A PRESIDENTIAL CURSE.
King Erysichthon of Thessaly, suffering from a severe saturation of pride, decided to fell a sacred Oak tree that belonged to the God Demeter. All in aid of a well fertilised desire to flaunt his manhood.
He had to level the tree by himself because his servants refused to obey his orders. They knew Greek Gods were severely allergic to compassion and while they recognised Kings could be cruel, Greek God cruelty was top notch stuff.
I mean, Zeus was raised in exile as his dear father Cronus had this peculiar habit of swallowing his children whole. As soon as his wife (who also happened to be his sister) gave birth to their child, there he was, olive oil and feta in hand.
“Keeping up with the Cronuses” would have been spectacular.
Demeter, who’d just been disrespected in these Olympic streets, sent Limos, the spirit of unrelenting hunger to settle into the King’s stomach and this steeped hunger consumed everything around him including himself.
What does all this have to do with Donald Trump?
Well. If we consider King Donald’s God given ability to seem a loser while at the apex of American society, then the question would be.. Which God did he royally piss off? And whom did this God send to bestow loserdom upon Trump?
Don’t believe it? Then ask yourself. How one can consistently achieve the opposite of what they want but believe they’ve succeeded anyway? Sounds awfully cursy to me.
Consider this. Trump fired off this now infamous “looting and shooting” tweet. He conceptualised that would be enough of a threat to the protesters and excite his supporters.
Instead People got mad. “Shit.”
Trump then flew to Fort where they launch stuff, as this was the first time astronauts had flown from American soil since the last time they did it.
“The world will watch me wave off a rocket. Good”
Nope.
Protests continued all over the country. Plus with the current pandemic, general suffering and death, people weren’t in a celebratory mood.
He gets back, there’s riots in DC, cause of his dumb tweet. Now they’re outside the White House, oh shit, “the Liberals are close!” General panic and a few diet cokes later he’s in a bunker, quaking, no lights outside.
“Bunker boy” trends. “Goddammit!”
His mind’s eye sees Obama, filled with laughter, messaging Pelosi. Both of them laughing, creating a whatsapp group.
The Chief Gammon is infused with rage. He’s about to boil over. His chefs, careful not to let him overcook, remind him they can make him look tough, subtly adding a dollop of pride which simmers the gammon down to a bubble of thought.
“ Think Donald, think…” “ I know.”
We’ll napalm some priests with tear gas as we walk past their writhing bodies
Then we’ll Pass a wall festooned with Fuck Trump graffiti.
Finally, we’ll have a photo op grasping an upside down Bible. That’ll definitely show them.
Quite a car crash of a sequence, but he’ll never know because he believes this whole omni-shambles went rather well.
I for one lay the blame squarely at the steps of Koalemos door.
