At This Point in the Movie, Trump Should Either Be Arrested or a Fugitive
Neither has happened and this movie sucks
I have neither the skill nor will to pretend I know exactly what brand of ‘simple is as simple does,’ Forever 21 at a suburban mall brand of underwhelming activities people like yourself engage in during your off time. That is, whenever your job or the kids you and your wife didn’t exactly plan for but, fuck it, you already paid for their braces, aren’t slowly murdering your hopes and dreams. Kind of like OJ, but instead of brutally killing philandering white women, they kill your potential for happiness.
Welp, anyways, I tend to enjoy movies.
And, surprisingly, not just movies that feature people performing acts that are guaranteed to give at least one of the participants lockjaw as well as a mean friction burn on the knees. Actual movies that feature dialogue, plot, inexplicably dancing minorities, etc. I eat that shit up like chopped hot dogs in mac and cheese but, by far, my favorite genre of movies has to be crime. Especially crime films in which you can deduce, to the exact moment, when the long arm of the law unceremoniously inserts that arm firmly into the ne’er do well’s figurative (and, regrettably, sometimes literal) asshole.
I like crime films because it reinforces the notion that while one may briefly elude the consequences of their actions, karma will inexorably bring the weight of their decisions and character flaws unsympathetically onto their backs. It also gives me the quick, BuzzFeed listicle equivalent of hot to evade suspicion and outwit law enforcement agents in the most theatrical way possible. In that regard, I have two notes so far: 1: Speak in vague, obtuse riddles. 2: Be white. Aside from my own musings about the genre, I appreciate how it bolsters the concept of justice and the delineation of what is right and what is corrupt. Which is a funny word….
Cause Donny Trump is corrupt as fuck.
Corrupt like Boris and Natasha in charge of a moose and squirrel nature reserve.
Corrupt like Bing would be if it ever found itself holding a 40oz Big Gulp while standing next to the entirety of Google’s servers.
Corrupt like your hard drive would be if you ever downloaded that Transylvanian foot fetish porn that pops up whenever you open your cart on Wayfair.com.
You get the point.
I guess what I’m trying to do is articulate my confusion as to why Trump hasn’t been Dillinger’ed in the last testicle he has that wasn’t taken by the Pimento Cancer I’ve been told he’s been battling since 1978. In fact, I can’t fathom a reason why he even got so far as to put his undercooked Papa Johns pizza of an ass in the actual Oval Office chair before he was abruptly put in cuffs and escorted out of the White House. At this point, as with most films depicting felonious fuck ups in the middle of a criminal enterprise, he has to be expecting it. You can’t be the principal actor in 2017’s A Serious of Treasonous Events and not expect the hammer (and/or sickle)to fall with the combined might of the United States’ Judicial System and some seriously nettled constituents. In case you’ve conveniently forgotten some of his more brazen exploits, allow me to list them with an undertone completely devoid of any and all irony:
News that both former acting United States Attorney General Sally Yates and even Lando Calrissian himself, Barack Obama, personally warned Trump of how Micael Flynn may be compromised yet Trump opted to wait an inappropriate and suspicious amount of time before taking action.
The crude method in which FBI Director James Comey was fired. Especially considering the timing that had Comey leading an investigation into Trump and possible collusion with Russian officials during the 2016 Presidential Election.
Under what circumstances can we fast forward to the moment where a law enforcement agent is on the other side of the Applebee’s men’s bathroom stall that Trump has barricaded himself in, trying to negotiate the terms under which Donald would be willing to surrender himself? With words that are barely intelligible between tears and, of course, a mouthful of Cedar Grilled Lemon Chicken (limited availability at participating locations only), he confesses to the agent that while he isn’t exactly sorry for the smorgasbord of fuckshit he’s responsible for, he is sorry that America now has a less than pristine image of its golden-faced (showered?) demagogue.
Then he drowns himself in a toilet filled with exactly what you would expect an Applebee’s toilet to be filled with. (i.e. fecal matter and failed expectations.)
Originally published at fukette.com.