions. Do you think the inflation we are currently seeing is solely the responsibility of Joe Biden?

Applicant: Yeah, I can see that. Put me down as yes.

Secretary: Correct answer. Now, do you agree that LGBT is bad, and anyone who supports any aspect of LGBT is just another groomer preparing our precious children to violate their covenant with God by choosing to become homosexual?

Applicant: Now wait a minute. I’ve got a nephew who you could tell way back when he was 4 he was going to want to be a girl. Do you mean I have to denounce him or her to get your approval?

Secretary: Yes, that is exactly what I mean. Someone must have put that idea in that little boy’s head and turned him away from God way back then.

Applicant: Boy, I don’t know about that. Seems to me he was always that way. But if I have to in order to get approval, then yes, I agree.

Secretary: I’m not so sure I like your attitude. We’ve got a lot of folks who don’t hesitate at all in order to get our sign-off. Let’s see if you can show me how much you really believe in Republican principles now.

Applicant: Ok, go ahead and ask the rest of your questions.

Secretary: Do you agree that the media is attacking God-fearing Republicans like Marjorie Taylor Greene, Matt Gaetz, Jim Jordan, and Madison Cawthorn, and because of that bias, they should be banned from covering any Republican events?

Applicant: I’m not sure I even know all of those folks. Are they Republicans?

Secretary: I’m losing patience with you. Of course they are Republicans, they are the up and coming stars of the Republicans in the years to come. You can’t bear our flag if you don’t recognize our leaders.

Applicant:  Oh, yeah, sure. I’ve heard of them. Yeah, those media folks are real meddlers. Keep ‘em out.

Secretary: Almost done. Do you believe that Donald Trump was divinely selected to be our leader, and anything he has done in the past doesn’t matter, because he only has our best interests at heart?

Applicant: Well, he doesn’t fit in with some of the folks I learned about in church. Seems to me he has a lot to be forgiven for. But yeah, I do agree with you.

Secretary: Great. It gives me great pleasure to give you the endorsement of our Republican party to run for, uh, which office was it again?

Applicant:  Dogcatcher of Big Ugly.

Secretary:  Yes, our endorsement for this office. You can have it as soon as you write us a check for $2500 so we know you are serious.

Applicant:  I ain’t got any money. I wanted to be elected dogcatcher so I could get a pay check.

Secretary: So let me understand, you refuse to donate to the Republican party? I’m sorry, this discussion is over. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.

Applicant: I wonder if there still is a Democrat party in this county so I can get on a ballot. I need a job.

A Glimpse Inside His Skull

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Poor widdle Donald. No one understands him. All he sees is hatred out there. That’s why he has to reinforce his ego through regular injections of rallies. Even those, though, are somehow failing to satisfy the black hole of an ego. Not even the false accolade of being the person who brought Osama Bin Laden to justice could make him feel better. No, we need to schedule another rally in North Carolina.

Let us peek into the inside of his damaged mind to discern his thoughts.

No one can understand how math works. Why can’t they see that 74 million votes is so much more than 81 million? Why, 74 million is so much more than the 63 million who voted for me back in 2016. If I got 11 million more than before when I won, it was impossible for Sleepy Joe to beat me in a fair fight. Yet there are still folks who are not convinced of the massive, massive fraud that took place in 2020. What more do we need to show people? They actually believe other media? What idiots they are.

They call me a liar. The wicked technology companies actually kicked me off after my perfect calls on January 6. No, you can’t see those logs. They are important for national security. But trust me, they were all perfect calls. Well, I’ll show them. I’ll come up with my own social media company. You say it’s been up since February? I’ll bet all of those who have bought into this are just waiting for my words of wisdom. I do have words of wisdom. They show how it is possible to self-deceive so completely that I actually believe what I say. Believe me, that takes some doing when the entire rest of the world is so deceived. Except for those who watch me when I’m on TV. And there are so many ways I can express myself nowadays. I really limited myself when I used that Twitter thing. One thing I have to remember, though. Never book another interview on NPR. Just wait till I’ve gone through my next coronation. NPR will find themselves so far out from public funding it’ll make their head spin. Imagine the audacity of trying to ask me real questions. Better I stay where I can direct the talk.

Just wait till my power shows itself. All those candidates I endorsed, marching to victory in their primary races. Of course, that’s the only race that matters. No way the loser Democrats can compare with my wonderful record, best President ever. I’ve got to check with those folks in South Dakota, see whether they have enough room for my glorious face up there. But why fool around with those other losers. There’s a blank slate up there in Yosemite, you know, that blank canvas made of granite? How much better it’ll look when it is filled with my glorious face. I deserve my own place, not sharing one with others.

South Dakota. They’ve got a pretty good governor up there. Sooner or later I’ll need to think about who I want up there with me when I’m coronated again. Don’t know, it may even be possible to get a larger crowd than my first coronation. I’ll have to look up that Spicer fellow, he may be able to convince those stupid media folks. Have you ever seen such hatred? They don’t believe me when I say I am the greatest. What did Cassius Clay have that I don’t have? They all loved him. Why can’t they show me that same love? I oughta send Mike Tyson out to bite off their ears. Then they might believe me.

Don’t you love hearing Herschel talking about his grades? I haven’t heard so much talk about grades since I was talking about all of my academic awards in college. What? You want to see them. Nope, can’t release them. Matter of national security, after all. Those grades are still under audit and I’ve been told (I have the best advisors – I always do what they tell me once I’ve let them know what’s right) to not ever release anything under audit.

But everything is unfair. They won’t even say anything good about my hole-in-one. I know the best places to play golf. So good to get out there in the sunlight and drive my cart the length of my golf drives. No one can drive it as good as me. So much better for me to golf than for that loser to ride a bike. Who’s he trying to impress, anyway? I just bet that they’ve got the double out there riding the bike, while Sleepy Joe is taking another nap. Look at me. You never hear me talk about taking naps. I’m the one who knows what’s coming next. You want to know what Putin will do next? You’d better hope I’m back there and am the one talking to Putin. See, he just doesn’t respect Sleepy Joe. Putin would never have tried to invade Ukraine if I was in charge. I know just the way to talk to those guys. Look at Kim Jong Un. Firing those huge missiles up in the air. He never did that when I was talking to him. And he wrote such lovely letters to me. Of course I wanted to take them with me. Wouldn’t you?

No, I’ll still be around. Since I’m back on my old diet, I’ll be around for a long time to come. You’ve got a lot to look forward to.

PLAY-SEE-BOW. It’s Right For You!

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Slimey’s home

I was surprised to see my old friend, Slimey, sitting on a park bench apparently deep in thought over the piece of paper he held in one of his clawed hands. Slimey, as you may remember, is the 8-foot tall reptilian life form I encountered first coming out of the Tidal Basin early on in Trump’s administration.

I walked over to him, clearing my throat so as to alert him to my presence. It was a smart thing to do, since his reflexes were so much faster than mine, and he is capable of evisceration when startled. Those claws are sharp!

“Friend” he called out. “Come over here. Maybe you can help me with a marketing problem.”

I came over and sat at the opposite end of the park bench. I could see that the piece of paper Slimey held had several proposed names on it for some sort of pharmaceutical. Slimey pointed to the paper.

“I’m trying to come up with a name for my new COVID medicine. I’ve narrowed it down to two: PLAY-SEE-BOW, or Bug-Be-Gone. Which one do you think will be better?”

I must have looked dumbstruck. “You have a COVID medicine? How did you develop that?”

Slimey looked up, and though his jaws were fixed as always (only when he was going after food would those jaws move), it appeared he was wearing the expression of a smile. “I tried to think of the one thing those people who refuse the vaccination would lap up. And I came up with this.” Slimey held gently in his clawed hand a small vial, similar in size to one of those energizer drinks.

“What’s in it” I asked.

Slimey answered in a bit of a round-about way. “I saw a report that the virus couldn’t survive in water. So I got myself a bit of the water from down my way.” Here he turned his head towards the Tidal Basin and to the swampy expanse of the Potomac. “I added a little bit of hydrogen ions, and some chloride ions, bottled it, and here it is.”

“So let me get this straight. You bottled some Washington swamp water, and added hydrochloric acid to it?”

Slimey nodded in agreement. “The little bit of acid killed anything bad in the water, and gives it a bit of a kick. I just know it’ll give COVID a knock-out”

I shook my head, unable to believe the scam about to be perpetrated on the American public. “When do you go live with this?”

Slimey turned his massive forearm till he could see the watch. “Supposed to have our first ads go on Tucker’s show tonight. That’s why I need a name, and soon.”

I pondered for a bit, then said “I think PLAY-SEE-BOW is your best shot. I think that describes your product perfectly. How are you planning to sell it?”

Slimey said, “A four pack of bottles will sell for $15.99. I can see us putting it up at the cash registers of feed stores, and at your corner bodegas, and of course we will sell it direct. I’ve been trying to work a co-marketing strategy with Mike Lindell, but I’m afraid that’s fallen through. Seems he thought we weren’t supportive enough of his position. Well, it’s his loss.”

I tried to take this all in. Seems we were just about to undergo a massive advertising campaign for this new product. I could see it now, the TV and Facebook ads where a beautiful person begins to cough. Up comes their savior, with a bottle of PLAY-SEE-BOW, and says to the cougher, “Try this.” The cougher unscrews the cap, then takes the whole dose in.

“Wow. That’s got a kick. What is it?”

“That’s PLAY-SEE-BOW. We can’t get the FDA to approve it, so you know it works.”

The cougher smiles, and says, “I can tell it’s working. COVID doesn’t have a chance.”

Voiceover says, “PLAY-SEE-BOW. For when you get that first inkling something might be wrong.” And of course the usual list of side effects has to be enunciated, only in this case the side effects would be unusual sexual attractiveness, excessive muscular development, and reversal of all aches and pains. If ever there were a can’t-miss product, this was going to be it.

I asked Slimey, “Do you need anybody to invest in this? I think you’ve got a winner here.”

Slimey shook his head, no. He said, “We’ve got the seed money for this from Fox and the RNC. They wanted to take a piece of this real quick. We might even get the Cyber Ninja’s to go out and sell this for us when they do their next audit.

I got up from the bench, and made my adieus from Slimey. For once, he had something that just couldn’t miss. Knowing his audience as well as he did, all I could think about was what was he going to do with all of the money he was about to get. After all, there was a huge untapped market for PLAY-SEE-BOW, and I could feel proud to have been there at the beginning of it all.

Slimey Bids Adieu?

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The swamp around DC

Slimey turned towards me, eyes pleading. “What should I do?” he exclaimed.

Slimey, as you may know, is a 9′ tall reptile with typical claws and sharp teeth as you might expect from a creature of the swamp around DC. Yet somehow he is capable of blending in with others, and indeed, had served in lobbying firms dealing with this past administration, now in exile.

I let him in through my door and he ducked his head as he entered. “Slimey, I wasn’t expecting you. Last time I saw you, you were working for QAnon. What happened with that?”

Slimey carefully maneuvered his tail around so as to not knock over anything found on low surfaces in the room. “Q? The market for that kinda petered out after the election. I could see the writing on the wall. So I had a good offer, one that I really would like to accept. I’ve been offered a position with the Secret Service!”

“Why, that’s great,” I said. “I figure you would snap up an opportunity like that quickly” You know, it’s amazing how many times my words around Slimey focused on one of his overwhelming physical characteristics.

“It is great. It would involve working security for an ex-President. But it is contingent on something.”  Slimey swung his ponderous head from side to side, seemingly indicating his conflict concerning this offer.

“What’s the contingency?” I asked.

Slimey set his bulk down upon a sofa before replying. “It’s contingent upon my being willing to relocate to the town of Ossining, NY. And it is contingent upon the New York court system acting first so that there will be someone to guard there.”

Slowly I realized the central part of Slimey’s dilemma. “You’ve been offered the job to guard President Trump in Sing-Sing.”

Slimey looked up at me. I could see a tear forming in one of his eyes. I thought about crocodile tears, but quickly put that thought away before it escaped my mouth. “Yeah, that’s it. I could be one of the guards who would keep him safe while he’s in prison. You just don’t know what that would be like. I’d have to be kept there myself in order to prevent someone from taking him out.”

I thought for a minute, then I said “I’ll bet there’s some times when you wished you never left the swamp.”

“You don’t know the half of it. The problem is I’ve gotten addicted to having this stuff called money around. I can exchange it for things I never knew existed when I was down there. But the more I keep trying to get it, the worse it is for me. I mean, I have my standards. I just don’t know if trying to keep the ex-President from being shived is worth it. I mean, if the word got out, nobody respectable will want to talk to me.”

Part of learning how to relate to all kinds was knowing when it was best to just listen, and not offer any guidance. So I sat down myself, and just made a little noise of affirmation.

Slimey thought for a long moment, which seemed like a really long time when you are dealing with something as large as he is. You hope that the reptile portion of his brain wouldn’t grow active and take over, and slash out with his deadly claws and massive tail. Even if I didn’t lie in a pool of blood with my entrails scattered, he could make a real mess of the upholstery if he tried.

Finally, he stirred, and gathered his limbs to stand. “I know what I have to do. I have to go back to the swamp. I just can’t deal with this human world any more.”

I realized that our time together was near an end. Not just this meeting, but probably any meeting in the future. Once Slimey had re-acclimated himself into the murky waters, I couldn’t see any chance of him re-emerging and trying another round at taking part in human society. And I certainly had learned my lesson, and would steer clear of the Tidal Basin so as to avoid any accidental contact. I counted myself fortunate that I had managed my relationship with Slimey and still had all of my organs intact.

Slimey went towards the door. “Friend, I don’t know if I’ll see you again. Thanks for listening to me and helping me decide what to do.”

I held the door open as he once again ducked his head on the way out. I said to him “I’ll miss you.” And then he was gone.