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Sunday, April 30, 2017

Take Your Fast Car Donald, And Keep On Drivin'

President Trump, who recently bemoaned his inability to just jump into a car and drive somewhere opted to spend last Saturday night not at the White House Correspondent’s Dinner where he'd be the guest of honor, but at a rally honoring him and his presidential accomplishments. If he'd been there, it would likely have made for a very short and unappetizing event anyway.

Trump's thin skin would never allow for such tomfoolery, even though he'd been a regular fixture at the Correspondent's Dinner, so long as he wasn't the one being roasted.

But, alas, in keeping with that silly old First Amendment, I will put in my two cents and roast him in absentia here.

While Trump believes that any time spent not deifying him is wasted time, I was mildly surprised to learn of his unhappiness at being chauffeured around everywhere like a celebrity.

How is it possible he ever traveled any other way? Behind tinted windows where (gasp!) no one can see him, pushing buttons and turning a big steering wheel thingy?

Nah. I'd be just as likely to believe he flew his own helicopter and his own airliners, too. Given that he's at an age when a man's memory, like his urethra, can sometimes fail him, maybe he's just confusing a car with a golf ball. He can drive them one of those, but only be out in the open for the world to admire with one of them. And it's likely one time he can answer "Yes, I do" when one of his threesome asks "Have you got any balls?"

Regardless,Trump's trademark conflict in thought - his real brand - brought to mind the opening lines of Tracy Chapman's 1988 hit song Fast Car:

“You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere, maybe we'll make a deal, maybe together we can get somewhere…”

Yeah, maybe we'll get somewhere, but not likely together. It would take a fast car, indeed, to get away from the priceless deals Trump has made, though with whom, few people know, for not many Americans are fluent in Russian, too. Still, like moths to a flame, his constituents blindly adore him, despite the special agony only singed wings can bring. And if those human admirers/moths become too pesky, he can always take off the red hat and swat them, thereby Making America Great Again.

So where, exactly, would this misogynist, who mocks a disabled reporter and uses his presidential status for blatant personal gain and violent sexual gratification drive a fancy, fast car on a night when he's otherwise scheduled to be roasted by a fourth estate he's vilified since day one?

Perhaps a hotbed of support, or just a lukewarm bed with a pee stain if a hotbed's not available would do fine, and there's one such place where the people are still sound asleep, dreaming of a Great America. Pennsylvania! It's well within driving distance of DC, no less, so he'll be able to make it home in time to pat himself on the back watching Fox and Friends and to scream at the notoriously unfunny and filthy Stephen Colbert on the Late Show.

Only in a town like Harrisburg, PA could Trump find a rural farm expo center near a red city that, prior to his campaign victory he described as a rotten, hollowed out place which, now that he's president, is an economically successful town, as full of beautiful people as Syria is of beautiful babies.

So what if it's the kind of venue that aging rock stars and fading country music crooners play in the twilight of their careers, gasping and struggling for memories of past glory days, when they once topped the charts and played for adoring, sold-out crowds.

This was a sold-out crowd, all right, but the only sellout they could expect to see was in their own mirrors at home, and strutting around with an air of (bullcrap) righteous indignation on the stage.

Mr. Trump, you're living in a world where no one takes you seriously because you've never given us reason to think otherwise. It's the world where you gained the office of president of the United States just as you described Hillary - crookedly. With all due respect to Hillary Clinton, it takes one to know one. Lock him up! Lock him up! Though you can hardly believe it, things don't happen just because your sycophants in your former fiefdom do as you say, not as you do.

It's a world where you have to be reminded to put his hand over his heart during the national anthem by an immigrant- your wife- and, most important, a world where it's obvious to everyone who cares to see it that you only wanted to be president because you couldn't bear losing to a woman. How could you, given that her crotch would then be out of reach?

But president Trump is no headliner. Not Metallica, Rolling Stones, or Rush except in his own, distorted mind. Here, his constituents are seen as he panders to them and basks in his own, imagined glory. His self-proclaimed “record crowd” is plainly visible here. Well, maybe it's the first time an event has ever been held here, so even two people would constitute a "record crowd".

Another "Greatest Ever" Trump turnout. Really?

Though it'd be tough to prove, I'll go out on a limb and bet that many of these people were among the dozens-I mean thousands-lining the sidewalks on the “record crowd” of his Inauguration Day. It's the day that history will likely remember as the high point of Trump's presidency, for it's been all downhill ever since.

And, like those old, fading music stars headlining venues like the one near Harrisburg, Trump was playing his old hit parade, songs that'll forever be popular among this crowd. Old favorites, like “Lock her up!” and “It's Just Fake News, Fake News, Oh Yeah!” and, my favorite, “We're Gonna Build A Wall Tonight.”

Though you can't really see them in the photo, people were dancing in the aisles as they fondly recalled the good old days of Fall 2016, when they gleefully wallowed in the delusional promises made to them by their onstage hero. This, beneath twin banners loudly proclaiming: "Promises Made, Promises Kept".

Kind of makes me wonder what those promises actually were. Maybe something like "I promise you, Ivanka, you'll get your West Wing office and Chinese patents, and conflict of interest immunity. You can even stay up past bedtime and watch cable news with your daddy, if you want.”

Yes, promises kept, all right.

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