Troglodytes were a tribe of cave dwellers. One of their descendants is American patriot Trumplodyte, living in a gold cave in the sky over Fifth Avenue. He loves his fellow Americans so much that he offered to come down and reign over them, even though it meant moving to a place where gold is scarce. Let the people decide, said Trumplodyte. And so he ventured forth to the nation’s arenas and tweeted he would make America great, which it hadn’t been for a long time.
In his gold cave, Trumplodyte had watched lots of fair and balanced television where he saw Muslim immigrants killing everyone in sight. Sad! He knew the people in the arenas were frightened of Islamic terrorism, and he assured them that, yes, “Islam hates us.” It was good. A frightened people is a pliant people. The arena people drank in his talk of crime, immigrants and Islam and cheered.
Trumplodyte didn’t talk about Newtown, Connecticut, Charleston, South Carolina, Oklahoma City. The arena people weren’t afraid of Christian terrorism, and they wouldn’t have cheered.
Muslims weren’t the only threat. The news had reached his cave that Mexico sends killers and rapists to the United States. Very sad! He told the arena people he would protect them by building a wall, and they cheered. It’s going to be great, okay? Then Trumplodyte told the people Mexico will pay for the wall. The arena people went out of their minds with joy.
Trumplodyte heard about African-Americans destroying their “inner cities.” Sad! Frivolous fact checkers noted that white people had gentrified the centers of our cities and the majority of African-Americans had moved to the suburbs. No matter. Trumplodyte would come to the rescue of those inner city African-Americans. Thus the arena people could tell themselves that supporting him didn’t make them racists. And they cheered.
Trumplodyte had never been to war, but he knew what it took: Captured soldiers are not war heroes, okay? The arena people cheered.
Trumplodyte loved the people so deeply that he wanted them to have the best healthcare. So he waved his wand and pronounced, “Obamacare, be gone!” He guaranteed a terrific replacement to follow. Details also to follow. It’s going to be great. You’re going to be so happy. The arena people cheered.
A private and modest man, Trumplodyte refused to disclose his tax returns. They would only make lesser people feel bad about their piddling financial worth. The arena people said, no problem. Tell us what we want to hear.
The arena people did know Trumplodyte was a successful businessman. After all, he’d done about as well with the money he inherited as he would have by shrewdly investing in index funds. Or maybe better, maybe worse. Trumplodyte’s modesty about his tax returns meant the people couldn’t know. His artful resort to six bankruptcies helped him along the way. Such a successful businessman was ideally qualified to take charge of the United States.
Trumplodyte was a star, such a star that he could kiss women he’d never met and “grab ‘em by the pussy.” Some thought it was in bad taste for him to say so. Some even said he was admitting to sexual assault. Trumplodyte said he wasn’t proud of it, but it was only locker-room banter. No big deal, okay? After all, he’d been married twice to women before they ceased to be useful to him and was now married to a third who wasn’t yet too old. And he’s so attracted to his daughter Ivanka’s body that if she weren’t his daughter, he might want to date her. So the arena people forgave him.
Everyone loves Trumplodyte. Anyone who doesn’t just doesn’t know him, okay? So he showed the arena people who he really was by mimicking a disabled reporter, belittling the mourning parents of a soldier killed in action, ridiculing the face of the one woman in the Republican primary field, and denigrating a Venezuelan Miss Universe winner as “Miss Piggy” and “Miss Housekeeping.”
The arena people saw who he was and elected him to office with, well, 47% of the vote. But he lost the popular vote by only 2.86 million to Crooked Hillary.
The election over, Trumplodyte was magnanimous in victory. He made a tax-deductible $25,000,000 payment to reimburse the thousands he’d defrauded through Trumplodyte University.
Then, flanked by the hired gun known as a lawyer and a stack of manila folders no one was allowed to touch, Trumplodyte held a press conference to tell the world he was eliminating conflicts of interest by signing control of his companies over to his two oldest sons. Fortunately for the nation, Trumplodyte doesn’t get along with his sons and never speaks to them.
At his inauguration, Trumplodyte saw a crowd that, like Jesus’s loaves and fishes, kept growing and growing in his mind until it was even bigger than the crowd at the Kenyan’s first Washington inauguration. The lying media said he was wrong. Sad!
Stephen Bannon, beloved by the Ku Klux Klan and the American Nazi Party, had such a way with words that Trumplodyte had him write his speech. Delivering the speech, Trumplodyte transported his audience to a place of American carnage. The arena people cheered as the rain fell. Afterwards, Trumplodyte declared the rain had stopped just before he began to speak.
Then Trumplodyte stood before the CIA’s Memorial Wall of officers who died in service and told those who were present how unfairly the press was treating him. People who didn’t know Trumplodyte called it bad taste. The arena crowd wondered how dare those lying media treat our hero so badly.
Trumplodyte denounced the swamp of cronyism that is Washington. Now the people would become the “rulers of the nation.” And so he appointed to his cabinet the finest minds, collectively the highest IQ of any cabinet in history, the ones who knew how to make billions. If anyone was eager to fight for the people, it would be Goldman Sachs.
At last ensconced at White House Inc., Trumplodyte set his priorities. Number one was fixing the dishonest media once and for all. He told the people about the crowds he saw at his inauguration. When the media persisted in reporting the facts, he got his press secretary to berate them and, to comfort the arena people, trot out alternative facts.
Next on the agenda? Mexico’s president was about to visit the great negotiator at White House Inc. Trumplodyte renewed his promise to the arena people that he would build a wall against Mexico and that Mexico would pay for it. The Mexican president said, I don’t think so, and canceled the visit. Trumplodyte said okay.
Then, on a Friday evening, after everyone had gone home for the weekend, Trumplodyte issued a decree barring travel from seven Muslim-majority countries. The people sent back to where they belonged were cancer patients, children, members of families in the U.S., and other equally “bad dudes,” as Trumplodyte triumphantly tweeted. The Kenyan had required anyone visiting those seven countries to obtain a visa before entering the U.S, but they didn’t face a blanket ban. Too bad that the people flying in that night did have visas. Too bad for them.
The dishonest media annoyed besieged Trumplodyte by pointing out that Saudis had made up the majority of the 9/11 hijackers. But Trumplodyte’s business interests in that Islamic country had nothing to do with its exclusion from the list, okay?
Adding insult to injury, the Acting Attorney General betrayed Trumplodyte’s Justice Department by refusing to defend this U.S. Constitution Establishment Clause-violating decree. In unison with the arena people, Trumplodyte bellowed those inspiring words from his The Apprentice: “You’re fired.”
Figuring he’d better distract attention somewhere else, Trumplodyte thought he’d rattle European, Asian and Australian allies, while rattling America’s saber at Iran. China said thank you, we’ll fill the void.
America first, okay, Trumplodyte told the arena people. America, first and only, all by itself. Just what Charles Lindberg told his own arena crowd all the way back in 1941.
Mastermind of Russia’s cyber meddling in the U.S. election, Vladimir Putin thought how pleasing it was that Trumplodyte and he were so cozy together.
Putin knows Trumplodyte guards many secrets. Everyone who inherits a fortune has skeletons in the closet, okay? One of them is Trumplodyte’s real name. Putin has his number, gbut no one else does. Hopefully.
While telling the arena people, “Islam hates us,” Trumplodyte sings to himself, nobody knows my name. They’ll never guess my name. If they ever learn my name, I’ll be undone. Who could possibly guess that Trumpelstiltskin is my name?
But do I even know my name? Could Stephen Bannon be my name?
It doesn’t matter. The arena people are cheering.
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