Ahhh I Love the Smell of Karma in the Morning
So lovely this song now officially applies to Trump.
Oh Trump, if you had just stayed a private citizen you may have actually managed to die rich-ish. I mean, we all know you’ve been lying on your taxes for years, but you could have happily kept bilking people of their money, grabbing pussies, and being just a media sideshow that we all could have easily ignored, but no, you had to become President, of course now you’re “The Former Guy” and it’s not as easy to just sue your way out of problems these days.
You’ve had a rough year, haven’t you? I mean, losing over 60 lawsuits regarding “election fraud”, New York and Georgia AGs doggedly pursuing your every step, your multiple attempts at creating your “non censored” social media platforms crashing and burning, the turnouts at your rallies decreasing and making you look like the burned out, lying, pathetic “reality star” that you are, the FBI executing a warrant at your precious inner sanctum of Mar A Lago, DC court ruling that the Ways and Means Committee can look at your taxes and even your real estate appraiser being forced to hand over 36000 documents to the NY AG.
It’s tough when all the illusions that you created about yourself finally come crashing down when you’ve become such a parody of yourself that you’re slowly becoming isolated in your own personal hell of failed dreams, narcissism, and delusions.
You can feel it, can’t you, the walls closing in; the revulsion in people’s eyes when they look at you, your loving MAGATs slowly falling away, leaving you behind as they sense the world you created for them was all about you, and never about them. Your own children have abandoned you, testifying against you, even after years of them playing against each other for your “affection”, such as it was.
Ivanka, your golden girl, your protege, has learned your lessons well. She senses weakness and she’s going to use it to destroy you, she’s not about to let your failures drag her down. She made her own plans in the few years she had power in DC, she’s smarter, prettier, and plays the game better than you ever did.
I suspect soon we shall see her make some comment such as “My father? Oh, we’re hardly speaking these days. He never confided in me, really. We weren’t that close.” As she and Jared continue to distance themselves from you, just as you’ve always done to people who had become a liability for you.
Your desperation is evident, that reek of fear (and shit apparently, change your diaper, please), wafts through the air as you move through your gold-plated rooms which have grown stale, out of date, covered in dust, and empty of life. Just like you.
The parties are over, no one responds to your calls or invites, and they avoid you in public places, only courting your attention for themselves, taking advantage of your rapidly decreasing social currency.
You have become the epitome of everything you screamed you hated. You’re fake, sad, a loser, weak, childish, you’ve always been, truly; but now everyone knows it.
You are your own worst nightmare, but you’ll never wake up from it.
You will spend the rest of your days being a has-been, the fame and adulation you’re so dependent on fading away, leaving you a small, pathetic, whinging thing, an object of ridicule, nothing more.
And your screams of outrage will fall into the void of indifference.
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