Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 1 Redux – The Loneliest White House

Quick Overview of the Blog Series if You’re New to TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM
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That’s my love Elizabeth and Fellow Voice Actor in the Coolest Meditation Ever Antarctica penguin hat.
Old time radio audio added 2021 to rewritten April 2020 post . Hence Chapter 1 Redux. Pro-tip: More enjoyable if you read along with the audio.

To think I had put all my Trump fears, built up over decades of seeing his antics in the media aside to meditate in DC, along with my love Elizabeth, in 2017 for the best possible presidency… Yeesh!

Welp, it was a short honeymoon because Trump was already steamrolling over the Standing Rock tribe by green-lighting the Dakota Access Pipeline, even before Elizabeth and I headed back to Sedona.

And so, my Trump bias fully disclosed, I proudly present my parody… drum roll please…

Chapter One – THE LONELIEST WHITE HOUSE

Meanwhile, one timeline away…

A shabby shadow of his former self, President Trump aimlessly roams an abandoned hallway in the White House, now an empty ghost town. The leader of the free world, his bizarre mop of hair even more of a mess than usual, shuffles to an abrupt stop before an oil painting of JKF and vents loudly, “You had it easy, Jacko. The Cuban Missile Crisis was Jack shit compared to being a conservative running this liberal leaning country during a fucking pandemic!”

A Mexican cleaning woman wearing a surgeon’s mask leans her head out of a conference room and quickly ducks back inside again. She takes a small cross on a chain from her blouse, kisses it and prays, “Jesus, protect us from the Anti-Christ.”

After glaring at JFK’s glorious image for an inordinate amount of time, Trump flips off the Kennedy painting and slumps away, a rumpled embodiment of depression.

A short time later — by the light of FOX NEWS playing Sean Hannity, broadcasting from his elegant home — Trump wolfs down half a Big Mac in three bites. He glibly washes down the Mickey D with a long noisy straw dipped into an idiotically large plastic cup of Diet Coke.

Sean Hannity seems to speak directly to Trump from the big TV screen,”Hey Bud. Don’t listen to the commie loving liberals. You closed all travel from China the day you learned about the Chinese Virus, all way back in January. Your bold action was swift, decisive and all-American! If Pelosi and her corrupt Democrat Congress had not distracted you with their hoax impeachment we would never have lost so many precious Americans!”

“Hell yeah!” cheers Trump so loud it sends him into a coughing fit. Between coughs he desperately gasps for air. Trump finally regains control of his coughing. He wipes sweat from his brow with a monogrammed DJT hanky, smeared with orange tan makeup. “Shit. Gotta get tested again. Nah. Probably just a budding ulcer this bullshit’s giving me. Fuck this. I give ulcers, not get them! I’m fine. I’m fine. “

A short time later Trump brushes his teeth before the presidential bathroom mirror. Done, he grins smugly at his reflection, “Lookin’ good, Donnie.”

The Donald in the mirror dryly answers back, “Like hell, loser.”

Trump drops his electric toothbrush clattering to the marble floor and leans to the mirror. He makes strange faces at himself, mimicked perfectly by his reflection. “Seein’ things. Must be one those Covid hallucinations that fucker Fauci warned me about, or was it my fuck son-in-law Jared?”

“Jared’s a filet mignon meathead,” says Trump’s perturbed reflection.

“Who the hell’s doin’ this shit? Gotta be a TV monitor behind the mirror doin’ some kind of deep fake!” growls Trump at his smirking reflection.

“Never thought you had a conscience, eh asshole?” says mirror Trump.

“Screw you. The FBI will figure this out for me and nail your sneaky liberal ass!”

“Right. The FBI loves your fat ass. Don’t they?” laughs mirror Trump.

Nervous as an orange tabby facing down a German Shepard, Trump rushes to turn off the light switch.

Mirror Trump quips, “See you in your dreams, killer.”

Trump scurries out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He picks up a phone.  “Danny. — Shut up and listen. I wanna sweep done of my can. Someone’s hijacked my mirror.” Trump listens for a beat. “I don’t need a doctor. I need you to do what I fucking tell you!” Trump slams the phone down and angrily begins to tear his grungy outfit off.

Later, still shaken by his dark vision, Trump jams his chubby legs into his too tight red silk pajama bottoms.

A Black male servant, Robert Tulsa, sporting an elegant, if there can be such a thing, surgical mask, pokes his roguishly handsome head through the presidential bedroom door and says, “Will there be anything else, Mr. President?”

“Nope. Those two Big Macs and fries will tide me over nicely.” Trumps says, punctuating his sentence with a, “Burp.”

“Night then, Mr. President,” says Robert doing his best to hide a shudder of revulsion.

Trump’s fluffs his pillow without acknowledging the kindly servant. Robert leaves Trump to his own rantings, gently closing the big paneled door.

“Robert?!” shouts Trump, loud enough to be heard through the soundproof door.

Robert peers his head back inside the door inquisitively.

“Come in, Robert. I need some, uh, advice,” says Trump, with a pinch of boyish charm.

Robert apprehensively takes the gold-framed chair Trump offers by the crackling fireplace. He tilts his head to the side to avoid Trump’s mask-free breath. The gorgeous smell of the roaring fireplace fills Robert’s nostrils. His big brown eyes close in bliss for just a moment, and then he hides his feelings, straightening his butler jacket’s red vest.

Ever the salesman, Trump notices Robert’s blissful sniff and brags, “Tonight’s fire is genuine redwood from California’s National Redwood Forest. Gift from the lumber industry. Chopped me up 10 cords. Great guys those lumberjacks. They will sweep the forest floor.  Biggest forestry contract ever!”

“You never fail to amaze me, sir,” offers Robert politically.

“Robert, here’s what I wanted to fireside chat with you about: Today that smug fuck Jake Tapper said everyone on my White House personal staff hates me. This despite of the extra I pay I slip all of you huge bonuses under the table, 100% tax free I might add,” says Trump.

“Well, we don’t always sees things eye to eye, Mister President,” says Robert, breaking into a warm reassuring and absolutely genuine smile you can see only in his eyes above the mask. “But ya know I love the fact you say exactly what’s on your mind!”

Without returning Robert’s kindness, Trump says, “Robert, how’s it make you feel when someone calls you a nigger?”

“Why, uh, terrible. The worst sir.” says Robert, pain written on his angelic face.

“Well, that’s how I feel tonight, terrible in the nigger worst way,” says Trump dropping his head into his hands.

“About that N word, sir. I wish — “

“Pence wants me killed.” whispers Trump, cutting Robert’s complaint off. “Keep your voice down, Pence might have this bedroom bugged.”

“Mr. Boy Scout? What makes you think that, sir?” asks Robert respectfully.

“Mike’s pissed I made him the fall guy for the ventilator shortage and not Jared. But Jared’s is my son-in-law goddammit. Family comes first!” says Trump staring into the fireplace flames as if looking for answers.

“Amen to that. But relax, Vice Prez Pence wouldn’t hurt a fly. Let alone you, sir,” says Robert reassuringly.

“It’s the quiet ones you gotta worry about, Robert. Pence wants me out of the way. He wants me dead so he can pin all the blame on all the Americans stacking up bodies in mass fucking graves!” bellows Trump. “Robert, you’re the only guy I trust. Starting tomorrow I need you to make my McDonald’s runs personally.”

“Happy to but why, sir?”

“Poisoning. That’s how the sneaky boy scout is gonna bump me off. Or try to. Will you do this for me, Robert. Can I count on you, broheim? Did I say that right?  Am I hip?”

“The hippest, sir. Now, if you don’t mind –” Robert notices a trickle of sweat leaving a traces of white skin at Trump temple. “May I, sir?”

“May you what?”

“Take your temperature,” says Robert pulling out a thermometer from his jacket.

“I’m fine. Just stress. No fever,’ says Trump unconvincingly.

“Well, I am gonna get the White House doctor on the phone just in case,” says Robert picking  up the red phone. “Odd. Phone’s dead. Lemme get you into bed and I –“

” I AM FUCKING FINE!” roars Trump in defiance, going into a coughing fit.

“Hang on, Mr. President! I’ll be right back!” Robert races out of the bedroom.

“Why is no one fucking listening to me?! I am fit as a fucking — “Trump falls like a tower of fast food to the plush carpet. The room dissolves into the form of a giant butterfly, floating amidst a galaxy of stars.

Trump hollers in fear, awakening astride said giant butterfly that says, “Welcome aboard, Sir. There’s something important I, like, totally want you to see.” 

Trump hollers again, shocked to be buck naked,”Mommy!”

The Butterfly banks over a mass grave on Hart Island. Workers in hazmat suits shovel dirt onto cheap wooden coffins. “Sir, millions will die unless you lead by example. Wear a mask,” says the cosmic butterfly.

“Masks are for pussies. And you’re nothing but a God damn nightmare bug!” shouts Trump.

“I am the butterfly of truth. No wonder you hate me.” the butterfly says as it flies over the mass graves.

“Shit happens. Take me back to the White House!”

“Stop lying. Start masking. Now, loser!” the butterfly calmly says and it dive bombs for Washington DC. It banks upside down and dumps the naked Trump on the White House lawn. Trump tumbles to screaming halt in the thorny bushes of the Rose Garden.

A flashlight sets the spectacle that is naked Donald Trump aglow. Dressed in a bright yellow hospital gown, Robert, now sporting a goatee, tosses aside a cigarette and shouts, “Who goes there?”

“The President!” shouts Trump, hiding in the rose bushes.

“No dice. President Schwarzenegger has an accent?” says Robert with a puzzled squint as pulls on his surgical mask.

“President who?!” shouts Trump.

“Wait, what the, that you Donald?”

“Donald?!  Shut it and get me some clothes, Robert,” says the shivering Trump.

“But you’ve been missing 2 years now, um, Mister former President Trump!” says Robert in shock. “Where you been?”

Trump’s orange face goes as white as his ample ass.

END CHAPTER ONE

As always my handy disclaimer that this story is of course a work of pure fiction about an alternate universe. It is in no way a true reflection of the kind and compassionate real-life Donald J Trump, and his charming GOP enablers or for that matter the supposed good guys in this dark comedic tale.

Make a donation to help me keep bringing you more chapters and more old style radio show audio. Thanks.

Donate for the Coolest in stories and meditation.

Click TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM in the menu bar top of the page to read all the chapters.

Coming attractions. Twelve tormentingly funny chapters here. 8 with audio.

Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 12 – Smoke & Mirrors

Old Style Radio Show Audio

How you holding up on this Trump fever dream in this reality? Here in the real world, at least to us, it’s Memorial Day weekend and the GOP has fallen so low that its main spokespeople are the disgraced Congressman Matt Gaetz and Q-Anon Barbie, as MSNBC’s Joy Reid correctly dubbed her. The GOP has voted against a January 6th commission even after fallen Capitol police office Brian Sicknick’s bereaved mother pleaded with the few Republicans who would even hear her cry for justice.

Democrat traitors Joe Manchin and Kirsten Sinema have dashed hopes to end the.. I could go on ad nausem. Suffice to say, we are sadly not far off on my fictional story here. A story I began in April 2020 that, among other strange parallels, correctly predicted that Trump would catch the Covid virus. This dark tale has taken over my peaceful mediation blog like Trump’s dark energy has taken over so much of America. But I go on in the hopes this can act as cautionary tale of what could happen if Trump regains the reins of power.

We now join the alternate Trump universe…

Chapter 12 – Smoke & Mirrors

Meanwhile one timeline away… when we last visited the alternate Trump universe,Trump’s harebrained insurrection succeeded in a wonky as hell overthrow of the rightful US government.

A gruesome house to house battle, dubbed The Blue Civil War, erupted to put the rightful President, Joe Biden, into the Oval office. And has so far cost 404,626 American lives, on top of the 3 million death count in the Covid that’s gone of control in the civil war.

Smoke billows on the White House lawn. Robert tosses Trump aboard Marine One and turns to give an insulate bow to the pissed off swat team.

“Fuck!” shouts the swat team leader who watches helplessly along with dozens of white soldiers as the chopper lifts off into the DC night sky… and EXPLODES!

Sirens blare as the fiery twisted wreckage Marine One crashes into the Washington Monument.

Meanwhile, 200 feet below the surface of Lake Michigan, amidst the floating bodies of the dead strategic bomber crew, a 24 hour countdown clocks lights up on the North Korean nuke.

Stars wheel over Lake Michigan. Sunrise shifts red to orange, making Trump more orange than usual. Water dowses Trump. He snaps to consciousness gasping for air and squints open his bloodshot eyes.

Robert tightens the ropes that bind the disheveled Trump to a tattered baby blue vinyl stacking chair. Robert stands before the dirt streaked picture window of the South Shore Yacht Club. He says, “Morning, Mr. Fake President.”

“Fuck you, Black Judas. This sure as hell ain’t heaven. So where the fuck am I?” says Trump, trying to sound tough while almost pissing his pants at the sight of three dozen heavily armed African American troopers surrounding him in the center of the fire damaged yacht club.

“About 30 miles east of the North Korean nuke, on the coast of the state you lost by 20,600 votes.”

“Wisconsin?”

“Agh!” says Robert imitating a game show buzzer. “Congratulations, SIR. You just admitted you lost Wisconsin on YouTube live to 80 million viewers!”

Everyone laughs, except the scowling Trump. One of soldiers waves his cell phone Camera at Trump, flashing the V for victory hand signal to the audience for an on camera moment.

“Last thing I remember was you tossing me into Marine One. And then — How’d you get me here?” demands Trump.

“Smoke and mirrors. Or, said another way none of your God Damn business, you ugly racist fucker,” growls Robert.

Playing good cop, Michelle Obama calmly takes a stacking chair. She faces the wet and rattled Trump to the excited mutterings of the troops. Michelle serenely says, “Donald, shame on you for calling tactical nuke strike on Kenosha.”

“You mean Geroge Floydland. That’s what you jungle bunnies renamed Kenosha,” says Trump, getting his racist freak on. “And I would never call a nuclear strike against the American people. That’s bullshit!”

“Play the video,” says Michelle, unable to hide the disgust in her face.

Video plays on on large screen television of Trump in the Oval office.

“My fellow, Trumptopians, in this vicious sneak attack, Blue forces led by the evil Barack Obama, murdered my… my brave boy Don Jr. in cold blood. This is personal now! Therefore, Obama the puppet master, and his puppet Biden, have left me no choice but to order, herewith, a tactical nuclear strike on George Floydland, formerly known as Kenosha Wisconsin,” says Trump on TV before his image freezes

“Ha! The problem with you communist ANTIFAs is you can’t tell a good deep fake video from the real thing. I’d never call in a nuclear strike on American soil, even in a traitorous Blue state,” says Trump.

The Black soldiers all boo. “Play nice, Donald. A lot of Barrack’s troops want to hang you from that yard arm right there, ” says Michelle pointing to a docked sail boat.

After the troops yelling calms Trump says. with a shit eating grin, “I’ll be 75 next month. Led an amazing life. The best life. You wanna make me a martyr for the Right? Go ahead.”

“Huh. Don’t you need a soul to be a martyr, Donald?” wisecracks Robert. The troops chuckle.

“Let’s cut to the chase. Our intelligence, from one of your loyal leakers, says you have the codes to disarm Kim’s nuke set to go off… ” Michelle checks her watch,”… in about 10 hours.”

“Suck my dick, you black bitch,” says Trump defiantly. One of the soldiers lunges for Trump and Robert shoves him back in line.

“I don’t do mushrooms. Give me the abort code right now and you walk.” says Michelle calmly to the laughs of the Robert and the troops.

“I’d rather die in the nuclear tsunami and take all of you fuckers with me,” bluffs Trump.

“So you acknowledge there is a bomb. That’s a start,” smiles Michelle victoriously to the applause of the troops.

Trump scowls as says, ever the fast one on his feet conman, “Of course. But I didn’t put the nuke there!”

“Well, if you didn’t put the nuke down there who did, Donald?” says Michelle calmly.

Robert pipes up, “Save it, Madame Former First Lady. I already know what this orange motherfucker’s gonna say anyway.”

“Oh?” say Trump and Michelle in embarrassed unison.

“Madame –” says Robert.

“Michelle.” says Michelle.

“Michelle, this lying sack shit’s gonna say Barrack put the ticking nuke at the bottom of Lake Michigan,” says Robert.

“Black Bingo!” laughs Trump

“And why exactly would my love want to send a 200 foot tall radioactive tsunami to hit Milwaukee? Our strongest base in the Midwest?”

‘Because the death of 1 million Milwaukeeans from would turn public sentiment against me!” gloats Trump.

“Donald, Donald, Donald. I think we learned years ago, under your illicit Russian-backed presidency, that there’s pretty much nothing you can do, including mass murder — like you did with your malicious and incompetent as hell handling of Covid, killing three million Americans and counting — that will ever turn your cult against you,” says Michelle to the sad mutterings of the Obama troops.

“I love all Americans. Even those in the deluded Blue states, says Trump turning on the charm to the boos of the troops. “Why I’ve done more for Black people than any president in history. Maybe ever including Lincoln!”

Robert backhands Trump mid-sentence, “Save it, Trump,” barks Robert. “We want the nuke abort code from your pen pal KIm Jung Fucking Un and we want it now!”

“You already have the codes because your Black despot dropped the nuke.” says Trump cockily.

A young female Black soldier takes aim at Trump’s head, “I can’t take his bullshit! Gotta waste this fat fuck!”

Robert stands between the soldier on Donald and says, “Put down the gun, kid.”

“Move aside, Colonel! Or I I swear to God I’ll shoot you to kill Cheetoh Jesus!”

“Colonel?” laughs Trump.

Robert ignores Trump and walks up the the soldier’s rifle muzzle. Robert lays his hand on AR-15 and pushes it down to point at the filthy blue carpet.

“Dummies. I’ll be rescued long before that nuke you planted ever goes off,” gushes Trump.

“You won’t be here that long, you dumb as fuck motherfucker,” says Robert pistol whips Trump, knocking him out cold.

A big sail boat glides from the Milwaukee shoreline, quickly vanishing in the distance, Trump squirms as a hangman’s noose is placed around his fat neck by Robert. “Give us the abort code and save your fat ass, Donnie,” whispers Robert.

“Ha! You’re bluffing! I know you, Robert! You’re bluffing!” shouts Trump.

“This is not one of our poker games I let you cheat at, Donald” says Robert.

“Ingrate. After all I did for you.”

“Ha. You never did a damn thing for me that wasn’t meant to help yourself, you pathetic loser. I am gonna enjoy watching the life choke out of you the way you let the life choke out of so many, including my grandma, Dr. Covid.”

“The codes and we sail you to a safe harbor, Mr. Former President,”says Michelle calm and cool as ever.

“Ha. You think you’re safe from my my fly boys out here, woman? Any second a Black Hawk’s going to come over the horizon and save me from you fools,” says Trump.

“Wong answer, Bozo. Ma’am let’s get this over with.” says Robert hitting Trump to the applause of the troops.

“Any last words, you orange devil?” says Michelle sadly.

“I won. Then election was a total fraud, like you, you Black cunt,”Trump growls.

Michelle shakes her head sadly and walks below deck.

“That’s it?! That all you got, you worthless Nigger?!” bellows Trump.

Robert kicks Trump off the sailboat. Trump swings from the yard arm choking before the cheering Troops. He chokes the words, “Just my fever dream. I’ll be ok…”

Trump passes out.

TO BE CONTINUED IN TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM – CHAPTER 13

As always my handy disclaimer that this story is of course a work of pure fiction about an alternate universe. It is in no way a true reflection of the kind and compassionate real-life Donald J Trump, and his charming GOP enablers or for that matter the supposed good guys in this dark comedic tale.

A big thanks to my wife Elizabeth England who played the Cosmic butterfly in earlier episoded and who takes on the important of Michelle Obama, for a fellow white person. Sorry we’re just doing scratch audio here. I will at some point, hopefully, get some great Black actors to replace us.

Make a donation to help me keep bring you more chapters and add audio. Thanks.

Donate for the Coolest in stories and meditation.

Click the TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM in the menu bar above to read all the chapters.

Overview: Trump’s Fever Dream

This is the chilling story of an alternate Trump reality where, after catching the Covid-19 virus, Trump enters a fever dream that includes us all on an alternate timeline. A work in progress.

Normally, I’d not share a story with fans while it’s still in development. But then again — the past 14 months of Covid and the insanity we are witnessing from the GOP going all-in on reinstalling Trump as ostensibly our new King, four months post insurrection — has caused me to feel extremely mortal.

My work is a long way from being a movie, or even coherent at this point. But what fever dream is? Just for kicks, here’s a very preliminary trailer, made from a stock Apple template, to give you an early as fuck sneak peak at my vision of Trumpian reality, even more terrifying and darkly comedic than our own, occurring Meanwhile, one timeline away…

As bleak as things look in May of 2021, when I am writing this overview, where the Big Lie continues to fester like a wound that just won’t heal, it’s my fondest belief that one day we’ll all look back on this chapter of our collective misery and share some laughs, along with tears of relief, that we awoke to a better tomorrow.

I first began writing this, as I like to call it, Ultimate Cautionary Tale, as therapy before we knew Trump would lose the presidency. Today, I write to demonstrate why we must never let Trump back in power and why the GOP must be voted out of office all the way down to city dog catcher.

Before you get started, my handy disclaimer that TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM, where Trump’s harebrained insurrection succeeds, is of course a work of pure fiction about an alternate universe. It is in no way a true reflection of the kind and compassionate real-life Donald J Trump, and his charming GOP enablers or, for that matter, the supposed good guys in this dark comedic tale.

Use the TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM pull down menu top to the page to read all 11 chapters and counting. Subscribe to get updated audios I am adding to all chapters, when I can steal the time. Subscribing will also get you new chapters in the works. Chapter 12 coming soon as I can find the time.

Audio score done with Storyblock.com loops I’ve licensed for my worldwide use. Apologies in advance for the scratch track voice acting.

Love your feedback. None of this is set in stone at this stage. Please vote blue until the GOP either ousts Trump and returns to sanity or disappears all together. Enjoy.

Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 11 – To Nuke or Not to Nuke Kenosha That is the Question

Spoiler Alert! WordPress puts up the blogs on the home page in the order I write them. So if you want to start your read from the Chapter One – The Loneliest White House click the link!

Meanwhile, when we last visited the alternate Trump universe, one timeline away… Trump’s harebrained insurrection succeeded in a wonky as hell overthrow of the rightful US government.

A gruesome house to house battle, dubbed The Blue Civil War, erupted to put the rightful President, Joe Biden, into the Oval office. And has so far cost 396,423 American lives.

Furious his son Don Jr. perished in the opening minutes of the Battle for George Floydland (formerly known as Kenosha), Trump has done the unthinkable — even for him — and ordered a strategic bomber to drop a North Korean tactical nuke, gifted by Kim Jung-un, on the Blue state of Wisconsin.

We now join…

TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM – Chapter 11 – TO NUKE OR NOT TO NUKE KENOSHA THAT IS THE QUESTION

A strategic bomber glides the starry skies over Lake Michigan beneath the full moon. In the bomber cockpit a heated argument rages between the pilot and co-Pilot.

“Orders are orders!” shouts the pilot.

“Not when the fucking order is to nuke a city on American soil for a delusional illegitimate president!” bellows the co-pilot.

Pilot and co-pilot reach for their pistols. BANG! Both shot through the forehead, the dead pilots slump over the bomber’s blood splattered controls. The bomber nose dives into Lake Michigan and sinks for the murky depths.

The desperate bomber crew wrestle to open escape hatches as the cabin rapidly fills with water.

Water flows from an ornate sink tap. Trump brushes his teeth, drowsily gazing at himself in the Presidential bathroom mirror. Trump almost jumps out of his orange skin when his reflection stops brushing and says, “Stop your compulsive brushing and listen up.”

“Not listening! La-la-la! Can’t hear you!” says Trump as angrily brushes his teeth, bleeding gums and all.

Trump’s body man Robert calls out from the bedroom where he is turning down the bed for Trump, “Everything OK, sir?”

“Peachy,” grouses Trump sticking his tongue out at his pissed off reflection and resumes brushing.

“Everything is definitely not ‘peachy’. You fucking ordered a nuclear strike on American soil!” says Trump’s reflection.

“Relax. The bomber sunk off the coast of Milwaukee. Zero casualties.”

“What about the bomber crew?” says the Trump reflection. As he waves his arms the bathroom in the reflection becomes an opulent Mar A Lago bathroom. “Here in my reality, where I bravely called off the insurrection to regroup and keep donations rolling, you’re making me glad about my peaceful strategy. You’re a moron!”

“Who you calling a moron, Moron? Your aborted insurrection was a way, way bigger dud than my sunken bomber.”

Robert finally pokes his smiling Black face into the bathroom, “Damed Adderall’s making you talk to yourself again, sir. Gotta listen –“

Trump yanks Robert into the bathroom and shouts as points to the mirror, “Look! Look with your big Black eyes! See him! There! There’s the pathetic loser Trump from another universe who got his fat ass thrown out of the White House!”

Trump’s reflection laughs spitefully, but all Robert sees or hears in the mirror is himself and the manic Trump beside him. Robert hoarsely whispers, “God blessed the USA tonight when that bomber crashed into Lake Michigan.”

Ignoring Robert, Trump spins hearing Blue State President Biden’s voice coming from the bedroom TV flat screen and he shoves his way past his befuddled body man.

“My fellow Americans, the illegitimate ruler of the Red States, dubbed Trumptopia by the mad king himself, Donald J. Trump launched a nuclear strike on George Floydland, formerly known as Kenosha Wisconsin, tonight. Fortunately, through divine providence, the stealth bomber carrying the nuke crashed 15 miles off the coast of Milwaukee before delivering its North Korean supplied dirty bomb,” says the fuming Biden.

“Dirty bomb? How dare he!” says Trump to the emotionless Robert. “Kim’s beauty was a Neutron bomb that only kills people. All the real estate would have been left intact.”

Robert mutes Biden and slowly twists to Trump,saying loudly, “‘Only ‘kills people’? You mean like my brother and my whole family who live in Kenosha?”

“George Floydland. Uh, Kenosha is now called Geroge Floydland. Why’d you people name it like that, Robert?” says Trump patiently waiting for an answer.

“No idea and I frankly I don’t give a fuck, sir. Lemme ask you a question. You mind, sir?” says Robert.

“Seems like no matter what I say you’re gonna. Knock yourself out,” says Trump tugging on a fluffy red robe.

“Did you actually believe that shit in your speech tonight, about that nuke, might be able to end the civil war quicker? Or was that something you just made up, just doing your thing?”

“Thing?” puzzles Trump.

“The thing you love to do. You know, lying about shit so hard you can smell it,” says Robert quivering with rage.

“Don’t get smart with me. That is unless you want to be the first nigger lynched on the White House lawn.”

Robert pulls Trump’s gold plated .45 from from under Trump’s heavily embroidered pillow, “Fuck this! I am so done actin’ the house nigger with you, you faded frat boy!”

“A joke. I was joking, Robert!”

“A joke about lynchin’. Ha fucking ha. Now get on the fucking floor and get your tiny hands behind your thick skull,” says Robert, ignoring the pounding at the door and shouting of Trumptopia Troopers.

“Whoa, Robert. I know things have been a little tough on your people in the Blue States, but that’s no call to go all Samuel Jackson on me with the potty mouth routine,” says Trump using all his charm as he awkwardly lays face down on the floor.

“Huh. “Little tough’ on my people, motherfucker? 93 fucking percent of the casualties of the Blue — ain’t nothin’ civil about this motherfucking Civil War — are fucking Black. What a Goddamn shit show on both sides. I mean fuck Joe Biden up the ass too for his “Who’s the best Whitey War” while 3 times more of my people are still dying of the goddamn Covid than you white devils!”

“I don’t know where to go with that. I can barely understand you talking all jivey and shit all of sudden. Where’s my sweet Black pal?”

“Pal? A pal does not change your damn diaper. A pal does not have his brother’s family living in Kenosha threatened with a –” says Robert, annoyed to be cut off by Trump.

“George Floydland. Uh, Kenosha is now called George Floydland. Why’d you people rename it like that, Robert?” says Trump patiently waiting for an answer.

“You are so fucking losing it, Donnie boy. Asked me that dumb ass question two minutes ago,” says Robert tying Trump’s hands with the cords off the curtains.

“Careful with the curtains, they’re a gift from Putin. Come on. Tell me why Kenosha changed it’s name to George Floydland.”

“How the fuck should I know why the people of Kenosha, site of the first Red states attack in the USA that killed almost every Black person in mother fucking Kenosha, except my brother Freddie and his eight kids, all nephews, while Biden was busy in France –”

Trump tries to turn over and Robert pistol whips him, “Stay rock-still motherfucker! Now where was I?”

Breathing laboriously, Trump manages to say, “Outta your mind. My men will break down that door and shoot you, unless I make this… O-O-O-OK.”

Robert grins that Trump is having trouble breathing on the hardwood floor. “Perhaps, Mr. White Racist President, as you ain’t breathin’ so good layin’ on your big old belly, like George Floyd did — minus two cops layin’ on his back and one mother fuckin’ Chauvin perched on his neck — might help you to understand how it felt when your Nazi shock troops unleashed nerve gas on my Kenosha people and took their damn breath away.”

“That was General Bannon! Donald Trump had nothing to do with the gassing of innocent Blacks in Kenosha.”

“Don’t ya mean, George Floydland, Mr. Real President?” says Robert putting his knee to Trump’s neck.

“Sorry! Sorry, Robert! Don’t do this!” gasps Trump.

“Do what?” chuckles Robert.

Trump barely gets the words out, “Choke… me… out… like… Floyd.”

The sound of an axe hacking away at the secure door makes it hard to hear either man, so Robert raises his voice, “I ain’t choking you out, bro! Just helping you understand that maybe your Trumptopia Red troops asphyxiating 3,210 Black people in Kenosha coulda, you know, inspired the city council of mostly White crackers to rename Kenosha George Floydland.”

“Why would the hell would they do that?’ says Trump, his face starting to turn blue from Robert’s knee on his neck.

“Fuck you, Trump. Ya’all’s stallin’ ‘while your white boys knock that door in, ain’t ya? Get up, fatso!” shouts Robert yanking Trump to his feet just as the reinforced door bursts open. An elite swat team of three beefy rednecks bursts through the shattered door into Trump’s White House bedroom.

The blonde haired blue eyed Swat Team leader tries to take aim on Robert, but Trump is squarely in the way, so he shouts, “Release Real President Trump! Do it now. Do it now, nigger!”

“Chill the fuck out, Fritz Von Swat Leader. Drop all your God damn weapons or this old as fuck frat boy here gets it.”

The swat team look at each other in confusion.

“NOW, YOU PALE-ASSED MOTHERFUCKERS!” barks Robert, jamming the gold plated .45 into Trump’s mop of orange hair.

“Do what he says! Do what he says!” barks Trump. The Swat team all reluctantly drop their weapons.

Robert cracks a victorious smile and calmly says, “Nice work, boys. Now pay real good attention to what ya’all gotta do next.”

Half an hour later Robert, Trump in tow, exits the White House onto the smoke choked front lawn. They cross the White House lawn for the waiting Marine One chopper. Robert tosses Trump aboard and gives a bow to the pissed off swat team.

“Fuck!” shouts the swat team leader who watches helplessly along with dozens of soldiers as the chopper lifts off into the DC night sky… and EXPLODES

Sirens blare as the fiery twisted wreckage Marine One crashes into the Washington Monument.

Meanwhile 200 feet below the surface of Lake Michigan, amidst the floating bodies of the dead strategic bomber crew, a 24 hour countdown clocks lights up on the North Korean nuke.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 12 OF TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM

As always my handy disclaimer that this story is of course a work of pure fiction about an alternate universe. It is in no way a true reflection of the kind and compassionate real-life Donald J Trump, and his charming GOP enablers or for that matter the supposed good guys in this dark comedic tale.

Make a donation to help me keep bring you more chapters. Thanks.

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Click the TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM in the menu bar above to read all the chapters.

Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 10 – A Bitter Cheese

12:55 minute reading by Ken Sheetz that asks: What if the 1/6/21 insurrection had succeeded?*

Meanwhile, when we last visited the alternate Trump universe, one timeline away… Trump’s harebrained insurrection succeeded in a wonky as hell overthrow of the rightful US government. This sadly happened through the sheer blind luck of Pelosi and Pence both taking wrong turns on the run on January 6th, ending in both being taken hostage by the rag tag white supremacist led insurrectionists.

A gruesome house to house battle, dubbed The Blue Civil War, erupted to put the rightful President Biden into the Oval office, has so far cost 256,234 American lives.

Looking to raise quick cash for a boost in the polls to bless his proposed launch tactical nukes on Blue states, Trump enlists the help of a Marjorie Taylor Greene for crowd funder to raise $5 billion to knock out her mythical Jewish space laser. We now join…

TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM – CHAPTER 10 – A BITTER CHEESE

Trump shows General Marjorie Greene Taylor, the new Speaker of the House, to the paneled door of the oval office saying, “Much as I love you, Margie, I don’t want to see your face again until you have the $5 billion!” Before Taylor can complain, Trump slams the door in her face.

Nestled in the blue yellow sofa, My Pillow Guy, Mike Lindell, the newly minted Secretary of Defense and Pillow Production Czar, reports to Trump on progress in Blue Civil War. He speaks fast, like he’s ripping off a band-aid, “Sadly, we’ve lost Illinois to the Sleepy Joe forces, sir.”

“What about Wisconsin?” demands Trump.

“The Battle of George Floydland was — ”

“George Floydland?!” shouts Trump.

“F.K.A. Kenosha Wisconsin, sir,” nervously answers Secretary Lindell. “Confusing, I know, because Minnesota is where Floyd was –“

“Do I look confused?” says Trump getting up in Lindell’s dumb as dirt puss.

“Of course not, sir!”

“I know where that counterfeit passing snake Floyd was choked out! Spades wanna name part of Wisconsin after a dead loser Minnesotan that’s their fucking funeral. Bigger question: How did that useless cheese head Johnson blow the 2-1 military advantage I gave him?” says Trump firmly pushing the button on his resolute desk to call for a Diet Coke.

“You’re in luck , sir! My film team from ABSOLUTE PROOF has whipped up a new doc about it and it’s already up on Trump TV!” says Lindell, doing a little victory dance.

Robert, Trump’s Black body servant, enters at a run, delivers Trump’s Diet Coke. Robert avoids making any eye contact with the hand waving Lindell.

“You put a fucking documentary about my brave Trumptopia troops losing to Obama on my TV station without my OK?” barks Trump.

Robert stumbles as he quickly exits to avoid Trump tantrum fallout.

Lindell fumbles with the big screen remote. He nervously says, “Sir, ahem, CNN and MSNBC have their version of the story coming out on the Battle of George Floydland premiering tonight. I had to move fast so that you’re the first one to tell the story. You know to slant it your way, of course. Ha ha. Knew you’d OK that since you are the genius chosen one after all!”

“Secretary Lindell… I saw on Fox News that you were broke and homeless. So how’d you afford making a movie with a 24 hour time –”

“Look, Donnie boy, I know you still watch Fox, because you’re personally keeping an eye on the enemy. But that junk will rot your –“

“Fair warning, I don’t like this rushed as fuck doc you’re with Pelosi, executed on Trump TV LIVE tomorrow at dawn!” barks Trump, cleaning a speck of lint off his banana Republic uniform.

Wiping sweat from his brow Lindell hits play and he says, “Narrated it myself.”

“Shut the fuck up and let me watch!” grouses Trump, already annoyed by the opening title.

A Bitter Cheese – Defeat in George Floydland (F.K.A. Kenosha, Wisconsin)

Documentary style footage plays as Lindell ham-narrates:

House to house combat raged for weeks in America’s dairy state. Troops led by former president Barrack Obama are on the march south from the Biden won city of Milwaukee.

Trumptopia’s Supreme Commander, aside from President Trump, Don Jr., confers beneath the fire scorched Kenosha Brat Stop sign with General/Senator Johnson, who for some dumb reason demands both titles as General Senator — Seriously, if this titty bar loving cheese dick slept better he’d have had a much clearer head for the battle he was about to lose for our heroic leader Donald the Chosen One Trump, all powerful President of Trumptopia FKA the USA.

For a dreamy night’s sleep visit MyPillowGuy.com!

“Fuck’s sake! Is this an My Pillow infomercial or God damn news story?” comments Trump imperiously.

Lindell hits pause. “Sir, we’ll edit my little pillow plug out ASAP. Let’s go on, sir. There’s some things in here you’re going to want to see firsthand,” Lindell quickly hits play again.

Lindell’s narration continues: And so, because many in the US Armed Forces are sitting out the Blue Civil War out, the hand to hand civilian combat showdown of the 21st century was at hand.

Lindell hits “pause” on the remote and says proudly, “Like the poetic thing I did with the hands? Classy huh?”

Trump just glares at the My Pillow putz who quickly hits the “play” button in response.

First to fall were the obese of both the red and blue civilian troops, causing some smart asses on the rogue app Twitter to dub this The Battle of the Second Battle of the Bulge. Although the bloodiest civil war since the Civil War of Lincoln’s Day, it has proven to be a chance to lower our obesity health index for the first time in 50 years.

The game was afoot. The sneaky Black former failed President versus our heroic great white Hope’s son of our stable genius president Donald John Trump, Don Jr., was accompanied by his operatic battle crier Colonel Guilfoyle .

Both of them clad in golden armor, astride the white stallions recalled the great days of Roman rule. All looks promising as General Senator Ron Johnson joins the Trumptopian troops in his cheddar cheese colored armored tank to draw final battle plans.

“General Johnson.” says Don Jr imperiously while Johnson lifts open the hatch on his tank.

“With all due respect that’s General/Senator Ron Johnson, Junior!”

“Oh, get off it, Ron. We’re about to go into battle. Let’s keep it short shall we?” grouses Guilfoyle.

“I outrank you and outgun you, little missy,” says Johnson laughing as his tank turret playfully takes aim at her and Don Jr.

Don Jr. fast draws his pearl handled pistol and blows the smile from Johnson’s face along with his head.

The cameraman shouts off-screen, “Holy fuck!”

Don Jr. smiles for the camera, “Command is all about respect. And –“

“Donnie! Come on you wuss! We gotta battle to win!” shouts Guilfoye.

“Later, fans. After Kimberly and I kick some Kenyan BLM ass! Yee ha!” shouts Don Jr. as he rears up his stallion and follows Guilfoyle. The two look amazing charging into battle until…

BOOM! The duo vanish in a massive explosion.

“Stop! Don Jr. is dead?” shouts Trump.

Lindell hits pause and says consolingly, “Along with Colnel Guilfoyle and most of our brave Wisconsin Trumptopia troops. Sorry for your loss, sir”

“My son was a damn fool not using Johnson cheesy tank. But, hey, I’ll put on a show of grief. Should inspire some donors,” says Trump.

Lindell looks for any sign of grief from the stone faced Trump and then says, “Brilliant as always, sir! Now, if you don’t mind, I’m on Fox in five minutes to discuss the film.”

“No. I’ll take the Fox interview myself.”

“It’s really no trouble, sir,” offers Lindell, clutching one of his crappy pillows for security.

“I said I will take the interview. No one’s lost more in this battle than me. My firstborn.” says Trump with a fake sniffle.

“But may I start the Fox interview and turn it over to you? Makes you more sympathetic.” says Lindell hopefully,

“Hmm. We can do that. But make it quick.”

“Great. Follow me. I’ve got the Fox setup in my office.” says Lindell, pointing the way with a gracious bow.

“No. This interview will be done from here in the oval,” demands Trump

“But it’s all set up in my office and there’s not time to — Of course. Of course.” Lindell barks into his phone. “Get the Fox crew over to the oval.”

A short time later Trump listens as Secretary Lindell makes the intro to the Fox cameras.

“Our Donald may have lost a son… but he still has all of you fine citizens of Trumptopia as his children. My fellow My Pillow fans, I give you the chosen one, our true President, Donald John Trump,” says Lindell with sweep of his hand that messes up Trump’s hair. Everyone holds their breath for Trump’s furious reaction. But Trump does not notice his hair is askew, revealing a bald pate as he speaks to the camera:

My fellow, Trumptopians, in a vicious sneak attack, Blue forces led by the evil Barack Obama, murdered my… my brave boy Don Jr. in cold blood. This is personal now! Therefore, Obama the puppet master and his puppet Biden have left me no choice but to order, herewith, a tactical nuclear strike on George Floydland, FKA Kenosha Wisconsin.

I know it seems horrible as such an attack will kill red and blue soldiers and civilians alike. But the Pentagon estimates this ultimate shock and awe attack will end the Blue Civil War years ahead of conventional hand to hand fighting. Thus saving millions of American lives at the sacrifice of approximately half a million Wisconsinites.

Fear not! To reduce civilian casualties I am hereby grant the next 30 minutes to depart the George Floydland’s blast zone.

Please take your most precious possessions as Kenosha will be radioactive and uninhabitable for the next 35 years. Good news that’s half the normal length of radioactivity contamination thanks to our brilliant tactical nukes granted to us by our beloved friend and ally Kim Jung Un. Good night and God Bless Trumptopia.

Fox News cuts to pandemonium on the streets as forces of the left and right fight their way out of Kenosha. It’s a blood bath.

The camera lights go off and Trump smiles proudly at the stunned camera crew and a speechless Secretary Lindell.

“How was I?” asks Trump calmly.

Fox cameraman wearing a Trumptopia T-Shirt gushes, “Trumptopia’s behind you, sir!”

“I’m really trying to keep casualties low yet send a message of compassion. Fucking tightrope act,” says Trump loosening his red tie. Not to mention the chance to catch Obama sleeping with a nuke.”

“3 D chess once again, sir!” says the Fox cameraman.

“What’s your name, kid? You have a future on Trump TV.” says Trump shaking the cameraman’s hand in the dominant style Trump is famed for.

“But I have a major My Pillow distribution center in Kenosha,” the shocked Lindell finally says.

Trump checks his watch and says, “Um, not 28 minutes.”

A strategic bomber glides the starry skies over Lake Michigan beneath the full moon. In the bomber cockpit a heated argument rages between the pilot and co-Pilot.

“Orders are orders!” shouts the pilot.

“Not when the fucking order is to nuke a city on American soil for a delusional illegitimate president!” bellows the co-pilot.

Pilot and co-pilot both reach for their pistols. BANG!

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 11 – TO NUKE OR NOT TO NUKE KENOSHA THAT IS THE QUESTION

*As always my little disclaimer that this is of course a work of pure fiction about an alternate universe. It is in no way a true reflection the kind and compassionate Donald J Trump, and his cohorts or for that matter the good guys in this dark comedic telling the Biden bunch. But I hope it makes you feel a little better about the weird as hell times we are still lost in.

Donate for the Coolest in stories and meditation.

Meditating on the Big Picture Behind the BIG LIE

Audio: Meditating on the Big Picture Behind the Big Lie

In these menacing times it’s helpful to meditate on the big picture to regain some sense of objectivity. I needed a meditation to settle me down after a disturbing dip of my toe into the Monday night news about the cesspool that was the Nazi odal staged CPAC 2021. A strange, almost occult event, complete with a golden idol Trump and fueled by our ever more fascist GOP, filled with Trump wannabe liars.

Separated at birth, Big Boy and Trump Statues

I took some deep breaths to launch myself into meditation, closed my weary eyes and began to visualize the evolution of the human race, all the way from its early primitive cave people beginnings up to the troubling Q-soaked mind control times of today. A somber time where nearly half the US population is still enraged and enslaved by the dangerous BIG LIE that the Dems stole the election from Trump.

Some of us are trying to move on from the Trump era of arrogant incompetence and mean spirited thought, word and deed. I love Biden’s work 6 weeks into his presidency. But I am frustrated that so many of my fellow Yanks are clinging to the old ways of a GOP I believe is already dead. Living in the Trump BIG LIE reality unfortunately leaves many of my friends stuck in Q inspired racism, entwined in wilful spread of Covid, and knee-deep more karmic awfulness than George Orwell could imagine.

As a builder of skyscrapers and a maker of movies, I know firsthand that all things begin with imagining. Last night I yearned to imagine answers to the big picture behind the BIG LIE. And so I set my vivid imagination to workless work.

I began to visualize, as if from deep planetary orbit, our blue world spinning and spiraling through space time. The curve of humanity’s negative traits and positive traits presented themselves as a wild mesh of blue and red strands of energy. Thin blue and red lines streaked along the path of earth’s trajectory within this galaxy and our Milky Way galaxy in a glorious dance of the cosmos.

Now the visualization meditation took on a life of its own. Indeed, it was, as it often is for me, it seemed as though the universe was revealing something profound. Somehow this unfolding epiphany allowed me to let go of seeing the blue and red as good versus evil. Instead I witnessed the web of human lifetimes simply as primitive thinking versus evolved thinking. Borrowing from Biden recent neanderthal comments concerning Texas Governor Abbott’s dropping mandatory mash wearing as the pandemic still rages.

The lines of primitive thinking, represented in red by (Who else?) Trump, were energized by the people who love him, at the core, for his being a cunning yet not bright, racist. Lines of the blue higher consciousness reality swirled in space time among the stars as a lighter and hipper energy more in tune with my frequency of which I wish to be a part.

I watched the human wave of consciousness expand from its tiny prehistoric origins blossom into the vast bundles of blue and red lifeline threads of today’s harrowing reality. Then I saw that humankind stands at a great fork in reality. In the blue fork of reality, humankind ascends into a space faring race that populates the stars, emerging after eons as a species immortal through exploration of space and our own diversity. But in the other fork, the red dominated one, humankind does not even master this single world that we’ve been gifted by the universe. And sadly in a relatively short span of time from 2021 humanity’s beautiful time lines all end in our species’ extinction for a number of idiotic self-destructive reasons.

I observed all this sorrow without forgetting to remain relaxed and to keep breathing deeply. Then something wonderful, in a weird way, arose my vision. The shorter red Trumpian dominated timeline bent into a loop where alpha and omega met and humankind’s collective life force rode the entire rise and fall of humanity over and over. All of this beauty experienced each time as new personas.

And so the finite red timeline evolved from Trumpism had it’s own form of immortality, expressed as looped lifetimes. Now I visioned there were two primary ways for humanity to exist infinitely. Each valid for it’s own kind, those who cling to the past and those who look forward to the future.

I slowly opened my eyes, gradually coming back to this reality. The TV was playing Wonder Woman 1984. The fireplace filled our living room with warmth and orange light. My beautiful wife Elizabeth was sound asleep on the couch, snoring lightly. My rescue dog Lincoln was cozy-ed up to me in my easy chair. I continued not to judge either fork in the human wave of timelines that my mind saw as diverging as either right or wrong. I felt blessed that the universe provides infinite possibly via the quantum physics of the multi-universe.

A deep sense of gratitude and relaxation washed over me. And then I gave myself and perhaps the world a gift… I let go of the loop Trump universe and all it represents. You see, I prefer to go forward to the reality timeline where the human wave populates the stars. A bigger joy awaits us all there.

Peace to all realities.

Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 9 – The Greene Jewish Space Laser New Deal

When we last left our alternate timeline Donald J. Trump and his alternate enablers in Chapter 8, Trumptopia’s orange presidential bad boy was busy selling his BIG LIE that he was cheated out of his rightful second term.

In this dark alternate reality, a series of cautionary political tales I plan to gather into a book, working title Trump’s Fever Dream, the Trump fostered insurrection on the capitol succeeded in overthrowing the rightful government.

There’s just one problem in Trump’s rebranding of the USA he’s dubbed Trumptopia: A Civil War from the left looms. One for which Trump has been unable to access the treasury to prepare for battle.

CHAPTER 9 – THE GREENE JEWISH SPACE LASER NEW DEAL

Trump nervously paces the oval office, wolfing into a Big Mac.

Bannon, Jared and Ivanka wait patiently on the couches as Trump washes the burger down with a noisy gulp of diet Coke. Bannon opens his mouth to speak but Trump holds up his hand and belches. Bannon waits for an “excuse me” that never comes and pushes on, “Mr. President — “

“Mr. President. Wow, love still hearing that. What you were about to say, Steve?” says Trump absentmindedly.

“Um, Mr. President, our brave patriot Trumptopia troops have lost control of three state capitols this week; Maine, Georgia and Arizona. All to bastards loyal the Former United States. As a result we are running low on the basics, ammo, shelter and food,” says the ever more scrubby looking Bannon.

“Damn Putin to hell! The lying louse was supposed to back me up with shock troops, air cover and tactical nukes!” shouts Trump.

“Putin has his own troubles fighting off the Navalny revolution, Daddy,” says Ivanka.

“Swell. I’ll nuke the blue states on my own. What are the polls showing?” says Trump as he mindlessly fidgets with the aluminum pop top tab on his diet Coke.

Bannon fans through his notes and offfers, “Only 33% of our base favors the domestic nuclear option.”

“Get those assholes on Fox cracking! I need 60% approval before I can nuke California! The smug bastard Newsom is going to pay for his wanton slaying of 11,780 brave Trumptopians who perished storming Sacramento!”

“Uh, sir, that’s actually the total you needed to win Georgia. We lost more like 10,000,” says Bannon.

Everyone shouts in unison, “Never forget Sacramento!”

“Jared, you’re the money man. Congress is still a war zone. How do I raise some quick cash to fight these stubborn bastards that old coot Joe Biden and the half-breed Harris are leading to overthrow me?” says Trump pounding his pudgy fist into his meaty palm for emphasis.

“Space Force,” says Jared brightly.

“Space Force?” says a puzzled Trump. “Nah. It’ll be months until the nuclear space platform is at the ready to nuke anything.”

Jared clicks the intercom and softly says, “Send in the new Speaker of the House.”

The paneled door opens and Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene, the new speaker, enters. She is dressed in the new Trumptopia military uniform. Her ill-fitting uniform bears an uncanny, though not unexpected, resemblance to the Nazi SS uniform of World War ll. Greene wields an AK-47 recklessly.

“That thing loaded?” asks Trump, trying to sounds brave.

“Of course, sir. DC is still crawling with libtards!” says Greene incredulously.

“Put your damn weapon down!” demands Trump.

“Nope. Here, I’ll just put on the lil’ old safety on my AK, Mr. President,” gushes Greene.

“I said put the god damn weapon DOWN!”

“All due respect. That’s no way to speak to your new Speaker of the House.”

Trump grabs the AK-47 and wrestles with Greene. The AK-47 erupts. Rapid fire cuts off the head of a Trump security guard. Greene finally relents to Trump. Guards cart the headless corpse off as the rattled group climb out of hiding places.

Trump sighs and gingerly stands the smoking gun against the resolute desk and says, “OK, OK, what’s this big idea you had for raising money, Greene? It better be fucking good and it better have nothing the fuck to do with asking for more dough from the My Pillow Guy. We busted that brave patriot. Poor Mikey is homeless.”

“Simple. Let’s have a crowd funder to bring down the Jewish space laser!” says Green brightly.

“But there is no such thing as a Jewish space — Oh, I get it! A new Big Lie!” says Trump, annoyed he did not think of this himself from his expression.

“May I take it from here, Majorie?” asks Jared. Greene’s happily nods. “Mr. President, this is how we reach 60% approval for the domestic nuclear option. Take a look at this iPad.”

Trump yanks the iPad from Jared. Trump’s bloodshot eyes go wide as he reads.

FUNDING GOAL $5 BILLION!

“Renewed weapons grade brainwashing with this kind of budget! I predict your new Destroy the Jewish Space Laser! crowd funder will be the most successful campaign in history, Mr. President!” beams Jared.

“But $5 billion? Aren’t we aiming a little high even for my stupid as hell fan base?” says Trump.

Ivanka pipes up, “No amount of money is too big, Daddy. Fighting the Jewish Space Laser is brave and patriotic. So in character with your mandate as our Christian war chief. What’s a measly $5 billion? You’ll raise 10 billion! You are the chosen one after all.”

“Thanks for seeing my glory, baby!” says Trump grabbing his daughter to him for a hug so amorous that it makes Jared jealous. “Greene, you have my word that I will promote you to 5 star general if your campaign to Destroy the Jewish Space Laser succeeds!”

“But I already have 5 stars, sir.” pouts Greene.

“Six stars then!” boasts Trump.

Mark Meadows pokes his head in the oval office and says,”Sir, it’s time for your fitting for your military outfit. Shall I tell the tailor you’re busy?”

“No, show my tailor in. Oops, watch the pool of blood on the rug there, Mark. Everybody else out. You have a Jewish Space Laser to defeat!”

Greene smiles and says coyly, “Now you’re talking, like my fearsome leader!”

Jared pipes up, “Fearless leader.”

“Nope. Fearsome, as in awesome.” chides Greene.

“Fearless. Fearsome means timid. Google it, you ignorant bitch!” shouts Jared.

Greene dives for her AK-47 and spins on Jared. “I knew the Jew in you was a traitor. Let me shoot him Mr. President!

“No, Margy. Jared’s family. One of the good Jews. Put down the rifle.”

Greene sags and whispers in Trump’s ear, “Never trust a Jew.”

Trump whispers back in Greene’s ear, “Never question my judgement again or you’ll be facing a firing squad.”

As Greene exits she passes Trump’s Jewish tailor who gives her the hairy eyeball.

“What are you looking at, tailor?” grouse Greene intentionally bumping into the old tailor.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” says the tailor bowing dismissively to the enraged Greene.

THE END

Trumptopia’s Fearsome Leader – Artist Unknown

All of the Trump Fever Dream stories are of course purely fictional and not meant to portray the individuals in any real way. It’s been created simply for your reading pleasure and maybe to help you realize just how lucky we might be that Trump has been pushed aside like the old fart he truly is by the voters of this great land; supported the politicians, judges, pundits brave enough to stand up to the Trump incited, or at the very least inspired, January 6th insurrection.

Stay true to yourself and those you love. – Ken Sheetz

There But For the Grace of Elizabeth Go I, Q

Now that America did not self-destruct after all on January 20th, despite the predictions of Q, it’s time take a deep breath. Phew! Time for me to thank my wife for her amazing help in keeping me from falling down the Q rabbit hole. A hole many of the best people in the New Age and yoga community fell into.

All to the shock and horror of our left leaning community that so many of us could be so hung up — on wearing masks and taking a sensible vaccines — that so many vegans would end up passionately supporting a dim witted Neo-Nazi “hamburder” led insurrection against democracy!

You see, my beloved Elizabeth England, and fellow DreamShield blogger, is a pro-calling mind control BS, based on great intuition and 17 years military experience. Some of Elizabeth’s long and excellent service to America was performed in Special Ops, working in psychological operations. AKA PSYOPS.

To learn more about the weapons grade PSYOP that was launched on the Brits to ram through Brexit and then launched 4 years of Trump hell in America see THE GREAT HACK on Netflix. And, yeah, that film is one of the big reasons the Q brain washers, who may be Russian, is one of the reasons, besides their liking Obama, that, like any controlling cult, Q has told their believers not to watch NETFLIX.

Elizabeth England with Our Magical Mutt Lincoln


As my loving partner in all things, Elizabeth has and continues to tirelessly blow the whistle on Q for me and those smart enough to listen to her here, Twitter and in person since day one when Q emerged to spread lies and hatred in 2017.


Elizabeth believes that Q, even in tatters for now, remains the most dangerous and powerful mind control tool ever inflicted on the American people. Letting go of Q, and all it stands for, is the first step on the road back to peace of mind.

You might think mind control can’t get me. AND YOU WOULD BE WRONG. This battle for the hearts and minds of America is not over by a long shot. Stay sharp. Many in the New Age community are profoundly infected by hateful conspiracies. So be careful with what you open from well meaning but totally messed up friends and family.

Get ready. Many will not give up Q and conspiracy theories even in the face of the wicked smoking crater the Trump years represent. A persistent desire to live in the bliss of brainwasher’s Big Lie all too well embodied in this sad yet hilarious photo today of the only NY guy who showed up today for Trump’s civil war on inauguration day.

Just remember, with all the love you can muster, that if your confused friend and/or loved one’s are under the very real mind control of Q and the Big Lie, the proven methodology of right-wing extremists, and gently tell them the truth.

  1. Trump was not cheated.
  2. There was NO voter fraud.
  3. Biden is a legit president and is not a baby eating demon.
  4. Let’s get on with building back better.
  5. Use your IQ to free yourself of Q.
  6. Get them to watch more media than just the brainwashing echo chambers.
  7. Go easy on them on yourself in progress they make. It won’t be easy.

I now return you to your celebrating, or, being still lost to Trumpism and Q, mourning, the inauguration of Joe and Kamala, the rightful and righteous new President and Vice President.

Trump Impeachment Hearings Canceled?! – A Cosmic Parody

I wrote this fantasy meditation about how great it would be if Trump resigned before his first Impeachment began on 11/11/19. Add the new charges of Insurrection and change the dates and it’s aged all too well. Enjoy.

Media, Meditations & Musings

(Rather hear an audio version of this blog? Link bottom of post.)

Happy evening of 11/11/19. I hope you will enjoy this somewhat humorous quantum meditational look ahead two days into one possible timeline. One that many not happen exactly as I write about here, but one that may paradoxically happen precisely in this way somewhere in the infinite multi-verse or later in this universe than I imagine here.

Before we get started with this quantum meditation, if you’re one of my dear friends, family or fans who I still love even though we strongly disagree on Trump — and I am glad you still love me too as it gives me hope we’re going to get through all this mess — please feel to leave your own fantasy timeline in the comments. I promise not to erase them no matter how much I respectfully disagree.

Reverse this meditation if…

View original post 1,404 more words

Close Encounters of the Super-Denier Kind

The Biden transition is nothing short of a transition back to sanity. But it feels like the transition is taking forever because Trump, the king of the bad losers, is making this an ugly hard transition, one fraught with the danger of a civil war. It’s as if all Trump’s hate fostering and insanity of the past 4 years is being wrung out of the dirty dish towel of Trump’s reign. Hang in there.

I’d venture to say that Humankind has never experienced such intense stress, inflicted in particular on the American people, by the delusional leader of a nuclear power who is fully capable of trying to induce the rapture as a committee of one.

Since 2015 I’ve come to expect a unique brand of duplicitous lunacy from Trump and the GOP. But what I did not see coming this week were the 126 seditious House Republicans and 17 AG of other states signing onto a doomed to fail lawsuit filed by a Texas AG, an AG currently under indictment.

Fortunately, SCOTUS put Trump bogus legal claims to bed with not one but two DENIED rulings this past week. So what ‘s keeping all Trump’s delusions about a stolen election going? Greed. He’s found a way to bilk people for a legal defense fund. All while people are dying at the rate of a 9/11 a day of Covid. It’s not ordinary denial… it’s super-denial.

Here’s a story about super-denial on a much smaller personal scale. The names have been changed to protect the innocently delusional.

A 65th 25th BIRTHDAY PARTY

The hot autumn desert sun of 2010 beats down on the strange white domed structure know as the Integretron.

For most of 2010 I’ve taken a deep dive into the Los Angeles New Age community. This dive into the unknown came after beating my head against the Hollywood wall for a decade. A beating that has left me almost penniless and with no true Hollywood friends to show for it. So the open arms of the LA conscious community is welcome. Even if I am often wary of many in the conspiracy-loving community wanting my film skills in barter for healings and room and board.

This weekend I am filming a gathering of about twenty attractive minor celebrities of the LA conscious community, thrilled to be gaining fans and attention on the newfangled tool of social media. Our happy group makes our way up into the dome that sits near California’s Joshua Tree National Park for ceremony in the acoustically perfect interior of the Integretron.

After we all enjoy the great singing of a failed but talented wannabe Hollywood opera star, we’re all gathered by the campfire as the sun sets. I lean to the birthday guest of honor, a senior citizen, let’s call her Myrtle after one of my favorite aunts, and say, “Happy 65th birthday, Myrtle.”

“Don’t wish me that!” Myrtle quips.

“Why not?”

“Because the mother ship is taking me up tonight to be rejuvenated. When you see me in the morning I’ll be a hot young 25!” quips Myrtle without a trace of doubt in her Texas twang.

Now, I’d gotten to know Myrtle well enough in LA to be frank with her, so I say dryly, “It’s cool you’re so sure you’re going to be reverse aged to 25, changing you from too old for me into too young to date, but maybe you want to leave yourself a little wiggle room so that if tomorrow morning you’re still 65 –“

Myrtle cuts me off with a dismissive wave and says to me as if instructing a child,”The ETs teach that to have even a shred of doubt sabotages manifestation.”

That night I did not sleep well in the Integretron. Not because I was even remotely imagining Myrtle would be abducted from our little group up to a spaceship to be reverse aged to 25, but because one of the guest’s snore was amplified to insane level in the perfect acoustic chamber.

Next morning over coffee and pancakes at a Ruby Tuesday’s diner on the way back to LA I managed to not remind the still 65-year-old Myrtle of my warning to leave herself some wiggle room. No worries. Myrtle had worked it all out for the group by announcing over pancakes, “Well, as you can see I am sadly still 65. That’s ‘casue the mothership captain told me the Galactic Council decided not change me back into a 25-year-old.”

“Why not?” I managed to ask with a straight face.

Myrtle grins like a kid caught with their hand caught in the cookie jar but manages to say, sounding unconvinced herself, “‘Cause no one on earth would believe who I really am without a matching new passport photo.”

“Aho,” the snorer from last night, who Myrtle loved like a son, says. BTW, “Aho” is New Age lingo for Amen. And that Aho was all the group cared to say on the matter. Myrtle smiled cockily at me and went back to enjoying her strawberry pancakes.

All these years later as I watch Trump spin his alternate reality that Joe Biden stole the election from play out on the world stage I am reminded of Myrtle and her ability to spin a new web of lies to keep her dream of being returned to the tender age of 25 up to date and active. 2020 and 10 years later and she’s now 75 and still dreaming of a youth rescue mission from the ETs.

Each time Trump loses a court victory, 56 losses in court and counting, like Myrtle he simply creates a new lie to support his waning chances. His willing group of supporters who are playing the game with him then spout those lies to anyone willing to listen.

Don’t buy the lies. Trump will be out of office, short of a civil war, come noon EST January 20th. Until then, if you’re a Trumper, take my advice and leave yourself some wiggle room. As for me. Well, I’ll be hoping for Myrtle’s mother ship to take me a few months into the future to escape this eternal transition back to the sanity of a kinder and gentler America under Biden and Kamala.

Myrtle as I imagine her at age 25 🙂