Mr. Trump’s neighborhood: Weak One

destephens Uncategorized

On his first day in the neighborhood, the angry guy, rolled over in bed, grunted and groaned satisfaction for one more morning, wiped a lingering nightmare from his orange, puffy eyes and grabbed his cell phone. He punished 140-or-so keys with his little fingers, and tossed the device aside. Leaning over in pain, he pulled on his tiny dark slippers and matching tented robe, and working his way to the golden banister, slowly crashing his way down the spiral staircase.

Outside he went, where he grabbed the overflowing garbage pale. Huffing and puffing, he proceeded to drag it across his dead-green lawn. Finally he stopped, and wiping sweat from his furled brow, lifted the smelly can and dumped its contents all over his neighbor’s yard.

Watching in disbelief the neighbor hollered, “Hey! Hey! What-in-the-hell are you doing?!”

The angry guy put his tiny hands on his ample nuclear waist and just harrumphed. “I’ll tell what you what the hell YOU are doing. YOU just dumped this garbage all over your lawn and now YOU are going to have to pick it up.”

Satisfied he had just made good on some promise, the angry man, suddenly light in step, pirouetted and headed off to find a good dog to kick. Across the street the Russian neighbor behind the tree shot the robed menace a wink, and then went back to pulling the flowers out of his garden.

Meanwhile, the good neighbor, who had lived a life of decent things on this street for so many years, was now strewn in waste, and would spend the rest of the morning picking garbage and his jaw up off the lawn.

And so it went during Donald Trump’s first week in the White House. The promise-keeper was busy.

First he whined about crowd size, making it all too easy for folks like me to laugh at his condition.

He picked fights with China, Mexico and Europe, while at the same time saying lifting sanctions against Russia seemed a rosy idea.

He sent his Orcs, Spicer and Bannon, from their webbed chambers to batter the media with their binkies and rattles. Just for good measure he threw in himself and spit at the media, calling them “among the most dishonest human beings on earth.”

He sent his ultra-white secret weapon, Mike Pence, to greet the pro-life marchers who ascended on the neighborhood to reaffirm they loved the unborn while making sure there was 12 months of open season on the tots in the ‘lesser’ neighborhoods who could use a decent bite to eat, badly needed medicine, or a hug. Just a hug …

He made good on his promise to wreck the planet, turning his orange, bulging eyes on the EPA. They’d done enough harm keeping our air and drinking water clean. Time for our corporate citizens to stand up and tear down. The Keystone Pipeline was again alive with hopes of gooey sludge ripping through the roots of so many beautiful things atop.

He gleefully affirmed how much he loved torture — as if that needed any affirming.

Finally he got to all those refugees who are hiding out in dark places, presumably to go to war with our children, pollute our air, pick fights with our neighbors, sidle up to Commies, and beat the press …

Any notion that Trump was going to change from the bullying, narcissistic thug who burned through Trump Country last year, was quickly put to rest with the subtlety of a sledgehammer to pillows.

As if we needed reminding again, we got a bad taste of what the new neighborhood would look like.

Through it all, the Ryans and  McConnells looked on — butts clenched and smiles forcing their way though polished whites. Their useful idiot was making good on his promises, and in record time. But the damn Russian was winking again, and panic was spreading like wild fire through the countryside. How much longer would their neighborhoods be safe? When would they have to write the eviction notice?

Written By


Lived everywhere. Started in Africa, then to America, then to Europe, then ... back to America, which lately seems to pride itself in going back. Almost made it 30 years in print journalism, before it all went bad. Really? Don’t think things are bad, eh? Who’s your new president, pal? How did that happen? Because it all went bad.

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  1. This!! I cannot believe I just read anything about Trump and felt delight! Like…an all-out urge to cheer. If you keep writing, I may just live through the next four years with some remaining semblance of mental health. Hell I might even keep alive, an ember of hope and good humor. And I swear, before I read this, I wouldn’t have bet on either. Phew!!

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