Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 5 – The Covid Kid

Heads up.  A new rewrite of Chapter 5 is coming with the new title of THE DESERT SICKNESS. I left the story and nightmares Trump set at the same of time space as originally drafted. Otherwise, it’s 75% new and has, for the first time, awesome, according to fans, old-style radio show audio. I am a synthesizer that loves fiction set in the present. So read on if you want to enjoy this as a draft, typos and all, as you await the release of CHAPTER 5 – THE DESERT SICKNESS; mid to the end of September 2021!trumps-fever-dream-version-of-kelly-anne-conway

Hey buckaroos!  I wrote the first draft of Chapter 5 in May of 2020. In it an alternate reality Trump catches Covid.  Will it this other Trump, living one timeline from our own with twins of most of us, learn something getting deathly ill about the value of life? Maybe become kinder, more truthful, more protective of humanity?  Now that would be amazing fiction.  Read on and find out. Subscribe for the latest material or meditations.

CHAPTER 5 – THE COVID KID

Meanwhile one timeline away….

Trump blinks his open his bloodshot eyes and squints at the blinding glare of surgery lights overhead. He struggles to sit up but restraints hold Trump in place.

A gowned, masked and gloved Dr. Fauci notices Trump stir and says in his best soothing tone, “Please don’t struggle, Mr. President. You’re lucky your body man Robert kept you alive with mouth to mouth until the paramedics brought you here. Um, not so lucky, you’ve come down with a severe case of the coronavirus, sir.”

Trump tries to speak, but the pain is so intense he cannot.

“Do not speak! Your throat’s badly seared. Nod if you understand me?” offers Dr. Fauci.

Trump nods “yes” curtly.

“Now, Mr. President, serious question for which I need a serious answer if I am going to have a chance to save your life. Here goes: Have you taken any Hydroxychloroquine?”

Trump nods yes sadly.

“And did you drink any disinfectants today?”

Trump nods grimly while making the hand signal for “a little.”

“Lysol perhaps?” says Fauci, visibly resisting the urge for to do face palm.

Trump shakes his head “no” rapidly.

“Sorry. Brand’s immaterial. Did you orally ingest any sort of bleach?”

Trump nods “yes” reluctantly.

“OK. It’s 2 AM. I’m gonna name some earlier times from today. Nod when I am close to the time of day you drank bleach.”

“Midnight?”

Trump nods, impressed Fauci guessed right the first try.

“Nurse, stomach pump! Stat!” an older nurse wheels over a stomach pump.

“Donald, I’m placing you on anesthesia. After pumping your stomach the nurse will immediately intubate you. That is if your damaged esophagus can handle it. But before I put you in an induced coma, uh, there’s an old friend here who must have a word with you,” says Dr. Fauci steps aside to reveal a gowned and masked Mike Pence.

“Hey, buddy. It’s Mike, um, Mike Pence, your VP. How you doin’?”

Annoyed as hell, Trump messages with his eyes for Pence to get on with it.

“Ok, Ok. Why I ‘m here. Right. You see, I’d like your blessings on my VP choice before I temporarily step into your big shoes, amigo. All very, very temporary of course until your back on the job in record covid-time,” says Pence, doing his best to sound sincere.

Trump becomes more agitated, but nods OK.

The mask-free Pence speaks up nervously, “Now, I know this is going to be a little hard for you to swallow — Geez Louise, pardon that expression! — Uh, what with how my Veep pick and you have been going back and forth a tiny teeny bit in the media, and, well, um, ah, given the fact they happen to be a certain Celebrity Apprentice rival –”

Trump’s eyes widen with rage.

“Sorry. — Cut to the chase.– Donald, we need to reunite the country in this dark time. The markets have crashed three times in the past 24 hours. The Dow is down 5000 points. Banks are closed to prevent runs and the bankers are demanding $3 trillion in aid.” Pence stops his political blathering under Trump’s searing glare.

“Ok, Arnold Schwarzenegger my VP pick.” says Pence

Trump writhes in agony that his fever dream about Schwarzenegger as president in 2022 is turning out to be prophetic.

“Swell, Donald. I’m going to take your reaction as a definite “yes” and announce you’re in total and complete agreement to make Arnold  my temporary VP, assuming I can get a Senate waiver on his not being American born,” says Pence as Trump writhes in agony. “See? That wasn’t so bad now was it? Okie dokie. I turn you back of to the good Dr. Fauci. Get well soon, buddy,” chirps Pence.

Enraged, Trump struggles mightily to break free of his restraints. Pence gives Trump a peck on his sweaty forehead. Dr. Fauci injects the writhing Trump. The surgery room and the worried face of Mike Pence fades from view.

Fauci’s distant echoing voice in the white void advises, “Word of warning, Mr. President. Covid fever dreams can be quite intense. Brace yourself… self… self.”

WELCOME TO CORONA NEVADA

Total whiteness gives way to total blackness. Trump’s blurry twisted vision of an old town of the West fades into confusing view. Town folk,  half of them wearing blue colored western bandit masks and half mask-free mill about on the dusty street.

Two gunfighters take to the street, one blue masked young man and mask-free old timer in a red cowboy hat and everyone scatters.

Blue masked young man says, “I take back what I said about Sheriff Trump, Uncle Bobby. We ain’t gotta do this.”

Oblivious to the gunfighters, Trump stares into the desert sun, fascinated as it keeps shifting back and forth between being the sun and an overhead surgery light.

The man in the red hat spits and shouts, “Bugs you I love Sheriff Trump more than you, Nephew. Don’t it?”

“You raised me, Uncle Bobby! Course it does!”

“Draw, Nigger lover!”

“No, Uncle! I refuse to draw on fam –”

BANG!

The blue masked young man watches in shock as blood spread from a hole in his white shirt. He falls face down in the dirt street.

The man in a red hat snarls over the young man’s body, “Worthless, mask wearer. Give my regards to my slave loving sister in hell.”

Trump watches in a daze town undertaker and town drunk, Rudy Giuliani, drags the blue masked boy towards his funeral parlor with a red front door. Rudy, waves to Trump and says brightly. “Mornin’ Sheriff Trump. Gorgeous day!”

Rudy shrugs his shoulders and returns to dragging his human cargo for his funeral parlor.

Town Sign Final

Trump works out a kink in his back, squirming on the porch bench of his sheriff’s office, and belches loudly. Trump happily notices he’s dressed as the town sheriff, tin badge, six shooter and all.

Trump blinks, fully taking in the sight of the dusty New Mexico town in Old West. Trump mutters to himself “Reckon I’m on the set of Westworld?”says Trump, puzzled at his Western accent. “That’s odd as a rattler with jingle bells on his darned tail. Fuck. Can’t shake this danged bum fuck accent!”

Kellyanne Conway, takes a seat beside him on the bench. She’s dressed a frilly pioneer frock of the day. Kellyanne swings opens picnic basket and chirps brightly in a thick southern accent, “Hey, sleepy head. Have a nice nap?”

“Kellyanne?” says Trump, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Haha! That’s my name alright, sleepy bear. You sure do dream deep.  Made your fav, hon. Burgers and gravy. Just the thing to wake you up!” coos Kellyanne, uncovering her steaming masterpiece. Kellyanne lovingly tucks a napkin into Trump’s dusty shirt.

Trump digs in and speaks with his mouthful,”Wow, babe. Had this crazy dream I’s president of these here United States  a way, way in the future.”

“Sorry, hon. Ya’all’s just the Sheriff of our sweet little town of Corona in 1864,” giggles Kellyanne.

“I’d a sweared it was the year 2020,” grouses Trump, still surprised by how old West he sounds.

“Ha, ha. All year. And we’ll be married 35 years come June 23rd next week. So now ya’all have no excuse ya’all forgit again!” says Kellyanne, sneaking a kiss to Trump’s cheek.

Trump’s badly overweight deputy, William Barr, plops two used up paint cans, one blue and one red, on the porch. He grabs seat, mopping his forehead with a dirty white hanky. Seeing Trump’s puzzled expression Barr offers, “Finished, sir.”

“Finished with what, Billy?” asks Trump.

“Painting every dang front door in town of the Confederate homes red and the Union homes blue. Just like you ordered, sir,” says Barr.

Puzzled to say the least, Trump runs a hand though his long head of silver hair as he says uncertainly, “Lemme see, our brave Confederates they don’t wear masks, right?”

Kellyanne brightly offers, “Them Union folks are the chickens who are slaved to wearing mask and keeping their distance! Silly old blue bellies are terrified of the desert sickness.”

“Stupefyingly stupid. Old Jesus can save us from that! Right sheriff and town reverend?” brags

“Amen, Billy boy,” says Trump proudly getting into the swing of things.

“Got anymore of them delish ham sandwiches in your picnic basket, Kellyanne?” asks Barr sweetly.

“Never forgit my favorite deputy. Here ya’all go, Billy boy,” says Kellyanne offering deputy Barr a gravy soaked burger.

“Whoa, dreamed that you, Billy boy, you were my kickass Attorney General. Way, way in the future.”

“Wow. What year, Sheriff?” ask Barr.

“2020… I think,” says Trump still dazed and confused if he’s dreaming or all this is real.

Seeming to read his thoughts, Barr says, effusively brown nosing, “Don, you are the best dreamer in the West. It’s what makes you such a miracle maker for the good people of Corona!”

“Billy, why in all that’s holy is the dang General Store still closed?!” Trump says, angrily pointing to the General Store across the street with a freshly painted blue front door.

“That uppity nigger Bobby Tulsa says he ain’t opening our fair town’s only General Store ’til Doc gives everybody a checkup for the desert sickness. Meantime, Corona’s citizens, red and blue both, are runnin’ outta food fast and they’s a blamin’ you as Sheriff/ Mayor,” offers Barr.

“Time to pay a little visit to our town’s only freed slave,” says Trump rising a bit shakily to his feet.

A short time later Trump Trump glares over a cash register at the blue mask wearing Robert, his Black personal valet in DC of 2020 who saved his life with mouth to mouth, and who is the general store owner in Trump’s 1864 fever dream.

Trump bellows, “I don’t care if’n you’re worried about some weak old sods headin’ for the last roundup. You Yanks gottsta realize this here sickness serves God’s purpose his creatures the wolves. Thin the herd of weakness! Huh. Gotta tweet that today.”

“Tweet? Ya mean like a little birdy?” wisecracks Robert.

Trump grabs Robert by his shopkeeper’s blue apron, “Do not get uppity with me, boy! If was up to me be you’d still be picking cotton in Georgia where you belong!”

Robert shakes off Trump’s hand on his shirt and angrily says, seething hate welling in his normally soft eyes, “And no doubt as a slave. Nevada’s a free territory, Sheriff Trump. And I am a free man. My store. My rules. And my rule is that my store stays shut until Doc examines everyone for the desert sickness. Only way to stop swapping us back and forth tween us like deranged kindergartners!”

Barr inserts himself between Trump and Robert and says in his usual deadpan droll, “Now, Robert. You, more than most in Corona, have enjoyed the good Sheriff’s protection from the Confederates in here town. Now, son, we’d never want you lynched –”

“Shut it, Deputy Barr! I give the orders in this here town! And I demand this here General Store reopen today and you get your lazy black ass back on the job, Bobby boy!” demands Trump.

“So much for diplomacy,” mutters Barr to himself.

“You know, runnin’ this little store I gets to know a lotta personal things. And Sheriff, to be honest — And it’s nice nice to be honest. You should give it try once and while just to keep us guessin’ — There’s a whole lotta things you don’t want me tellin’ your fourth wife Kellyanne about. Like, for one example, your “Stormy” twice a week deal with the town’s whore,” calmly offer Robert.

Dumbfounded that Robert has boxed him in, Trump sputters, “You’re gonna be sorry, Tulsa. Powerful sorry.”

“I’m already, Donnie. Sorry I moved to your hateful little red and blue crazy town of Corona. Good day gents,” says Robert taking Trump and Barr forcefully about the shoulders and escorting them out of the store with shove. Robert slams the door their faces and pulls down the CLOSED window shade.

Enraged, Trump spins to Barr, “Billy, I want a full investigation into where Robert Tulsa gets his food stocks.”

“Already done. The blackie gets most of his supplies from a damned Chinaman who visits Corona once a month. In fact, I have conspiracy theory all my own that Jenkins was responsible for helping the Chinese bastard spread the desert sickness to our fine Confederate folk.”

“Hell, yeah! This must be why Confederate folks are getting sicker faster, ain’t they?” ponders Trump, loving Barr’s conspiracy theory.

“Yup. Though a course Doc said it could also be because we red doors don’t wash our hands or wear masks,” offers Barr feebly.

“Never you mind with them outdated Union notions! Draft up charges and serve that blackie Tulsa. I want him hung by Sunday. Folks do love a good lynching. Cleanses the soul,” gloats Trump, wishing to himself again that the old west had Twitter.

“But the mob might want to do a hanging’ before the judge hits town again,” says Barr.

“Not another word, Billy. There’s more deputies where you came from,” says Trump chewing on a ragged cuticle on his gun hand.

Barr switches mental gears and effusively offers, “You’re a dadgum genius, sir! Pissing off Abe Lincoln himself after Robert Tulsa is, uh, um, brought to justice is red meat for our upstanding Confederate citizens!”

“Our fine city of Corona will carry the vote for Nevada to join the great Confederacy and turn the tide of the war or my name ain’t Sheriff Donald J. Trump,” says Trump.

Time shifts into high gear. Citizens, masked and unmasked, race up the street as the sun rockets overhead across the western sky. Eight hours pass in the blink of an eye. Night falls like rock.

Trump happily finds himself on the outskirts of town standing beside a hanging tree dressed in a KKK robe with the hood down.

Robert, his muscular neck in a hangman’s noose and hands tied behind his back, glares down at Trump from atop a swayed old horse’s back. Robert’s chiseled featured are lit by the torches of men on horseback dressed in KKK robes. Robert says bitterly, “Let’s get this party with you and your “fine people” over, T-rump.”

As Carona’s reverend and sheriff I offer you last rite, Robert Tulsa,” says Trump piously.

“I said get on with it. Last thing I want to here are more of your blathering,” says Robert, the rope tugging at his neck.

“No last word then, nigger?” shouts Barr.

“Just this. America was built on the backs of my people and the extermination of it’s native –”

Trump smacks the grungy hangman’s horse on the butt. A distant rifle’s sound splits the air and the rope above Robert’s hangmen noose is cut free by the ace shot. Hands tied, Robert kicks the horse and races off, vanishing into the desert night.

In the distance a native America sporting a stove pipe hat with feather in it holsters his rifle and rides off into the starry desert night after Robert.

Next morning Trump addresses a crowd of Confederate citizens along with a smattering Union people,”As a lotta you know Corona’s token negro and General Store Keeper, Robert Tulsa, escaped hangin’ last night.”

Townspeople mutter angrily among themselves.

Unfazed, Trump riffs, “But what you fine Confederate folks don’t know is letting that nigger escape was my plan all along!”

The stunned crowd stares at Trump in dazed silence.

“You see, I hired me the best Pinkerton detective west of Mississippi to sharp shoot off Tulsa’s necktie and now the dumb nigger’s bein’ tracked to the source of the tainted goods that have brought sickness to our fine town of Corona.

The Confederate citizens cheer wildly while the Union people all do face palms.

A few hours later, as measured by old church’s rusty clock, Barr and Trump once again enjoy Kellyanne’s burgers and biscuits on the Sheriff’s porch. Barr asks nervously, “Sheriff, that story about the Pinkerton…”

“One of my best whoppers. But, Billy boy, I ain’t got no clue about who really freed that nigger. All I really want is for people to be able to buy damned toilet paper. Me especially!” says Trump, wondering if toilet paper exists in 1864 because of the puzzled look on Barr saggy face.

“Well why didn’t you say so, Sheriff? I got a secret TP stash. Back in a jiff ” says Barr escaping up the street, exhibiting a bad limp.

Kellyanne turns to Trump, her face filled with confusion “Whatever is a spin doc, hon?” asks Kellyanne lovingly.

“Huh?”

“What you called me yesterday, hon. You said, ‘Kelly Anne, darlin’, my order to reopen the town, spin doctor it.'”

Before the unsure Trump can answer with some fresh bull, the town executioner, town undertaker and town drunk Rudi Giuliani, stumbles up and happily volunteers with drunken bow, “Madame, I will have you know that yours truly invented the spin doctor profession to help win Andrew Jackson’s re-elction back in, I think it was, 1830. To spin doctor refers to one such as me creating the best story by, um, reorganization, shall we say of the alternative facts… Wait sec, can either of you fine people spare a dime for a thirsty man? All this spin rememberin’ has left me parched. ”

Before Trump can answer, an out of breath pimple faced Jared, wearing a cowboy style MAGA hat runs up to the trio and shouts, “Sheriff Trump!  Sheriff Trump, the Covid Kid just rode into town and he’s comin’ a gunnin’ for ya!”

“Oh my God, Donnie! Whatever shall we do?” worries Kellyanne.

“If by we you me mean me: Nothin’.” says Trump with his customary shit eating grin.

“Nothin’?!” says Kellyanne.

“This here reality is just what my 2020 doc, that fuck Fauci, calls a fever dream.” chuckles Trump.

“What you drinkin’, Sheriff? Cause I want me some,” slobbers Giuliani.

BANG! Trump and the shrieking Kelly Anne are splattered in blood from a bullet hole in Giulani’s forehead, “Funny. All of sudden I got a splitting headache.” Rudy falls face first to the dusty street.

“Sheriff Trump! Ya no good orange bellied coward. I am callin’ you out!” shouts the Covid kid holstering his smoking gun, his gruff voice muffled by a blue bandana mask

“Fair gun fight, Kid?” says Trump calmly, not believing any of this is real but playing along for kicks and hamming it up for Kellyanne.

“Fair? What in hell do you know about fair, Donnie boy?” snarls the Covid Kid.

“Ask poor unarmed Rudi, about fair, you monster,” sobs Kellyanne.

The Covid kid laughs at Kellyanne, “Ha. Rudi’s mouth is a legal weapon. Hmm. Wonder who undertakes the undertaker?”

“Ha. Thought you just lived in mirrors,” says Trump getting to his feet.

“I live in you, you idiot. I am your damn conscience! Now it’s finally time for me to take over the show, pard, ’cause you never listen to me, here in 1864 or in 2020. But tell you what, you don’t deserve it but, yeah, let’s make this a fair fight,” offers Mirror Trump.

Trump pats his gorgeous white stallion and says coyly, “But, kid, I already run the show, my body, my town, my rules. What’s in a gun battle for me except maybe a tombstone?”

“Opps. Forgot. Always has to be something in any for you don’t there?” Off Trump’s smug nod the Covid Kid offers, “OK, You got certain childhood memories, painful even to your elephant hide, I can make those go away,” says the Covid Kid dryly, mirroring Trump’s own insincerity.

“You’re a bluffin’.” chuckles Trump.

“And you should know all about bluffin’,” says the Covid Kid snapping his fingers, He and Trump become transparent spirits observing Trump’s dad Fred Trump impatiently giving a math lesson from hell to little Donald using coins.

Fred says menacingly,” Donald, Donald. That’s eighty cents! I asked you to show me ninety! Now do it! And no more help from me!”

Little Donnie places 3 quarters on the table and Fred smacks him on the back of the head.  Donald cries and Fred whacks him harder, shouting, “Unless you can learn basic math I am sticking you in a school for retards! You a winner or a retard, Donny boy?”

Donald bursts into tears and Fred’s expression softens,”Aw. Did I make you cry… little girl?”

Already having seen enough, Trump turns sadly to the Covid Kid and says in a hoarse whisper, “Ok. Make all my bad memories of Dad’s abuse go away and we got us a deal. Pistols at 20 paces at high noon.”

The Covid Kid snaps his fingers and the two Trumps are back in the Nevada town of Corona in 1864 facing each other 20 paces apart.

“Just to be square, I kill you in this dream you die in the real world. At least the Trump we’ve all come to know and hate dies and I take over.”

“Like hell.”

Mirror Trump says, “Have it your way. Hell it is.” He points to a shop window that lights up to show a reflection of Trump being intubated in the real 2020 world, causing Trump of 1864 to choke and gag.

“No fair. What happened to our gunfight?” says Trump breathlessly.

“We draw when the church bells strike 12,” says Trump’s mirror image the Covid Kid.

The storefront image fades back to a regular reflection of 1864. A tumbleweed blows across the street between the two Trumps.

“For starters, Soon as I take over this burger bloated body of ours I am painting all the doors of this nightmare of yours purple.”

The church clock tower makes the first of twelve strikes. Hidden above the Sheriff’s office Deputy William Barr takes aim a Mirror Trump’s back. Barr mutters a pep talk to himself, “Boss wants this to look good. Fire on 11 and a half. Fire on 11 and a half.”

Trump catches a glint of Barr’s rifle in the hot noon sun and hides a grin with some false bravado,”I got nickname for your tombstone: Goodie Two Trumps.”

The church tower gongs five. Mirror Trump’s gun hand twitches over his silver six shooter. “After 73 years of nagging you to do the right thing, I am one conscience that’s done talkin’. Shut it and get ready to draw, ya mangy old coot.”

Kelly Anne runs to Mirror Trump’s side and pecks him on the cheek, “Can I watch you kill the blowhard?”

Trump says, “You’re fired, Kellyanne,” as he angrily blows Kellyanne off her feet. Her dead body splashing into the horse trough.

“Marriages just don’t stick with you do they, Donnie? ” says Trump’s mirror conscience in disgust.

Barr sees mirror Trump did not break his concentration as the clock strikes 9. Barr quietly cocks back his shinny rifle’s firing hammer. As he does another gun behind Barr clicks back it’s hammer.  Barr spins in terror to see none other than Abraham Lincoln has the drop on him.

Abe says grimly “Justice is served, Deputy Barr,”and fires six shooter. Bam! Barr falls off the roof of the Sheriff’s office and crashes through the porch roof.

Mirror Trump, the Covid Kid, flashes a thumbs up to the grinning Abe Lincoln atop the Sheriff’s office a thumbs up as the clock strikes 10. Trump quick draws and fires on mirror Trump’s turned back 2 strikes ahead of the agreement. But his shot goes wide and takes out his beloved white horse.

WIld West Trump
Fire, ready aim! Trump battles to Covid Kid and his Gang

“So predictable. Too bad your bad dad Freddy never taught you to shoot straight, amigo,” The Covid Kid chuckles as the clock strikes 12. BANG! Mirror Trump fires and Trump’s throat erupts in a gush of blood. Trump falls to his knees in the dusty street, gasping for air, unable to talk.

The Covid Kid gloats over the dying Trump,”For once I get the last world. Hurry up and die, Donnie boy. The world needs the better you, namely me.”

All fades to black. Trump blinks his eyes open in a luxurious hospital room. He spots a smug Kellyanne reading a PEOPLE’S MAGAZINE, complete a fresh photo of an intubated picture of Trump on the cover. The headline reads:

KELLYANNE EXCLUSIVE: TRUMP INTUBATED!

Trump tries to speak, but the tube down his throat only allows him a gagging gurgle and he passes out without Kellyanne ever noticing his brief awakening from the fever dream.

To Be Continued in Chapter 6 – Mt. Rushmore and the Bunker Rebels

REAL FEVER DREAMS

Sadly Covid-19 patients can end up intubated in an induced coma on a respirator for weeks on end. The odds of a virus patient ever regaining consciousness drop daily the longer someone remains on a respirator. Strangely, Trump’s terrible fever dreams of choking and dying over and over again in elaborate ways I depict in this story are something I intuited weeks ago before this story from Atlantic.

Bottom line, avoid getting this damn virus no matter what the media or politicians playing with your life tell you. Above all avoid Trump’s insane false macho attitude of it being OK to allow people catching the virus to build herd immunity. All while it’s not even scientifically yet known if we the people can catch this damn thing more than once!

Stay distant, wear masks no matter to pressure from the misled right-wing nutjobs and wash your hands often.

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 the Supreme Court, or for that matter, the supposed good guys in this dark comedic tale.

Meditations on Four News Cycles Leading to Today’s Madness

Let’s take a break in my blog series Trump’s Fever Dream to take a big picture look at America’s shared fever dream.  I will endeavor to show we have fallen into four repeating news cycle of madness, all in the name of ratings. Left and/or right, the politicians and media are feeding on our collective fear. And the best remedy for fear is light. So lights, camera, action.

Carroll O'Connor
Contemplating Times that Would Makes Archie Bunker Would Take to His Bunker.

This next phase of the #coronavirus crisis, which we officially entered yesterday May 1st, is going be even trickier to navigate because it’s easy to see the political parties and media seek to polarize the people further into red versus blue camps of the masks versus no masks, distancing versus no distancing. Scary. And, baby that sells soap.

Life under poor leadership from both the left and right, prompted by outright manipulation by the oligarchs who run both the left and right, has left the American people abandoned and totally on our own to navigate our lives going into the reopening of our highly divided country.

What a nightmare near zero leadership has turned out to be for us all. Makes me wonder if we are being softened up to want some big daddy dictator or Big Brother government state to rescue us? The shady immoral characters who run this world do think that way. No wonder so many people are taken in by conspiracy theories.

For me life, going forward in the next trickier phase of this waking nightmare is an unhappy but easy call. You see, I want to be out enjoying a more normal life but, silly me, I had a heart failure in 2018. So I’ll be wearing a mask and social distancing as best I can. The root of the problem is that we have no testing.

BTW, no testing is no accident. That cruelty is terribly infuriating as it allows us no real planning. Just what the fear mongers want. Winning an ideological war has been shown to be more important for politicians than taking care of our citizenry.

I am a centrist. And so apologize in advance to readers both left and right if we are not on the same page in this ball of confusion. If I know you, I must decline a hug, I must not share a candy pretzel, I cannot listen to how great Trump really is or how awful. If you miss seeing my face under a mask, sorry. These strange times will end. It’s play it by ear, or by heart as Elizabeth likes to say.

Meantime, it’s far more important than raging about partisan politics that we seek with all our willpower and heart not do permanent damage to our own sense of well being and those of our loved ones by letting the pattern of the warring consciousnesses of the left and right get the better of our understandably short tempers.  And I am talking to me here as much as you, dear reader. I am going on a greatly reduced news diet for at least a week now.

Last night after a rough day dealing with a social media client that’s 1000% pro-Trump, after a sound healing by my love who has been working to get me centered and a bedtime meditation last night, I saw a pattern to this insanity we are going through as a country and planet.

NEWS CYCLES OF LEADING TO TODAY’S MADNESS

News Cycle One, The 2016 Elections: 24 hours a day, people on the left and right are told by the polarized media that the “Pussy grabbing” Trump will lose the 2016 elections. This enrages the right and makes the left confident that Hilary will win. Then Trump wins and now it’s the left’s turn to be enraged and depressed as the right delights and gloats. Greater left/ right division results.

News Cycle Two, The Mueller Investigation: 24 hours a day, people on the left and right are told by the polarized media that Trump stands accused of collusion with Russia. This enrages the right and makes the left hopeful Trump will be impeached. Rage on the right deepens as many of Trump’s men are convicted of said collusion. It looks very bad for Trump. Then, when the Mueller report is at last done, $40 million and countless media battles later, William Barr takes over the DOJ and he concludes the Mueller Report totally exonerates Trump. Now it’s the left’s turn to be enraged and depressed as the right delights and gloats. Greater left/ right division results.

News Cycle Three: Unkraine Quid Pro Quo: 24 hours a day, people on the left and right are told by the polarized media that Trump asked for a quid pro quo for Ukraine to dig up dirt on Joe Biden and his son Hunter. Trump is placed on trial by the left wing Congress for impeachment. This enrages the right and makes the left hopeful Trump will be impeached. Rage on the right deepens as Congress formally impeaches Trump . Then, when the case moves to the right wing Senate the right majority exonerates Trump. Now it’s the left’s turn to be enraged and depressed as the right delights and gloats. Greater left/ right division results.

Note: I am skipping an unfit Kavenaugh is jammed into the Supreme Court by the right from this game as Trump was not in jeopardy of losing his office. But it was the same “pit the left peeps against the right crazy making” by our left and right media owned by the same oligarchs. Think of it as a little appetizer before the next course of crazy making anger swamp we are now neck deep into.

News Cycle Four, The 2020 elections in the middle of the Coronavirus pandemic. January to March, the media of the left point out all of Trump’s shortcomings in handling the coronavirus from big to small. And there genuinely are many. Trump is goaded into doing daily damage control press briefings that eventually lead to Trump’s now famous injecting disinfectant into the body fiasco. The toll of Trump’s fall in the polls enrages the right and causes the left to gain hope that Trump will lose to the Dems propped up candidate Joe Biden in November. And while we the people live an OCD Howard Hughes-like reality to save ourselves from the virus, while we lose our minds, the shit show the is our media goes on. Again, I think the left is being led on for big disappointment in November as overconfidence leads to defeat again. Hope I am wrong but look at the pattern I’ve reveled to you today and you might agree.

I for one want off the the merry go round of media frenzy. So you’ll be seeing a lot less political posting from me on my FB and Twitter apges. I am more interested in building my CoolestTechEver.com business and making my movies. Wake me up when it’s time to vote. I’ve never liked Trump since my days in the 80s as a fellow real estate wannabe big shot and I never will. To me, no filters needed, he’s a bad prez. So why watch the news? Answer: It a sick addiction. We’ve been sucked into four giant cycles of lies and hate. Well, fool me 4 times and I am finally awake and done.

I will continue my therapy project of the TRUMP FEVER DREAM series where I try to process all the rage and frustration that I got sucked into despite all my meditation training and work. But I will be writing with a new inner awareness of the big picture I am seeing and I hope the story will expose the ultimate puppet masters. Wish me luck on my centrist tightrope walk and stay well in the insanity.

Meantime, meditate, do yoga, stay in place of love. And be smart. This virus will be with us all of 2020. Avoid the fantasy it’s over. Stay safe, use a mask, wash your hands and lovingly distance. And focus on positive news like the amazing work of John Krasinski and his beautiful SGN weekly show.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 4 – Dancing With Spicer & Schwarzenegger

Over my 24 years as a filmmaker and screenwriter writer of modest notoriety — see the About Me and My Films to learn more me and my stuff of dreams — I have come to see there are basically two kinds of storytellers; those who plan it all out with detailed outlines and notes cards and those, like me, who write organically, allowing the story to evolve and grow as we write. Who can say which one is better?

All I know is I love being an organic storyteller, especially in the case of Trump, because it allows me to channel the weird news of the day into story.  Like Trump’s suggesting ingesting bleach as a Covid treatment this week.

And Sean Spicer on Dancing with the Stars?

We now join….

CHAPTER 4 – DANCING WITH SPICER & SCHWARZENEGGER

Meanwhile, one timeline away… Trump has caught Covid-19 and is trapped in a series of ever more delirious fever dreams, just as we all are on this timeline.

Trump’s Black body man, Robert Tulsa, runs back into the Presidential bedroom where President Trump has collapsed of Covid.  He stops dead in his tracks shocked to see Trump strangling on a bed sheet twisted around his neck.

Robert hesitates rescuing the choking Trump. “Lord Jesus guide me on what to do,” prays Robert.

We enter his right eye,  travel down Trump’s optic nerve, and enter his Adderall befuddled mind…

Trump’s twisted view of the deranged Hilary Clinton, strangling him in the White Hospital, in the Covid devastated future of 2022, where the death count has reached 3 million lost Americans, fades into the darkness of death.

Off in the distance, a small yellow speck sparkles in the distance.

Trump looks down at himself, happy to see he’s out of his paper hospital gown of his last fever dream and spiffed up in his favorite blue power suit, complete with his clownishly long red tie. He surprised to see he’s wearing shinny red vinyl dancing shoes that match his hilarious orange afro.

The bouncing yellow speck grows in size to form a Marimba dancer, complete with Carmen Miranda’s famed fruit hat. The dancer rockets up to Trump, who is stunned to see the dancer is none other than Sean Spicer… in Marimba drag!

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Sean sweeps Trump into a passionate dance. Trump laughs and says, “Learned a few things on Dancing With the Stars, Spicey, I see.”

“Touche!” shouts Spicer, spinning Trump like a rolly-polly punching doll.

“Enough!” growls Trump. A crowd of thousands of red hatted MAGA rally goers cheer wildly. Trump does a bow and the crowd goes absolutely ape shit. Spicer gracefully takes Trump back into the dance.

“Welcome back, sir. Oh, look who we have for dance judges!” sings Sean.

Trump notices the dance judges are none other than the nine members of the Supreme Court. Bret Kavenugh sneaks a swig of beer and flashes Trump a thumbs up. While Ruth Bader Ginsberg blows a raspberry.

Trump grouses, “Fuck this. I will not dance for the likes of Ruth Libtard Ginsberg.”

Trump struggles free himself of the dancing Spicer, but the smaller man is supernaturally strong.

“Let’s Marimba!” sings Sean. He yanks Trump by his long red tie down to his eye level and whisper sings in Trump’s ear, “You don’t understand, sir. Sing and dance or the judges will give you a death sentence.”

“Death sentence?!” says Trump.

“Afraid a lot has changed since you vanished two years ago, sir. Dance like your life depends on it. Because it does!”

Across the shinny black stage for the Fox & Friends team provide color commentary as the crowd of Trump fans continue to adore their returned king.

“Good evening, America! 5,000 plus Trump fans are here tonight at the Miami’s Hard Rock Sports Stadium to welcome back the great President Donald Trump!” says Doocy with a big silly grin to the Fox cameras.

The cheering crowd waves Trump 2024 flags and shout “Welcome back, President Trump!”

“Lots of GOP VIPs here tonight too,” adds Kilmead. The cameras point to Senator Ted Cruz, Governor Christi Noem, and the usual GQP suspects.

“Oh my God, Trump is an amazing dancer and his new hair style is revolutionary.” says Ainsley giggling about Trump’s orange afro.

“Any minute now we expect President Schwarzenegger to arrive. But here comes Vice President Chris Christie. A word Chris?” says Ducey.

“Sure,” says Chris as he signs an autograph from a sweet old woman with a MAGA hat. “What’s your name, hon?”

“Mindy!” chirps the sweet old lady. Veep Christie signs with a flourish, collects a smooch and turns to Doocy.

“How does President Schwarzenegger feel about the mysterious return of President Trump?” says Doocy.

“Well, after President Trump was declared dead after he vanished two years ago, a lot of Trump’s unfinished work has fallen on Arnold’s big shoulders,” says Vice President Christie.

“Ha ha. Not an answer, Chris.” teases Kilmead.

“With three million dead of Covid, rumors of a new DeSantis variant that’s attacking the white community, now might be a good time for you to drop the smart-ass routine, Kill-mead.”

“Any truth to rumors of a new zombie variant?” says Ainsley batting her eyes flirtatiously.

“Zombie variant? Q shit?” chides a concerned Vice President Christie.

“Hmm. No comment,” demurs Ainsley.

“I’ll close by saying, President Schwarzenegger and I are in total agreement that my old pal Trump has a lot to answer for when it comes to the three million and counting death toll and dangerous new variant that ravaged America until President Schwazenegger stepped in,” says Vice President Christie.

“Are you saying, Mr Vice President, that President Schwazenegger is going to ask the DOJ investigate Trump’s handling of the pandemic?” asks Doocy, hoping for a scoop.

Without answering, Christie slowly turns away from the Fox & Friends trio and strides, whistling, for the VIP box. Mitch McConnell beckons to the VP to a saved seat between himself and a selfie taking Tucker Carlson.

“Swell. I’m stuck between the Russian turtle and and Tucker the fucker,” mutters VP Christie to himself.

Trump yelps as Sean yanks his red tie so hard that he sends Trump spinning like pinball into a giant pinball machine set. Trump — a red, white and blue blur — hits a bumper that lights up:

IMPEACHMENT FARCE – Ding, Ding, Ding!

Trump flies, screaming towards more bumpers that light up in rapid succession as he rolls into and off them.

3 MILLION DEAD OF COVID! – Bong!

WORST PRESIDENT EVER – Bing, Bing, Bong, Bong!

CHEATS ON PREGNANT WIFE WITH A PORN STAR – Dong, Ding!

TAX CHEAT – Wha-Err-Err!

BRIBE-O-RAMA – Cha-ching! Cha-chong!

RELIGIOUS FAKE – Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

BLEACH DRINKER – BOOM!  BAM!- GAME OVER!

Bursting from a cloud of smoke, Trump tumbles down the giant pinball machine set and falls on his orange face to the black shinny stage floor. Trump struggles to his two left feet. All to the wild applause of red capped MAGA rally goers.

In the stands, Governor Noem says softly, “His fans still love him.”

“Schwartzengger’s in deep trouble if Trump seeks to be reinstalled.” chuckles Mitch.

Trump sees himself dancing with Sean on the Jumbotron screen, “How the fuck did I end up with a damn orange, afro?” says Trump as he tries to pull off the wig. “Damn it! This clown wig is stuck!”

“Oh, don’t worry, sir. Your new fro is gorgeous,” sings Sean.

A pipsqueak of a zombie usher, with the name tag Jerry, emerges at the top of the stands. Jerry the zombie usher hungrily eyes a burly Hell’s Angels biker and leaps upon his back. Jerry chomps the biker’s tattooed shoulder. The biker yelps and instantly transforms to a fellow zombie. Biker and usher go to bloody work making more zombies.

Clueless to the instant zombie apocalypse racing through the five thousand strong crowd. Trump bows and gloats, “Yeah! I still got it, Spicey!” shouts Trump, beaming a million watt smile in the spotlight to his Trumpies… who are rapidly turning into a zombie horde.

“Look at me!  Look at me tap, tap, tap. The best tapper ever. The most super epic tap dancer who ever tapped a tune!” signs the off-key and bad dancer Trump.

In the stands, Sweet old lady Mindy is bitten and transform in the blink of a bloodshot eye into a flesh eating zombie. She hungrily eyes Vice President Chris Christie as he flees the VIP zombies. “Stay aways from me, Tucker. Stay away.!” shouts the terrified Christie.  The old lady leaps forty feet into the air and chomps into the screaming Veep’s fat leg.

The applauding crowd of now 90% freshly minted zombie Trumpies still have the love of Trump in their eyes.

“We love Trump!  We love Trump!” says the zombie horde as one.

Sean panics and yanks Trump back into the Marimba and whisper sings, “The judges hate your tap dancing!”

“Well, I didn’t pick Brett and Neil for their good taste.”

“But the crowd… something seems terribly wrong.” .

You worry to much, Spicer. Remember how you gave yourself an goddamn ulcer when I told you, ‘Tell the presser that my inauguration crowd was the largest ever?'” laughs Trump.

Trump and Spicey quick-turn away from the crowd an instant before a wave of biting and grotesque zombie transformations races through the audience stands behind them.

Oh no! Look at Moscow Mitch! He’s zombie!”

“Relax. Mitch always looks like a fucking zombie,” pants Trump.

The curtains part and none other President Arnold Schwarzenegger struts onto the stage, a bevy of beauties on each arm and says warmly,  “Donald, it’s so good to see you. I can’t believe what a good tap dancer you are! I’m sorry the judges don’t like it. I thought it was awesome, man.”

“So you think president now, huh?” grouses Trump.

“Oh, Donald, you’re always so funny.

Two high-fiving Trump zombies leap iknock each others arms off.

“But you weren’t born in America. How can you be president?” demands the clueless Trump.

“Because the people needed me, Donald.  They needed me after your terrible presidency.”

“Well, I’m back now. Doesn’t that mean I’m president?” angles Trump.

“I’m afraid not, Donald.”

“Shit.”

“I’m going to into the audience now, with your wonderful followers. Oh, wait… they’re all zombies.” says Arnold in shock.

Zombie Representative Jim Jordan dives for Arnold. But Arnold swings a folding chair an knocks zombie Jordan’s ugly head off and says, “Wrestle that!”

“You killed my Congressional hatchet man, you mother fucker!”

President Schwarzenegger watches in shock as his bevy of beauties are devoured by Trump zombies and says softly, “We are in great danger. Very quietly we speak.”

“What?” shouts the hard of hearing Trump.

“Quiet, you fool! They’ll hear you!”

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“MAGA, MAGA, MAGA, “says a badly decaying Trump Zombie, who looks like she may have once might been South Dakota Governor Kristi Noem.

“Whoa! That you, Kristi?” asks Trump.

“Donald, no!” shouts Arnold, spinning Trump to face him as the zombie Trumpers grow hungrier and more restless.

“Relax, Terminator. These are my fans. Nothing to worry about!” chides Trump. Her biker chic biker’s outfit dripping blood, Noem stalks Trump.

“Donald, Duck!” says Arnold pulling a .357 Magnum.

“Hey! I’m no cartoon –“

“Duck you fool !” shouts Arnold shoving Trump to the floor. Bang! Governor Noem’s head explodes.

Arnold gloats, “Consider this a recall!”

“Swell. There goes my shot at Mt. Rushmore.”

“Oh, you’re going to take the place of Lincoln, huh?” quips Arnold.

“Go to hell! She was a Republican!”

Arnold picks off a zombie that’s come too close. BANG!

“Republican? Donald, they’re a bunch of flesh eating zombies! Your Goddamn handling of the virus caused a mutation!”

“It is what it is,” says Trump with a shrug. “I’m still taking you court where Neil and Brett owed me!”

“Look at the Supreme Court. They’re insane! They got this hive mind! And they’re going to blow us up if we’re not careful!” shouts President Schwarzenegger, taking aim.

As if on cue, laser beams shoot from Gorsuch’s eyes. But the shot at Arnold misses and instead slices Brett Kavenaugh in two. Kavenaugh says, “Ha! Ha! Split decision.” Kavenaugh’s cut in two body comes apart with a sickening slurp. 

“Fuck! There goes the conservative majority,” bitches Trump.

“Mr. President, so yummy, yummy,” says a sweet looking female zombie.

“So tasty. Like a big blo0d orange,” says a male zombie in a fuck Hillary T-shirt.

“Oh-oh. Your Trumpies are looking at you like you’re a goddamn Happy meal!” warns Arnold.

“You’re just jealous because my fans love me. They love me!”

“Look, they think you’re delicious!” shouts President Schwarzenegger. BANG!

“Trump can I have a selfie?” says a Proud Boy zombie.

“Sure,” says Trump.

“Are you insane? Run, you goddamn fool!” BANG! Arnold blows the zombie Proud Boy away and yanks Trump into a run.

A zombie that looks like he used to be either Ted Cruz or the Wolverine steps slowly for Trump, “Hamburders. So good. He’s full of hamburders.” Cruz roars as he dives for Trump.

BANG! Arnold blows Cruz’s head off.

“Have a nice cruise.”

“Why you gotta do that?” grouses Trump.

“Do what?”

“Make a wisecrack every time you shoot somebody?” pouts Trump.

“It’s my trademark. Get over it Donald!” shouts Arnold.

Arnold’s good shooting frees Ruth Bader Ginsberg from the Supreme Court hive mind. Gorsuch fires another laser blast at Ruth. BANG! Arnold blows Thomas’ head off.

“Guess he’ll never be head of the supreme court.”

“Thanks, you big hunk of hero!” says Ruth blowing a kiss to Aronold as she exits the giant sound stage. But Trump and Arnold are blocked by the hundreds of angry zombie Trumpies.

“Dear God I smell something awful. Wait… Have you pooped your pants, Donald?”

“Stop ordering me around, Schwarzenegger! I’m the real fucking president!” barks Trump just as zombie Mitch McConnell dives, green teeth bared, for Trump’s neck. 

“Oh, it’s you, Donald. I must tell you the greatest regret I have of my career is that I was not able to defeat Obamacare for you,” sobs McConnell as he dives for Trump. Blood splatters Donald.

“Turtle soup!”

“Now ya did it!” shouts Trump.

“Did what?”

“Putin’s gonna be pissed you killed Moscow Mitch!”

“Shut up and move, you out of shape hamburger brain! Now! Now! Now!” shouts President Schwarzenegger, shoving Trump into a maze set of mirrored walls, the Trump zombie horde hot on their heels.

“I had way, way better ratings on The Apprentice than you did, Arnold!” gripes Trump.

“Fuck you, Donald. Go right!” says President Schwarzenegger. But Trump comes to a stubborn stop. ” Go right,I said! You love right don’t you?”

The mindless Trump zombies are lost in the maze, buying the duo a bit of time   .

Trump pants and says badly out of breath, “Wow. I’d be more scared if these zombies were black.”

The Trump variant of the virus only makes White people into zombies, Donald. Thanks a lot.”

“Damn Chinese,” quips Trump.

“Pathetic! I hope some day when you have passed, Donald, hopefully of the covid you allowed to spread and mutate, that scientists crack open your thick skull and study what makes you the greatest racist in world history!” says Arnold running into the maze.

“Enough! I ain’t budging until you agree that I am the rightful president, Schwarzenegger,” pouts Trump.

“I inherited a shit-hole US of A when you abandoned ship in 2020. For two years I’ve been cleaning up your Goddamn mess and I am so done with this! So fuck you! Fuck you, Donald you’re on your own!” says Arnold running off into the maze.

Trump shouts after Arnold, “Foreigner!  I was twice — Uh oh!” Trump’s tirade is cut short as the Trump zombie horde spin around the corner behind close in his heels. Trump spins and say, “My brave, Trump fans! Halt!” says Trump making  a Nazi salute.

The Trump zombies all freeze in their tracks and return Trump’s Nazi salute shouting, “Heil, Trump! Heil Trump!”

High above, perched in the rafters, watching the show, the angel winged ghost of Martin Luther King passes a bag of ghostly popcorn to the ghost of LBJ and says sadly, “All I can say, Lyndon, is I’m glad Trump’s not one of my flock”

LBJ says, “Well, the orange clown sure as hell ain’t one of my flock either, Martin.” frowning down on the Trump zombies offering Trump a Nazi salute.

The maze, seen from this ghostly high vantage point, is a horrific collection of interwoven Nazi symbols.

Meanwhile, on the glossy sound stage floor in the maze below, a zombie, who was once Tucker Carlson, steps from the zombie horde,” Mr. President…” groans zombie Tucker.

“That you, Tucker? Wow. Good to see you, man,” says Trump happily.

Zombie Tucker nods and says sheepishly, “Ah, I’m sorry, sir.”

“Sorry for what, Tuck?”

“Well… You look great.”

“Thanks, Tuck. You… not so great.” says Trump sheepishly.

“I’m so hungry, sir. All the Big Macs you packed away. — Sorry, sir. I gotta eat you!” Tucker races from the crowd of Trump zombies for Trump.

“Tucker, you’re canceled.” BANG!  “Come with me, Donald if you want to live!”

“Wait. Where have I heard that line?

FUCK YOU! THIS IS NOT A GOD DAMN TRIVA SHOW!”

“Hey, I’ve got Proud Boys who will beat the living shit out of you for speaking to me in such a rude -“

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! I think I found a way out.”

“No. I love my fans.”

The Trump zombies all smile at Trump suddenly.

“See? My Trumpies… Wait a minute… I have a zombie army!” says Trump.

“What the hell did America ever see in you?” shouts Arnold as he dashes off again.

The red capped zombies begin to inch for Trump. “Stop!” shouts Trump again, doing his Nazi salute. But the zombies pick up speed. Not much, but they do pick up speed. Trump freezes in his tracks as the zombies claw over each other.

Suddenly, Spicer appears from nowhere to the rescue. “So grateful!  You’re safe, sir! The Trump zombies listen and obey my song!” sings Spicer, thrusting his pelvis. “Halt!  You fabulous bastards!”

Before Trump can say another word a badly overweight zombie leaps upon Sean Spicer. “Not the hat! Don’t touch the hat!” screams Sean. And rips him to shreds, splattering Trump is Sean’s blood. “Chris?”

“It’s always about the bridge. The bridge…” mutters zombie VP Chris Christie.

A horribly deformed Vice President Chris Christie spots Trump just as Trump spots him.

“Chris, is that you?” says Trump.

You! You gave me Covid, you stupid bastard! Now we gotta eat your delicious ass!  Dinner’s served, gang!” says zombie Chris Christie as he dives for Trump… and Trump somehow easily dodges Christie.

Trump easily keeps dodging as he taunts,  “Slowpokes. Always did prefer the movies where the zombies are slow as fuck. Whoa! Gotta tweet that!” says Trump pulling out his cell phone and tweeting as he runs through the blood soaked mirror maze. “I love my twitter. Love Facebook even more. Yeah, social media. That’s where I get all my power and I got the tech nerds wrapped around my gigantic little finger.”

Christie dives for Trump and misses.

“Gettin’ tired yet Christie? You are one slow as fuck of zombie. Hahahahaha!”

Trump far behind, Arnold dashes through the maze. He stops to look at himself in the mirrored wall of the maze and says to his reflection, “For as old as fuck as I am right now, I still look better than –,” A zombie wearing a cheese hat jumps out in front of Arnold, waving an AK-47. Very slowly of course. Arnold gets the drop on him and BANG! Arnold notices the zombie he just shot is wearing a Congressional pin. “Oh, fuck. I think I just shot Ron Johnson.” Arnold yanks the machine gun from Johnson cold dead hand and says, “Oh well. No loss.”

The cocky Trump turns the corner and stops dead in his tracks facing his greatest enemy… a long… long… “RAMP. This is it. Impossible. No one could make it down. I’m finished,” croaks Trump as the slow moving zombie horde closes in on the frozen Trump. “This is it for me.”

“My brother President, I am here to save you!” shouts Arnold mass executing zombies with the AK-47 he took off Ron Johnson.

“You’re not my brother President. You’re a foreigner. You’re not president.”

“Goddamnit. Let me save you, you stupid fuck!” says Arnold as he easily runs down the ramp. “Baby steps, Donald. Try baby steps.”

Trump waddles down the ramp, slow as shit.

“Oh my God! What is it with you and ramps?” says Arnold sending dozens of zombie to their graves.

“Do not fucking rush me, Schwarzenegger. I will not end up with a hip surgery!”

“Hip surgery? You need a brain surgery!” shouts Arnold, picking off ten Congressmen zombies closing in on Trump with the AK-47. “And you’re welcome for my saving you.”

Foreigner! I’m the president!”

“Hurry! I don’t have unlimited bullets here, you know!” shouts Arnold, polishing off a baker’s dozen of Trump zombies.

Trump finally makes it to the bottom of the ramp. Trump fast walks with his arms as he slow walks with his feet.

“You’re not fooling anyone with that ‘fuck you’ walk of yours, Donald”

The equally slow moving zombie Christie reemerges from the Trump zombie horde. Trump shouts at Arnold, “Well, what are you waiting for? Shoot him!”

“I will not shoot my goddamn Vice President. You’re on your own, Donald. Again!” says Arnold running off into the maze.

“Let’s cut this fat orange fuck down to size, boys and girls. He’s had so many Fish Fillets we can all feast on one of his chubby thighs for a week!” shouts Christie. The growing zombie horde becomes more determined, as they slowly move for Trump, who is quickly running out of maze.

Trump finally gets it and runs as fast as his fat legs can carry him. Trump dodges through the mirrored maze and comes face to face with the entire Fox and Friends gang. The trio of Fox zombies have muted into an 8 foot tall three headed drooling monster.

Trump says nervously, “Hey, hey, how you three doin’? Whoa! Love that new look. It shouts GOP unity!”

The Fox and Friends giant Zombie rips the orange clown afro wig off Trump’s head, leaving Trump completely bald.

The deformed head of Doccy does all the talking,”You, fucking evil clown! You made us lie about the Covid every Goddamn day. You’ve killed us! You’ve killed the world! Get him!”

Trump pulls off his long red tie and forms a silk lasso. Trump’s red lasso swirls and  snags the not so friendly Fox & Friends. Trump dashes off, amazingly light on his feet for such a fat man.

“Sir, lie to us! We love your lies,” shouts Ainsley, despite angry glares from the heads of Kilmead and Doccy.

Trump freezes in his tracks and riffs, “OK… How’s this one? The Chinese vaccines caused to mutation that made you sweethearts into a three-head giant zombie, not me!”

The tied up trio all confer with each other, speaking in some kind of weird zombie language. Ducey says, “Breaking News! “Trump and the other zombies watch Doocy with great anticipation. “Kill this lying sack of shit!”

The tied up Fox and Friends zombies, followed in slow pursuit by Christie. The zombie smash in side of mirror. Glass flies as Trump tap dances away.

Trump loses the zombies in the maze again. He comes upon President Schwarzenegger desperately pondering a series of five doors, labeled in neon with the years 2020 though 2024. “This is your show, Donald! We only have seconds to pick which door!”

Trump slowly walks up the pentagonal formation of doors, “Well, 2024 looks good because I can easily defeat you in a rigged election.”

“I already tried that door, you fool. It’s locked!” shouts Arnold as the sound of the zombies gets closer.

“Well, 2021 then. I’ll have won the election against you, even that fucker Biden.” says Trump with a smirk, opening then door. But Trump is stunned to see a angry mob of red capped insurrectionists, chasing Mike Pence as they shout, “Hang Mike Pence! Hang Mike Pence!” Trump slams the 2021 door shut and says, “What the fuck was that?”

“Oh, just some of your Proud Boys you’re so proud of!” grouses President Schwarzenegger.

Trump zombies, some of whom Trump saw at the glimpse of insurrection before they were zombie, spin around the corner.

“Time is up asshole! Pick another door!” barks Schwarzenegger as he mows down the endless supply of Trump zombies.

Trump yanks open the 2022 door and comes face to face with a fat zombie Mike Pence. “Donald?”

“Mikey? Haha. So good to see you, buddy,” says Trump hiding his terror.

“The insurrection. Why did you send the Trumpie insurrectionists to hang me on January 6th?” says Pence.

“Uh, must be some kinda antifa trick. I’d never sick my Trumpies on you, buddy.  Not me. I’m from 2020!  We never had the insurrection. I swear, Mike!”

Pence scowls, “Huh. Why don’t I believe you, Donald?” He unhooks his jaw and swallows Trump whole.

“Mother Mary of God? — How does he taste, though?” wonders President Schwarzenegger.

Pence burps and says somberly, “Like hamburgers. What else?”

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Pence’s gaping maw transforms to Trump’s personal attendant Robert, giving Trump mouth to mouth. “Like breathing into a football!” says Robert out of breath.

The unconscious Trump is back in his White House bedroom in the good old present day April 25, 2020. Jared and Ivanka, dressed to a glittery hilt for a formal dinner, both look on nervously.

Ivanka whispers to Jared, “What in holy hell was daddy singing about? Some kind of hive mind. What was that?”

Jared whispers to the sobbing Ivanka, “Should Robert be reviving your dad?”

“So what if Robert’s black? Father is no racist!” sobs Ivanka loudly enough to interrupt Robert.

“Can you two keep it down for a minute?” says Robert, taking a breath from resuscitating Trump.

“That’s not what I meant. You’re always so critical!’ bitches Jared.

Robert stops mouth to mouthing Trump and says drolly, “Kids, do you mind putting your the universe-revolves-me -white-shit aside for 5 minutes while I –“

“Does OUR father have resuscitation order, Robert?” shouts Jared to the incredulous Robert.

Ivanka beats on Jared’s tiny chest,”JARED! Let Robert try to save Father until the paramedics get here.”

“Ah ha. I get it. Make it look like we care. But seriously, Father dies we take over the presidency ,” whispers Jared to Ivanka, who finally gets it with small nod of collusion.

“Hmm. Robert. Um, does my father have a resuscitation order?”

Robert rolls his eyes at Jared and Ivanka and goes back to saving Trump with mouth to mouth.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 5 – THE COVID KID

Return with us to the thrilling days of yesteryear in the OId West, when Trump is the sheriff of a small western town divided into Confederate and Union citizens

A big thanks once again to my amazingly talented wife Elizabeth England for playing all the female parts in this 2021 reading. No disrespect to the fallen of Covid intended.  I hope you can have a good sense of humor about all this stuff. It’s the only way we can keep sane.

And thank God we’re on the timeline we are where we don’t have the three million dead kind of situation I think we would have had under Trump. I don’t know what the hell he was doing with the Covid, but it really was not working . Kudos to Joe Biden, Kamala and his team for what they’ve done to restore our lives. I’m going to be seeing my grandchildren soon and I’m really excited.

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 the Supreme Court, or for that matter, the supposed good guys in this dark comedic tale.

Whoa! Alternate reality President Schwarzenegger is here and wants a word with you!

Listen up, America! Help my good friend Ken Sheetz is busting his flabby ass to bring you laughs and wild adventures, in a time of sorrow, to show you just how fucked up your world can be if you don’t defeat your Trump once and for all, and all the lying losers in the GQP!  Make a god damn donation, you cheap bastards, to help Ken keep bringing you more chapters and more old-style radio show audio and make sure that… I’ll be back.

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Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 3 – Hate is a Virus

Old style radio show audio added 5/21/21, plus edits.

This is a hard fictional story to write. Frankly, it makes my heart, mind and soul hurt deeply to watch President Donald Trump fail to daily take responsibility for his slow and poor response to the #coronavirus. His “briefings” have become a near total scam of free campaign media where he lies and sends his followers to their early Covid deaths.

Topping this Trump’s halted funding the World Health Organization in the middle of this pandemic to, IMHO and many others, deflect blame from his YUGE ego.

And now, without further ado I present…

HV TFD FINAL FOR TWITTER AND BLOGCHAPTER 3 – HATE IS A VIRUS

Meanwhile… one timeline away.

Robert gazes over his surgical mask at the full moon hanging over the White Hospital, formerly the White House. His deep brown eyes, which were all smiles a few minutes ago chatting with his mysteriously returned boss, are now filled with his true feelings of contempt for Trump.

In the distance, Trump tires to bully his way past a short, overweight and disbelieving Hispanic security guard.

“I tell you I am President Trump!”

“Hola. And I am Barrack Obama.”

“You’re almost the right color,” says Trump bitterly.

“Got any ID, smartass?” says the security guard dryly.

“Uh, no.”

“Why not?” says the security guard.

“Because, I ah, I got here buck naked on the back of this, uh, yuge time traveling butterfly?” says Trump, absentmindedly kicking a cigarette with his inflamed barefoot.

Trump flashes back.

“Look, whatever kinda butterfly you rode in on, Covid-Kid! With no ID I don’t let you in. This here is a hospital. We got sick dying VIPs here aplenty. And with no ID you ain’t no one!”

“Rudi Guliani in there?” says Trump trying to muscle past the smaller guard.

“Top secret,” says the security guard shoving Trump so hard that the would be king stumbles backwards.

“Nasty! You’ll be sorry you laid hands on me!” says Trump dusting himself off from imaginary fleas.

“Right. So sorry, Mister President. Now hop back on your butterfly and buzz the fuck off!”

Fifty yards of social distancing away from arguing the Trump and the stone faced security guard, Robert pulls down his surgical mask to light up a fresh stogie. Smoke glides in the moonlight and takes the shape of an old woman’s face.

“Grandma…,” whispers Robert to himself.

Robert closes his deep brown eyes and looks deep into his recent past with his inner eye. He is back in his family’s rundown DC apartment. He gazes sadly down at his dying grandmother Annie, a beautiful light skinned African American, well into in her seventies.

“Breathe deep Grandma. Relax. I got you. Please breathe,” says Robert patting Annie on her back.

“How’d I get this damn virus walled off from the world?” says Annie going into a coughing fit.

“I think the devil himself musta gave it to me. Then I gave it to you.”

“Not your fault Trump infected you, Bobby.”

“I had a test. Musta been a false negative. Trump never did standardize tests fore he vanished.” says Robert bitterly.

“Maybe all that hate he had for our people turned his fat ass to dust,” coughs Annie.

“That’s it. I’m taking you to the ER, Grandma.”

“No! I don’t wanna die in one of them zoos — cough — they call a hospital. I’ll die right here in our family home just like your father and big brother did,” says Grandma in spurts. “Now, Bobby. You’re gonna be all alone. So can you promise me one thing?”

“Anything, Grandma.”

“You mighta caught Trump’s covid but don’t catch his hate.”

“Aw, don’t ask me that, Grandma… cause I think it’s too late,” croaks Robert.

“Hate’s a virus, love.”

“I know, Grandma. I know all too damn well. But after losing Dad and –“

Grandma Annie stops breathing and goes into a violent seizure. Her tender eyes go still.

Robert’s teary vision returns to the present. He grimly watches Trump idiotically arguing with the stubborn security guard.

Trump rages,”Look you Mexcian pinjata brain, just let me take off my mask and you’ll see who the hell I am!”

“Pull down that mask, I shoot dead you on the spot,” says the security guard pulling his gun.

This only infuriates Trump more and he bellows,” A gun?! You pull a gun on the President of the United States! I’ll have your peon job! What’s your fucking name, Jose?”

“Now, you sound just like the Trump! It is you, you racist pandejo!” Jose pulls back the trigger hammer on his gun, murder in his eyes.

Robert jumps between the angry men, “Carlos, Carlos. take it easy, bro.”

“Stay out of this, Roberto!” says Carlos the security guard.

Robert amps up his charm and points at the masked Trump, “This guy Jerry here’s just my covid crazy patient. He ain’t no Trump.”

Trump keeps his big mouth shut for the first time in his life.

“He sure as fuck sounds like the US Hilter!” says the guard.

“Nah. I took old Jerry here for a walk in the Rose Garden. Idiot fell into the rose bushes. Gotta get some meds on his scratches. My fault he don’t have his ID. Can you let it slide, amigo? Let me put his fat ass back to bed. Huh?”

Trump almost breaks his silence, but being held at gunpoint he instead bites his tongue. Literally bites his tongue. Robert sees as a spot of blood appearing on Trump’s mask.

“Well? What you got to say for yourself, Jerry?” growls the Carlos the security guard.

“I, um, apologize,” says Trump in defeat, making the first apology of his long spoiled life.

“That’s more like it, pandejo.” Carlos says as he begrudgingly holsters his weapon and angrily stands aside.

Robert pats Carlos on the shoulder and says brightly, “Thanks, man. You’re the –“

“Shut the fuck up, Robert! Get me to my presidential bedroom!” demands Trump.

Robert makes a cookoo sign behind Trump’s back to Carlos and follows the fuming Trump.

Trump rips off his mask. He storms up the paneled hallway, lined with hospital beds filled with the sick and dying VIPS from religion, business and politics. We see many familiar faces. Bill gates one of them. Some are on on ventilators, some are dying for lack thereof.

Trump breezes arrogantly past it all,  muttering, “All a bad dream. Can’t wait to get back to my bed and –” Trump spots sick Fox News star Sean Hannity waving him over to his hospital bed and shouts joyfully, “Sean!”

“In the flesh. What’s left of –” Sean answers with a racking cough that cuts his punchline short.  Robert silently looks on, trying to manage the rage boiling up in his eyes.

“Easy, Sean. Wow, you still rate to end up here in my White House,” says Trump brightly. “Hate what that prick Schwarzenegger’s done to my place. Finally had it back in shape after that Kenyan and his little brats ran it into the  — “

“Wouldn’t get down on Schwarzenegger or Obama if I were you, Donnie. The libtards are, they’re running the show now. Armold’s a traitor to the GOP. So where you been for the last two years, pal?” advises Sean.

“Nowhere,” says Trump vacantly.

“Nowhere?”

“All this is just bad batch of Mickey D’s I had before bed. None of this is real,” says Trump brightly.

“Oh, buddy boy, it’s all to fucking real. Lucky thing you weren’t around the past two years to see the liberals destroy all you and I did together,” says Sean, a tear rolling down his sallow cheek.

“Three million US citizens dead and counting does mess with one’s popularity, ” sadly says Robert.

“Well, been nice, uh, catching up with you, Sean. Um, see you when I wake up,” says Trump shaking Sean’s trembling hand.

Sean jerks Trump’s hand to his lips, kisses it and says, “This is curtains for me. Not enough ventilators. Too much of the world’s factory workers got too sick too make –” Sean goes into racking dry cough, his familiar Fox face going beat red.

Trump snatches his hand free of Sean’s kiss like it might carry Covid and says, “Let’s go, Robert. My bedroom. Now!”

“Still love you, man!” coughs Sean as Trump vanishes around a corner.

Trump shimmies through a tight spot in the hallway, past familiar shocked faces of religious politicians and business leaders of both parties.

Trump spots his reflection in mirror and Trump in the mirror says, “Feeling anything in that black heart of yours yet?” Trump staggers on, not answering his conscience in the mirror and staggers up the ruined White House staircase.

More sick VIPS in hospital beds fill the former meeting area between the White House presidential quarter’s bedrooms. The noise of all the ventilators is macabre.

“You ain’t gonna like the changes Schwarzenegger made to your bedroom, sir,” warns Robert as Trump throws opens the door.

Trump’s jaw drops at the sight of six patients jammed into the old presidential layer. Trump races to a hospital bed right cradling a frail old woman, exactly where his California King used to reside and orders Robert, “Get all these sick losers out of my bedroom. I want my bedroom back exactly as it was now!”

The wasted old woman in the hospital bed slowly blinks opens her eyes. Her sagging face , filled with confusion, quickly gives way to wide eyed rage. “YOU!” rages Hillary Clinton, the old woman, as she dives onto Trump.  With a super human strength Hillary  tackles Trump as she digs her bony hands into his windpipe.

“Robert, help!” chokes Trump.

Robert calmly sits down in a tattered armchair and says nothing.

“Bastard black. After all I did for you –” says Trump in fits of coughs as Hillary maintains a death grip.  Hilary cackles. Her superhuman strength allows her to easily continue ringing the last breath from Trump as she screams,”This is for three million of Americans you killed with your stupidity and your arrogance!”

Robert lights up, ignoring the murder of one Donald J. Trump and says sadly to the smoke cloud he puffs, “Sorry, Grandma Annie. Trump’s hate virus done got me.”

Trump’s vision of his crazed executioner, Hilary, fades to the darkness of death.

END CHAPTER 3

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. Donation link.

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

BONUS MEDITATION

Here’s a little bonus visualization for those you out there that do quantum intentional meditation.

Yeah, these are terrifying time. Accept that. Be with it. You’re here for reason. Let stress roll of you like water off a duck’s back. You’re the earth and politics just the clouds in the sky. That’s all it is.

You’ll be here long after all that’s going on is gone.

One of my goals is creating these stories is to help you realize things could be worse… one timeline away.

Coming fever dreams…

Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 2 – The White Hospital

Old radio style audio and edits added May 16, 2021

Welcome to TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM, my dark sci-fi parody about a dark future, perhaps coming into alternate reality due the “too painful to watch” daily show of Trump’s inability to lead during the coronavirus crisis.

When we last left a feverish President Trump it was May 2022, and he was just dumped buck naked in the thorny bushes of the Rose Garden by the giant time-traveling cosmic butterfly of truth.

TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM

CHAPTER 2 – THE WHITE HOSPITAL

Meanwhile, one timeline away …

Trump’s former African American personal attendant, Robert, dressed in a hospital gown and mask, helps a badly scratched and quite naked Trump from the rose bushes to his shaky feet. Robert says,”Whoa. Last time I saw you, I rushed out your bedroom to get the doc.”

“Yeah, I know. That just happened,” says Trump crouching behind a bush.

“No. You been gone a whole two whole years!”

“Two years!?” shouts Trump.

“And why are you naked as a Jay bird on the 4th of July?” says Robert.

Too distracted to answer, Trump notices every window in the White House is brightly lit and wonders, “Damned if I know. Took a ride on a fucking giant liberal butterfly.”

All Robert can manage to say is, “Liberal butterflies?  Yep, you’re former President Trump alright.”

Trump points to the glowing presidential windows, “Why the hell are all the lights on in White House?”

“Put on this spare mask and gown on and lemme show you,” says Robert handing Trump both.

“The virus is fake news. Don’t need a mask but I will take a fucking gown!” shouts Trump, drawing attention from a masked security guard.

“Sorry. President Schwarzenegger’s executive order of May 7, 2020 makes wearing of gowns and masks law,” offers Robert grimly.

“President Schwarzenegger?!” shouts Trump.

The masked White House security, pulling out his pistol. Trump quickly struggles to gown up as he says, “Why isn’t Mike president? He die of Covid?”

“Pence ain’t dead yet… but he’s eatin’ himself there.”

“Eating?” says Trump.

“Pence took over your brand of eatin’ all American fast food. But that shit got way outta control. Last report, Pence’s gained 130 pounds since he was ousted from the presidency.”

Trump laughs wickedly and says,”Ousted how?

“Senate unanimously voted to impeach him for slipping ventilators to all his PAC backers. Mikey, never even made it to the elections. Your yes man was lost after you vanished.”

“What happened to Biden?”

“Gone with the Covid. Sweet guy. Don’t think he’d have been much of president in any case.”

“He was in the Ukrainians and China’s pocket. America’s better off Biden’s dead,” says Trump.

“They cremated old Joe. Conspiracy theories abound Joe’s still alive and hiding out in Antarctica on a UFO base,” says Robert.

“Hmm. Sounds like the Dems caught onto how much people love conspiracy theories.”

“And Bernie?” says Trump.

“Virus killed old Bernie same day as Moscow Mitch. But not before he gave his spot to Schwarzenegger. Then Arnold ran for reelection and won biggly, as you used to like to say, sir,” says Robert.

“Who’d Schwarzenegger run against ?” says Trump in angry wonder.

“Jared. Epic landslide.”

“Surprise!” says Trump dryly. “So who’s the Veep?”

“Your old pal Chris Christie”

“What a fuck fest. But Arnold isn’t American born. How’d he get around that?” says Trump.

“The GOP Senate, they changed them laws– ” says Robert, trying not to show his happiness.

The gowned and masked Trump stomps for the White House, “Enough. I am gonna tell Schwarzenegger face to face to get the fuck out of my oval office.”

“America’s hero, um, President Schwarzenegger, he don’t work from here no more.”

Trump stops dead in his tracks and spins to ask, “What? Why?!”

“President Schwarzenegger, you see, he made this here White House into a coronavirus hospital.”

“The White House a hospital?” says Trump.

“Arnold renamed it the White Hospital now. I still work here. Trained nurse now on the front line,” says Robert proudly.

“Two years and none of the vaccines I was ramming through on Operation Warp Speed didn’t get made?”

“Oh they got made all right. Life even started getting back to normal in the summer of 2021. The mutations struck, says Robert sadly.

“Mutations?” says Trump.

“Florida. That fucker DeSantis tried to out Trump you. No masking. No vaxxing. Now, America’s still on it’s ass thanks to the DeSantis Variant.”

“How many dead?” says Trump.

“I gave up checking when the death toll hit 3 mil. Too numb to keep up anymore” says Robert sadly. “And damned if the DeSantis Variant don’t love killing the young. Tragic. At least the Covid-Original like bumping off old people who had lived a full life. Wanna hear the kicker though?”

“Unlike Covid-Orginal the DeSantis variant like killing 3 times more whites than blacks. Some say it’s God’s way of –“

“Fuck all this.  Where do I find Schwarzenegger?” demands Trump.

“Ain’t gonna like what I gotta say on that, sir,” says Robert kicking at the poorly mowed White House lawn.

“Stop fucking around and give me the dope on where the guy who ruined the Apprentice is!” says Trump grabbing Robert by his hospital gown.

“President Schwarzenegger, you see, he works from the repossessed Trump Tower,” says Robert sheepishly.

Trump fumes until he spews, “Fuck me!”

“After all the lawsuits after your — ahem — handling of the virus, well, it was your baby Ivanka’s only option to pay the bills, sellin’ the Tower,” says Robert warily.

“Besides that shit. How’s Ivanka?!” says Trump.

“Holed up at Mar-A-Lago with Jared and your boy Baron. Runnin’ what’s shreds are left of your empire after the IRS seized most your assets.” says Robert taking a long drag on his cigar.

“Ivanka and Jared are with Baron, good. Where’s, Melania?”

“Brace yourself… ,” says Robert hanging his head. “You’re widower now, sir. Poor Meliania passed of the DeSantis Variant October 19th 2020.”

“Cool, cool. OK.  Single man again. I mean that’s terrible!  What about my two son, Eric and Don Jr?  How are they”

“Don Jr’s been in an out of rehab like a revolving door. Kinda lost track of him.” says Robert gently.

“And my idiot son?” asks Trump.

“Eric’s dead.”

“The DeSantis Variant?” puzzles Trump.

“Eric, well, passed to the great beyond just last week. But not of the virus.”

“How?”

“You really wanna know, sir?”

“Is a Republican as dumb as dirt?” says Trump, masking up.

“Video of Eric’s death went viral. You sure?” says Robert pulling out cell phone.

“Show me!”

Screen Shot 2021-05-16 at 3.38.40 PMRobert scrolls and hits play on YouTube.

The African plains glow in the sunset. Eric and a rugged African hunting guide, Akua, sneak through the brush on their bellies. “I wish my dad had live to see me bag the last rhino on earth!” says Eric. Akua motions Eric to be quite, putting a finger to his lips.

“Huh?” says Eric loudly.

A male rhino charges for Eric.

Akua shouts, “Run!  Run for the Land Rover, you great white idiot!”

Eric defies Akua and takes careful aim at the charging rhino. BANG! A perfect shot the rhino crumbles mid run and rolls forward, crushing the screaming Eric to silence.

“Stop! Seen enough.”

“You sure the part where they pull the rhino off Eric with the winch is — Sorry —  “

“Don’t be sorry,” says Trump waving off Robert’s sympathy.

“Huh? I know you’re tough, sir. But that’s cold. Eric loved you more than all the other Trump children,” says Robert.

“Not cold. It’s fine,” says Trump with a maniacal grin.

“Fine how?”

“Finally got this all  figured out.”

“How so?” puzzles Robert.

“Fever dream. All just a stupid fever dream,” says Trump with a delirious chuckle.

“Wow. Love that shit. But sadly this shit’s all too real, Donald, I mean, sir.”

“Believe what you want. I’m fucking outta here,” Trump storms off for the White House.

“Where you goin’, sir?” says a bewildered Robert.

“Back to my bedroom to wake the fuck up!”

Trump storms off to the White House, determined to wake up from his fever dream. Robert takes a long drag on this cigar and follows after Trump.

“Forgot to ask about Tiffany. That’s my Donnie,” says Robert.

END CHAPTER 2

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. Old style radio show audio coming soon to more chapters. Thanks.

Donate for new chapters and audio .

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

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

5/2/2021 New Old Style Radio Show Audio Version Added. Dialogue added for the Butterfly of Truth!

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…

Love Trumps Hate smaller
That’s my love Elizabeth in the Coolest Meditation Ever Antarctica penguin hat.

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

I’ll get chapter two audio up here as soon as I can.

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.

 

A Serious April Fool’s Day

Sorry, fans. I am having trouble connecting to my spirit guides and higher self tonight. The reason: Fear. Fear has grounded my normally cosmic consciousness. Not even watching my friend of a friend Deepak Chopra’s excellent and most soothing, literally web breaking, video could soothe me.

And to have this happen to my once secret psychic super powers on April Fool’s Day of all days. Yeesh!  A day I’ve loved since I was a kid. You see, I am a prankster by nature. I carry a lot of Kokopelli energy. — But alas I am far too serious for silly jokes tonight, long after sweet Elizabeth has gone to bed.  My poor wife is so stressed she is grinding her teeth at night.  Tomorrow we brave a trip CVS for a dental guard for her. I will get one too.

“Why am is Ken so stressed?”you may ask if you live only watch the news once a year for the after Xmas sales. You see on this April Fool’s Day, an eternity of bliss ago, a lot of innocent people are going to die all over this beautiful planet. Oh, and America is the #1 outbreak spot on that planet as of today. New Age spirit teachings that humans all decide when we are going to die before we are born, well, it ain’t helping dull the pain I am feeling as a planetary intuitive. My nerves are on fire. CBD or medical cannibas helps if you live in a state where you can get it.

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Americans frightened of Trump ever changing travel restrictions crowd airports further spreading the coronavirus.

The virus science has become compelling enough that we Yanks are going to lose up to 240,000 Americans, that’s like 4 Vietnams, for Trump to extend his rather feeble stab at precautions an extra month.

That scares me because Trump is only putting up smoke screen about the lousy job he’s done, and is still doing, without really working in the coordinated way we must to get the supplies, facilites and manpower to manage this. He’s making things worse than they have to be. It’s like we have a dry drunk Captain at the wheel of the Titanic.

Trump Titanic

I forgive myself for being off my game. You see, I nearly died of black mold poisoning and resulting pneumonia in 2013. Not being able to breathe is a horrible feeling. And since that’s how the virus kills you I feel a dread most people don’t about catching this damn thing. Add to this a heart failure in 2017 and, well, it’s a perfect cocktail of fear.

These are terrifying times. And I encourage you to do the same forgiveness of your fears in your life. Things just are going to be awful for awhile. It’s just that sad and simple.

I need to let go of a world that is vanishing and embrace the new. But it’s a hard thing to let go of and I hope you are doing better than me in managing your fear. Stay socially distant, even when the people of the Right wing are flaunting the dangers due to their misplaced belief in the biggest April Fool who ever lived, Donald J. Trump.

Love, Ken

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SECRET AGENTS FOR THE LIGHT?

As Elizabeth and I socially-hibernate — better than social-distancing, right? — here in Sedona, I am in touch with my ancestral spirits, spirit guides, earthly ghost guides, ET spirit guides, multi-dimensional hozenflatters (their name not mine) more than ever.

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My digital artist rendering of but a few of my pantheon spirit guides

Within my overcrowded skull, my pantheon of spirit guides are saying, in their own unique and sometimes annoying voices, that as a species humanity is being called into thinking in new ways and transforming into greater love and trust in each other. Love always wins in the end because it’s what we come from, in some form both dark and light. Take that, fear mongers!

But, big butt, much as I love what I am hearing from spirit it’s been hard to listen to as the news is so overwhelmingly negative and FEAR BASED. Ekart Tolle calls this a time of “collective adversity.”

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On the bright side, the mysterious 2011 pattern of an eagle that appeared in my hair actually makes more sense than today’s headlines

Each day we watch the vast majority of our PAC and lobby-bought politicians — Governor Cuomo of New Yoprk state, has been an awesome exception BTW — from local dog catcher to DC player, fail us in a myriad of ways. We’re like a society of Charlie Browns. Our leaders, all Lucys, keep yanking the football of well-being from us over and over again. And yet we keep taking that emotional spill over and over again, like we’re caught in time loop of Charlie Brown style idiocy.

Yeesh. As a psychic person it’s terrifying to watch our “leaders” make bad choices that have us heading like lemmings off a timeline cliff. Feels like watching  a slow motion tsunami getting ever closer to overwhelming our hospital system in the next week to 10 days. This can be avoided by isolating but not enough Americans, old and young (especially) alike, are doing so.

Unfortunately, this is thanks to a large to an anti-scientist president who just does not get he needs to be leading, not hiding the truth, and looking for ways to feather his nest and the 1 percent’s. Indeed, now that the elite he serves have fed from of the FED trough at taxpayer expense Trump’s ready to have everyone back to work and back in church by Easter. Wha?

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Add to this mainstream media hysteria the many weird conspiracy theories our spirit pundits are spinning at this time and its enough to make you feel as lost as a kitten in dog shelter. Yes, what we are hearing from the Ickes and Wilcox’s of the world have a grain of truth. But come on!  This whole massive pedo arrests thing as a plan to snatch all the bad people under the cover of the Coronavirus is just plain nutty.

Especially when in the players we have a crook like Barr in charge of the DOJ, who wants to steal more of our rights. Are we seriously to believe Barr under Trump — who both let pedo-king Jeffery Epstein be murdered or suicide to escape justice in prison — are heroes who are going to bust pedophiles? NO! Only a psyop could be this convoluted. Wake up, spirit friends. Seriously.

I hate conspiracy theories in general, but especially those targeted at our open-minded spirit community because many good people get snared in these twisted dark fantasies, AKA psyop, AKA targeted weapons grade mind control media.

Despite being wise to the psyop Q-Anon game, it still amazes me when I meet a spiritual person who is pro Trump!  Why? Because to be pro-Trump a spirit person must ignore refugee kids held at the border by his administration, Trump’s impeachment for holding aid from the Ukraine for dirt on Joe Biden,  disregard for nature, his thousands of lies and on and on darkness.

MY CONSPIRACY THEORY OF LIGHT

So allow me, if you will, to share a counter-conspiracy theory of light I’ve dreamed up for you about the basis for people of spirit getting sucked into the Trump camp by a vortex of lies.

See your spiritual Trumpy spirit friends as having volunteered, on a higher level of reality, to partially return to slumber, numb to all the evils of supporting Trump entails, to be secret agents, secret even from themselves, as catalysts of the light and love. Each are then inserted into a very core of a dark consciousness founded on greed and hate which Trump is not the be all and end all, but who simply represents the dark energy rotting America from the inside. Ohom, my ET spirit guide has been telling me since Trump won that he will have an awakening in office. Perhaps the death toll of the virus will be the trigger. Or perhaps Ohom meant Trump’s awakening will be a dark one.

Looking ahead, perhaps we are not social-distancing but socially-hibernating, as I wrote top of the blog. We’re certainly in a chrysalis locked away from one another. Try to see that when we human butterflies emerge from the cocoon of our homes, and hug each other like its D-Day, we are going to bring a whole new consciousness into this glorious world. And Trump’s hate based politics will have no place in that shinny new world. Night.

Support our more important than ever planetary meditations and get yourself some immunity and prosperity boosting tech at CoolestTechEver.com

 

 

 

 

Cosmic Soup

Last night Elizabeth and I fell into bed exhausted from a day of preparing for what seems to be an inevitable shut down on our food supplies. Heck, normal life in general is shutting down in light of what was upgraded to a global pandemic by the World Health Organization this week.

Seeking to calm my nerves after our President’s Rose Garden press conference failed to, just can’t trust a man who lies for sport, I meditated to fall asleep. The last thing I expected was a spiritual message from my subconscious as to a possible meaning of life here on good old planet Earth.

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I breathed deeply and rhythmically, grateful to be virus free. Quick as it came up, I banished a worry about a little tickle in my nose. Soon I was rewarded with a vision of the entire multiverse as a vast globule of, get this,… soup.

Here, on earth I saw it was humanity’s job to collectively generate a bitter ingredient, one made of a dash of mass hysteria and a pinch of sorrow over our the loss of enjoying each other’s daily society. Once our bitter contribution was made to the cosmic soup it was served up to a being so gigantic I could not make out anything but the gaping mouth of a spinning black hole.

Activated to full wakefulness by this cool but strange vision, I slipped from bed and raided the fridge, seeking to nosh on supplies we’d bought that day to tide us over from a food shortage. Call it controlled panic eating.

I made a snack of white mushrooms with the stem sockets filled with mustard and contemplated my vision of the cosmic soup we are all a part of making to create this reality which we both love and hate.

“Was this a vision of the meaning of life?” I wondered for a few munches. “Nah. Seems more like an elaborate cosmic rationalization,” I grumbled to myself, washing the mushrooms down with a Mexican bottle of Coke made with cane sugar. Way better than American corn syrup Coke, but not exactly a healthy dietary habit.

I flashed back earlier shopping of the day when Elizabeth stopped me from grabbing a pack of salami, “Ken, just because we’re stocking up to beat the Coronavirus outbreak does not mean you should abandon your healthy eating habits!”I chuckled about that and agreed Elizabeth was right, grateful I was noshing on mushrooms and not fatty salami.

Content this was enough deep thought and stress eating for one scary day on planet Earth for a man in his sixties, feeling vulnerable after March 2018 heart failure. I slipped back into bed with my love Elizabeth and snuggled up to her warm body. Soon I drifted off to sleep, grateful to have at least one human being to share this strange and bitter time in our world with.

Elizabeth and I wish you and yours perfect health in this crisis. Please check out our cool wellness products we use ourselves at CoolestTechEver.com products page.

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Have a Corona Beer for God’s Sake!

Our president is learning as a failed reassurer in chief — witness as evidence the drop in Corona beer sales and stock market prices — that his pattern lies is backfiring in profound ways.

Nah, who I am kidding? Trump’s not learned a damn thing. In fact, just this past week on FOX Trump proclaimed his HUNCH, before the whole weary world, that the global #Coronavirus death toll is not 3.5% but more like, 1/10 of 1% in his not so humble opinion.

Wow. Who needs the WHO or CDC when you have a president telling fans of his nonsensical approach to reality what they want to hear? Indeed, FOX NEWS and Trump have never been a more lethal combo in telling people on the same segment, experiencing mild cases of the virus (AKA early) to go to work anyways, gosh darn it! Silly old killer virus.

Yeesh. Might our new virus czar Mike Pence finally find the courage to complain about the Trump’s constant undermining? Once again: Nah.

SNL went so far as to spoof FOX’s coverage of the virus as their cold opener:

And if that wasn’t enough gallows humor for one episode…

Well, hope these SNL clips cheered you up a little.  Laughter is the best anti-virus.

And isn’t it nice to know the worst virus can happen when we hang out on the web is a computer virus?

Enjoy a Corona beer for God’s Sake! You have nothing to beer but beer itself.

Wrapping up, if you have a craving for truth after this eternity of a presidency, please consider Biden will undoubtedly tell fewer lies than Trump if elected, but he’s more for 1% than the 99. Go Bernie2020 if the truth matters to you.

A better day is coming