Something Wicked Comes Our Way
(My apologies to both Mr. Bradbury and Mr. Shakespeare)
March 6, 2017
Foreboding, feel it?
It’s not that, in the one-hundred-eighteen days since the election, the accuser in chief has hired thieves to oversee the public treasure or that his Republican death congress is busy taking food, shelter and health itself from those least able to fight back – for the good of their souls, according to Minister of Greed, Paul Ryan.
And it’s not all those Russians camped on our doorstep, seemingly invited, or even the mysterious absence of our congress people from real life, as if they exist only on our flat screens.
Briefly I thought it might be our shitty, shiny object focused, media – wondering how many times must the Donald pretend to throw the ball before they stop giving chase. But no, pets act as trained, unaware of their training – clueless, not evil.
Darker, less distinct – maybe, it’s something not there, like satisfaction, surety or mandate.
Mandate… Yeah, the Donald really desires mandate, or more specifically approval, or more bluntly adoration. But, he’s not feeling the love. How could he with all the negativity, the alleged courts, the damn hippie feminist protesters, the fake news, even lippy politicians? Hell, those people won’t even let poor Donald pick his own playmates – unfair.
Yeah, the Donald requires unconditional love and seems willing to do whatever to gain it. Whatever.
There’s that foreboding again.
The republic hasn’t feared its’s government this much since back when it was shooting us white kids for protesting – a lifetime ago.
The inevitable Trump Termination Event grows another day closer – I’m thinking suffocation while trying to jam his over-sized head into a normal sized flight helmet. (Yeah, I know, I gotta let go of the Trump fight jacket dress up thing, but it REALLY pisses me off. Fucking chicken hawk.)