Trojan Trump: Merica Never Saw it Coming
The year 2020: coasting to the end of an accidental presidency, unreconstructed vacationing celebrity reality star Donald Trump turns on the anti-everything, believe-anything electorate. Back to his godless, immoral, secular jew york liberal roots. Finally betraying the godfearers and gunclingers with whom he never had anything in common. Just like we always knew he would.
He treacherously doublecrosses the Hillbilly Dipshit Caucus. Now a permanent congressional body following sweeping tea party victories in gerrymandered white trash districts. Unchecked and only made possible by the president’s lapdog supreme court appointees.
Once celebrated, now disgraced culture warrior VP Mike Pence flees into ignominy. As the rabid right’s worst nightmares start to come true. The unrepentant sinner president pays reparations, legalizes abortion and gay, makes deals like you never seen with Merica’s Mexican and Muslim enemies, and extends his teeny tiny fingers to wipe his goldplated ass with the sacred paper of our aging, now almost irrelevant constitution.
Acceding to one world government, he pries all remaining guns from the cold dead hands of 10,000 NRA patriots gunned down by black helicopters and the UN Army. Backwoods sharpshooters inundate the Secret Service with hate mail. The president’s erstwhile voters — mystified by the betrayal of family values at the hands of a Playboy cover — try to make good on ominous, now darkly ironic warnings about “Second Amendment people”.
As he shambles reprehensibly out of the Oval Office, NBC brings his flocks of faithful evangelical viewers and voters face-to-face with the shocking, unavoidable truth: it was all a coastal hoax designed to mock and humiliate Middle America, make a hideous caricature of the seedy family values underbelly, and erode dipshit moron voting power for good.
His election was a preposterous media experience, a great leap backward in thinkfluence. Ungrateful sheeple spited the prevailing wisdom, defied the experts, and turned out in droves to vote for a man they had despised within their own totally not racist lifetimes.
Until a few years back when he loudly proclaimed our first black president to be foreign born and ineligible for office. It was an absurd, yet cathartic and epochal, media experience. All the experts said he had no chance; then he won by a landslide.
Thus, did a man once derided by the baptized as the essence of our national excess and shame implausibly reemerge as their president. Haphazardly metastasizing into an ersatz version of one of those corny comeback stories so beloved by naive unquestioning innocents everywhere. Rehab. Recovery. Repentance. Redemption. Resurrection. Salvation!
Family values folks should have spent tragicomic campaign 2016 showering the sybarite candidate with hellfire and damnation. But instead reveled like pigs in shit amuck his gloatingly unchristian worldview. For god’s sake, he crawled so far into the gutter that he emerged on the Howard Stern show.
In America’s debut reality election, the philistine’s bewildering popularity with god’s chosen ones made no sense. Their end times worldview clearly stipulated such a demagogue to be a likelier candidate for antichrist than president, yet dipshit morons love him.
But he didn’t love them back. The thrice married, reality tv candidate was actually just some slick left coast studio exec’s cruel practical joke at the expense of our credulous heartland. It wasn’t even a real campaign. Former Candid Camera producers were just hard at work on what was anticipated to be NBC’s spring 2017 smash hit: Candid Candidate.
Trump’s inner circle certainly never expected him to win, and no one was more surprised or dismayed than the man himself when, as president, he was forced to renege on a fresh contract and postpone America’s newest favorite reality series to accommodate a totally unexpected four years in the White House!
Because the candidate never truly believed in the dying Nixon/Reagan-era old man values he so shamelessly peddled: nationalism, fundamentalism, racism. He was always resplendent in his vanquished foe’s glittery Clinton ones: sex, scandal, celebrity. The star remained the same: a dollar store checkout line tabloid cover abomination.
What changed was his target audience’s willingness to creatively reinterpret their own values in reckless pursuit of political agency. Long disdained by the rust and bible belts as a posterchild for worldliness, he stage-managed a convincing conversion story and sold the good folk of the Great Plains on a transparent lie that he’s just like them.
He was never like them
Disappointed by rapture delays, fearing they’d all been left behind, and being in the world but not of it, heedless hillbilly believers invoked a time-honored dipshit moron tradition: “If we can’t have it, no one will.”
Late, great planet Earth, indeed: Trump Pence 2016. Vast, unanticipated crowds of jabbering, hyperventilating, off the grid born again poured out the hills into voting booths to wipe Crooked Hillary off the electoral map.
Eagerly anticipating the bad trip, misanthrope fever dreams of Warrior Jesus holocausting the rest of us at Armageddon, brimstone believers’ ultraviolent, manic hatred and long-suspected hypocrisy were on full display. Basking in artless adoration of a man who’d been one of the preeminent moral outrages for two generations of culture wars.
Despite the new president’s numerous and prominent sinner bona fides from his life before birthers, televangelism viewers spent the past year nodding gravely at the boob tube in grim, hypocritical agreement with the man who makes retard jokes and has been accused of rape several times.
The silent and moral majorities’ fat jowls trembling indignantly at Ellen Degenerate and the lamestream media. Muttering darkly over tv dinners from the sofa that it’s been a long time comin’…
“Do unto others? Hell yes, do it! Gog, Magog, Megiddo, 666, Mark of the Beast, Whore of Babylon!” Lashing out at a brave new world they teach children to hate, Merica’s aging white evangelical jackasses will go neither gently nor gracefully into that good night. If they go, they’ll take us all with them. Unto oblivion in their apocalyptic fervor for something different, and anything but what we have.
And what we have is the world’s 16th highest standard of living. One to which many hopefuls aspire. Remember? We’re number one, or at least number 16. Love it or leave it. America’s already so great that everyone in the world wants to come here. These are old rightwing white guy talking points! Liberals are the ones who hate America.
The president’s campaign ploys were meticulously and unmistakably designed to match this cognitive dissonance. Patronizing stunts— like enlisting family values favorite Pence as VP and deputizing the Son of Falwell to evangelize family folk who should’ve known better — struck the deepest, darkest dipshit chords among Jesus freaks and jackasses. And they responded, propelling an unreconstructed sinner into the Oval Office.
Essentially, the pussy grabber and accused rapist was just an early pretender who caught the tea party idiot savant wave when it broke and rode gleefully all the way down some east coast highway from New York to Washington in a golden limousine. Fantasizing about fucking his own daughter. You know, just like millions of other good American godfearers.
Damning all demographics, he bet that billion dollar smile of his on the lowest common denominator of gullible, low-income, no-education, hillbilly voters. Manifesting and incarnating gliberals’ assumptive bias that: “Yes, indeed, all these rural flyover folks are idiots.”
The godbotherers and gunlovers never saw it coming: Trump’s trainwreck campaign and unexpected presidency had all just been footage for his latest blockbuster reality show. Ultimately weaponizing the crudest stereotypes of their primitive faith and ideology back against the dispirited yokels.
Trojan Trump: Candid Candidate. The first and worst of its kind: surreality tv.
Misbegotten. Warped. Hulking. Dripping. Oozing. Brooding. Lumpen. Menacing. Cyclopean.
A grim, ominous vision straight out of Dali, Ernst, or Hunter Thompson’s darkest fascistic, politicalyptic acid nightmare hallucinations.
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