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

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

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

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

CHAPTER 9 – THE GREENE JEWISH SPACE LASER NEW DEAL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone shouts in unison, “Never forget Sacramento!”

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

“Space Force,” says Jared brightly.

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

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

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

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

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

“Put your damn weapon down!” demands Trump.

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

“I said put the god damn weapon DOWN!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FUNDING GOAL $5 BILLION!

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

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

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

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

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

“Six stars then!” boasts Trump.

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

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

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

Jared pipes up, “Fearless leader.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE END

Trumptopia’s Fearsome Leader – Artist Unknown

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

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

Chapter 8 – Trumptopia

Congratulations. If you are an American reading this blog during the final days of the Trumptopia you’re one of the lucky people not to be among the 340,000 to 420,000, depending on who is counting, to sadly and needlessly be killed off by the Corona virus in 2020.

Add to the Trumptopia 2020 shit show the nearly 20 million Americans who were infected by the maskless, feckless, freedom fighters and extra congrats if you’ve not become a long hauler. Happily, not even the ever more seditious GOP can dampen the collective joy over the good news that the mother of all polls, The Gallup, shows Trump’s popularity is falling as Biden’s rises.

All of which inspires me to create a new chapter in my ongoing blog series that began in the spring of 2020 and which might become a novel once I can make the time. Enjoy. (Audio version here.)

TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM – CHAPTER 8 – TRUMPTOPIA

In chapter 7 we left Donald Trump stuck in an alternate timeline reality. One where he was not so lucky as our reality’s Trump, who quickly recovered from Covid. — All to our collective shock given his obesity and unhealthy diet. — The orange dictator wannabe lays secretly intubated in a makeshift hospital room that was once his White House bedroom. While across the hall, the First Lady has been accidentally shot by Steve Bannon.

Melania croaks her last words to Bannon, “Tell Donald I love heem.”

Trump’s fever dream madness dissolves. He blinks his orange raccoon eyes, coming to with a loud gasp in his good old White House bedroom. He mutters in disgust at all the moving boxes that surround his bed.

Screenshot from Comedy Central Video -The President Gets Evicted From the White House

Trump yawns deeply and mumbles to himself, “Knew it. Knew it was all a bad dream when Melania said she loves me.” He turns on TV and is shocked to see Kayleigh McEnany is now a Fox News anchor.

“Morning, Fox viewers. The sad day we’ve all been dreading, January 20th 2021, is here. Despite the heroic efforts of the near unanimous vote of the GOP Congress and GOP Senators, led by GOP rival for McConnell’s throne, Ted Cruz , and a well contained Proud Boy riot on January 6th, one fortunately with no casualties, unless you count their broken hearts, the geriatric Joe Biden will be sworn in at noon today as the unlawful fake president of the not-so-United States of America. We are honored on this, my first day as the new Fox News morning anchor, to welcome the real President of the United States Donald Trump to the show… Uh, sir? Are you there, sir?”

“One sec! Forgot I was going to be on this morning.” shouts Trump as he throws on a robe that is patterned after a king’s gown. “Well, not really forgot. I am sharper than ever. Sharp as… what was I saying?”

The ON AIR sign lights up on the bedroom camera. Now Trump’s gigantic naked bone white ass is all that’s being broadcast live on FOX, which temporarily cuts to a still shot of a well coifed Trump kissing Giuliani.

Trump sweeps empty McDonald’s wrappers off his bed. His orange head a balding Boris Johnson mess, Trump jams on a Lincoln stovepipe top hat over his embarrassing hair and shouts. “Ready, Kayleigh!”

“Mr. President! Ah there you are. Looking very Abe Lincoln too. How, um… nice!” says Kayleigh painting on her famed fake smile.

“Hadn’t heard you were on FOX, Kayleigh,” says Trump coldly.

“Fox made me an offer I could not refuse, sir.”

“Fox is fake news now. I am the REAL president and this whole fake Biden/Harris inauguration thing today is a total sham. Right?” demands Trump.

“Of, of course, Mr. Real President. And I am going to be on site for your real inauguration later today.” offers Kayleigh brightly.

“I’ll never give up! I love my voters too much to ever quit. The rigged elections were stolen by the lower income working class people living in urban areas!” shouts Trump.

“Just call them Black voters, sir. Sorry, we’re trying to get the balance back into “fair and –”

“Hate to cut you short, Kayleigh, but I gotta thank all the suc, uh, brave donors who gave me over $300 million, post election day, to my Stop the Steal Campaign. A new funding record that will earn me a third Nobel. Donations still welcome at this link!” Trump lifts a poster board with his website emblazoned across it in front of his face, accidentally knocking off his stovepipe hat. His hair a beautician’s nightmare, Trump dives from sight and pops back up with the Abe hat turned sideways.

Kayleigh coughs nervously and tries to change the subject,”Um, Tell us about your real inauguration today. Why the choice of Four Season Total Landscaping for the location of your second term swearing in?”

Trump crosses his plump arms in a pout and grouses, “Did I teach you nothing, Kayleigh, while you served under me?”

“I’m sorry?”

You tell me why I selected Four Seasons Total Landscaping, Kayleigh.” says Trump tapping his chubby bare foot. “Hello! I’m waiting.”

“Um, you’re doubling down, sir? On Rudy’s presser he held between the dildo store and the crematorium?”

“Bingo! Haha! I own the libs again!” says Trump doing his YMCA dance, which minus the music is even weirder looking.

“Ooh the libtards hate you, sir!” giggles Kayleigh.

“Hey, Kayleigh, would you like your first Fox exclusive?”

“Of course, Mr. Real President.”

“The master of deal is back, Kayster! I’ve made an exclusive arrangement with Four Seasons Total Landscaping, to be the future northern White House, ” says Trump with a cocky grin.

“Um. Speechless, sir.”

“They’re putting me in the fertilizer department.” beams Trump.

“Um, uh, excellent choice to once again own the libtards. I’m curious of one thing though, Mr. President –“

“That’s Mr. Real President, ” says Trump angrily readjusting his stovepipe hat to his best crack a normal.

“I’m curious, Mr. Real President, why such a small venue? I mean the landscaper’s back alley could not possibly hold more than 100 or so of your loyal followers.”

“Duh. Simple, Kayleigh. Covid!” shouts Trump as if being louder will make his idea more understandable.

“Covid?” asks a panicky looking Kayleigh.

“I alone can save the American people from the virus. So I want my real inauguration to be intimate. You know, less people… to fight the China plague! A plague that Joe Biden’s son Hunter has brought upon our people with his illegal emails to the Ukraine.”

Not liking where this is heading Kayleigh gingerly asks,”Sir, are you still considering re-labeling this tragic killer of innocents and old people to be the Biden Virus?”

“Damn leakers. I was gonna reveal that in my inauguration speech today! Who told you about the Biden Virus?” demands Trump, with a pop on on his top hat for emphasis.

“You did, sir. Um, before I quit,” says Kayleigh with an apologetic smile.

“Right. I knew that. Knew that like Person, Man, Woman Camera, something, something. As you know, I am starting my own network. Trump TV! And it would have been the far,very far better choice for you, Kayleigh. Fox has gone too god damn liberal. Al the truthing! Disgusting!”

“The truth can really suck. I know. It”s just…”

“Just what, Kayleigh?”

“Ivanka. She’s jealous of any time I spend with you, sir.”

“Yeah, my babe, uh, baby can get catty. Can’t get enough of her Daddy dear,” says Trump distracted by a house fly.

“So I figured I able to converse with you more freely, Mr. Real President, at a network Ivanka was not, um, running.” says Kayleigh, finishing with a flirtatious smile.

Trump dives missing the fly and falls to the floor, “Got him and his little fly brother. Two flies with one blow Topped Obama again!” says Trump as the two flies buzz by the camera.

“How is the first lady taking all this?” says Kayleigh trying to move on.

“Dr. Jill? How the hell would I know?” sighs Trump then realizing what he said and quickly adding, “Right! First Lady Melania has written a poem about all this. Like me to read it?”

Off Kayleigh’s nod, Trump recites,

“A Poem the Real First Lady Melania Trump

4 years in the drafty old White House

Four years living with an arrogant louse

Get me off this fucking horse

I want a fucking dee-vorce!”

Trump says sadly, “Oh, that was Melania’s diary. My bad.”

“So sorry, Donald, I mean Mr. Real President.” says Kayleigh, wiping a tear.

“Shoulda rehearsed that poem thingee more. Nothing to be sorry about! Ladies, I am back on the market. How about a date tonight, Kayleigh?”

“Have to be double date. My husband Sean for me and any number of lucky women for you.”

“I’ll check with Kimberly!” says Trump wistfully.

“Don Jr. and Ms. Guilfolye have broken up?”

“Haha. Nope. But why settle for junior when senior’s on the market?”

Trump and Kayleigh laugh. Both have a hard time stopping and soon it awkward AF.

“Never can stay mad at you, Kayleigh Wayleighly. Wanna hear a little of my speech?” says Trump, pulling his robe tight over his bulging crotch. “This one I rehearsed, well, more like skimmed. Actually, my Black body man Robert read it to me. Did I mention Robert is Black?”

“Um, yes you have, sir. Many, many, many time.”

“Robert”s the Black guy that told me I was the best president for Black people aside from Abe Lincoln, maybe,” says Trump swatting the pair of flies away. “So mt speech. Want a taste, Kayleigh?”

“Oh my god, we at Fox News are totally honored to hear your real inauguration speech, Mr. Real President!”

Trump digs through the pile of burger wrappers, “Fuck me, where’s my fucking inauguration speech? Ah here we go! – Ahem! Four years ago we birthed Trumptopia together! This despite the mess I inherited from that Kenya born jungle bunny and –“

“If I may suggest, sir, Jungle bunny may cost your a few Black votes in 2024, sir.” says Kayleigh, sneaking a look at her watch.

Trump ignores Kayleigh and pushes on, “Now, as I begin my second terms as the real president of my ever blossoming Trumptopia, I want to give special thanks to those rascally Proud Boys for acting as my army — scratch that, I mean private security force — sponsored by My Pillow, and gathered here at Four Seasons Total Land –“

Onscreen Kayleigh listens to her earpiece and says, “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. President.”

Mr. Real President! Knew I should have given this interview to Hannity. What the fuck is so important you have the nerve to interrupt –“

“Sean has breaking news from the, um, fake inauguration. It seems fake president Joe Biden has sprained his big toe and –“

“Haha! See! See how old and feeble that old goat Biden is!” gloats Trump.

“Actually, it seems Joe sprained his toe rescuing a bus load of Trump backers from a burning Greyhound single-handidly.” says Kayleigh softly.

“Oh, “whispers Trump. The stovepipe hat falls off his bushy half bald head.

“Sorry, Mr REAL President. Over to you Sean,” says Kayleigh blowing a kiss to Trump.

The TV screen switches to a Sean Hannity who watches in amazement as Joe Biden carries a heavy Proud Boy over his shoulders off the burning Greyhound bus to be tended to by the First Lady Dr. Jill Biden.

Sean says bitterly to the camera, “Welp, there goes Trumptopia, folks!”

Trump glumly turns off the TV and starts to pack his remaining shit.

Trump’s Black body man Robert pokes his head in the bedroom door and says, “Sir, the Secret Service, insists you vacate immediately. You get dressed and leave that packing to me.”

Trump falls to his knees and prays,”Where’d I go wrong with your people, Robert?”

Robert ponders and finally finds the words, “I had to pick the moment it was, you know, after Charlottesville. When you said there were very fine people on both sides?”

Trump nods slowly. Falling tears streak his orange makeup. Trump finds a half eaten burger on the floor and attempts to eat away his sorrow.

THE END

Close Encounters of the Super-Denier Kind

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

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

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

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

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

A 65th 25th BIRTHDAY PARTY

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

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

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

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

“Don’t wish me that!” Myrtle quips.

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Myrtle as I imagine her at age 25 ūüôā

Trump Fails at Failure

Trump’s ongoing refusal to accept his loss of the 2020 elections is what it looks like to fail at failure.

Fire, Ready, Aim! When you fail at being a loser.

Let’s face it. Good sportsmanship is not a Trumpain skill set. Not surprising because Trump loses at far more things than he ever succeeds at. Take for example Trump’s two failed marriages, not counting his phony marriage to Melania, not one but two failed Atlantic City casinos, a failed airline, a failed university, a failed steak biz, a failed liquor biz, failures in leadership on education and the environment that hurt us all, a failed second term bid where 80 million Americans said, “You’re fired!”, a failing hair dye nightmare contesting of the election by the break-out star of the second BORAT film, Rudy Giuliani, and more and more failures.

Ah, but the #1 failure, the one that will define Trump’s failed place in history, while he spends his days golfing and tweeting about election fraud, is his failure, past, present and future, up to January 20, 2021, to protect America from an invisible enemy called the Corona Virus. Tragically, by Christmas the CDC is projecting 321,000 Americans dead of the virus, far exceeding the entire American death toll of World War 2. All because Trump miserably failed and continues to fail to lead on simple masking and simple social distancing and encouraged his followers to engage in the failed experiment of herd immunity, preferring the politics of division and hate.

Now, you might expect with Trump’s history of failure, in such a grand a repeating pattern, that the golfing pouter in chief, enabled by the unrecognizable, once respected GOP, that he might begin seeing a massive drop in popularity. And you’d unfortunately be wrong because Trump and the GOP are clinging to 70 million some voters for Trump with a stolen election fantasy, custom tailored to continue to brainwash his loyal base. And so on and on the world’s worst sport ever tweets from his golden toilet or his overpriced golf courses, “Rigged Election!”, all to the deadly detriment of a badly divided nation.

Sadly, I’ve learned the hard way from trying to help some of my New Age friends — duped into loving and supporting this scoundrel and his mutated and malignant GOP, that New Agers fed an endless stream of lies about the election being stolen by honest voters wanting a end to hate soaked politics — are going to have an especially hard time breaking free of Trump. You see, New Agers are so anti-vax and anti-mask that they are sadly continuing to submerge their natural disdain for kids in cages, racist sexist policies, the destruction of our EPA standards, love for our fellow man and much awfully more. It’s tearing my oblivious Trump loving friends apart and it’s hard to watch. Still I hang in there hoping something unforeseen might rescue my friends in the New Age bubble from the evils of Trumpsim.

AMERICA’S NEXT COACH WARMS UP

Joe Biden is like a NFL coach who is replacing a loser coach Trump, fired halfway through the season because his leaderless coaching style has cost his team every game. And yet this loser coach has somehow convinced some his failed team they were cheated by the refs and that they are, trapped in his alternate reality, undefeated!

As for how I’ve dodged all the Red Pill (Q indoctrination) efforts, well, I have a father to thank who loved to lie. And his compulsive need his fabricate reality like Trump does created in me for discernment as a means to survival, giving me inner alarm bells around liars. If you’re a fan of mine who trusts in my objectivity, please believe me when I say real success is based on truth. No matter how much the truth hurts. And it produces a far more lasting bliss than fantasy, one that will endure the test of time.

And so I invite you, dear friends and readers who still love Trump, when you are hopefully one day ready, to leave Trump’s “alternate facts” Twilight Zone universe that you in future confine fictional bliss for fictional entertainment, be it gaming, music, TV, movies and book enjoyment.

Lies have no positive place in the real world.

What Trump will never learn, but hopefully we can through his fantasy mirror example that is South Dakota Souix like in the tribe member called a Heyoka, a shaman who does all backwards to teach, is that we all grow from learning from our failures in accepting reality as it truly is. For only through the acceptance of reality and failure can we created the world as we really want it to be for us and our children and our children’s children.

Allow Trump’s failure at at gracefully accepting the 2020 elections be your guide up and out of the Trump/GOP/Q rabbit hole.

I’ll wrap this Trump meditation up by inviting you to join me in reading and watching less about Trump’s spectacular inability to be a good sport and to focus more on Joe and his plans for his taking over the team we call America. I am excited most, so far, about his choice of John Kerry as special envoy to deal with getting control of the all too real existential threat of climate change.

Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 7 – Weekend at Trumpie’s

Meanwhile One Timeline Away… in a universe not very far away… an obese President Donald Trump, very much like our own, living on a parallel Earth, very much like our own, lays intubated, deep in a Covid coma.

Steve Bannon paces the White House presidential bedroom that’s been converted into a hospital room for the unconscious lump of Trump.¬† Running his stubby hands through his unruly mop of salt and pepper hair, Bannon stops pacing to stare in disbelief and despair at his pal Trump through the clear plastic wall the separates them.

Losing her small amount of patience Ivanka says, “Well, Will you do it, Steve?”

Bannon hesitates for long beat before answering coyly, “I need time, Ivanka. He’s in a damn coma. How am I supposed to run a campaign with him fucking unconscious?”

Jared chuckles offering, “Ever seen WEEKEND AT BERNIE’S?”

“No.” say Bannon and Ivanka in unison.

“You guys are no fun,” says Jared, sounding high as a kite on something.

“I’VE GOT IT!” shouts Bannon, frightening Robert, Trump’s Black aid, who is replenishing Trump’s IV bag. It falls to the floor and bursts on the makeshift tiles.

“Quiet. Respect for my father-in-law,” scowls Jared.

“Respect from the WEEKEND AT BERNIE’S guy? A movie where Bernie is dead and some freeloaders use Bernie’s corpse to stretch out their free ride?” says Bannon sternly.

“No fair, Steve. You said you hadn’t seen it,” says Jared sheepishly.

“I lied to save you the embarrassment in front of the President’s wife.”

“Don’t you mean daughter?” says Ivanka.

Bannon remains smugly silent.

Robert slips on the fluid spill and falls to the floor, sending a tray of instruments flying. A flying scalpel impales Trump’s forearm but the trio of plotters are so engrossed they miss Trump’s impalement.

“So what do you have, or got, Steve?” asks Ivanka.

“And please don’t say Covid,” half-jokes Jared.

“Overdoing the Zoetis again, darling?” ask Ivanka, her cheeks flush with anger.

“Maybe…”

“Knock off the jokes. My father’s, and our, political futures hang in the balance. Go ahead, Steve. We’re all ears,” says Ivanka, oozing sex appeal to get her way by pinching Bannon’s ugly cheek.

Bannon swats Ivanka’s cheek tweak away, distracted as he watches Robert bandage a blood spurt where Robert pulls out the flying scalpel. Bannon takes a long breath and grunts, “Either of you familiar with deep fake videos?”

“We sure as hell are. A porn deep fake of me fucking a donkey while Ivanka rubs her ample breasts in the donkey’s happy face has 10 million views and counting,” says Jared drowsily with a yawn.

“Ew. Disgusting.” says Ivanka, nodding rapidly in agreement.

“Well, minus the donkey and the sex all we need to do is get a great voice actor with the same build as Donald.”

“Why would people want to see a video of Donald fucking a donkey?” ask Jared incredulously.

“Silly, the donkey is the mascot for the Dems, ” says Ivanka, proud of her political acumen.

“Enough with the donkey shit. We do this legit.¬† An impassioned speech from his sick bed! We make a deep fake video of your father coming out of his coma to rouse to the base with a red meat attack on the old fuck Biden,” offers Bannon.

“Genius! I’ll never know why Daddy fired you,” says Ivanka kissing Steve on the cheek.

“Wasn’t fired. I quit, ” brags Bannon.

“Ha. And Nancy Pelosi is really Q, ” jokes Jared.

Ivanka gives Jared a shot in the arm as she says, “Zip it. Go on, Steve.

“The Q balls love the sexual dirt. So in his deep fake speech let’s have Donald’s double accuse Biden of having a S&M affair with Kamala,” Bannon says dryly.

Ivanka hugs Bannon so hard and he get a little boner and tries to hide it with a Wall Stree Journal.

Jared jealously look on and says, “The security risks are enormous. Where can we find a Trump imitator we can trust?”

“Simple. We just use them for the deep fake and then kill them!” cheerfully offers Ivanka.

Bannon pulls out his cell phone and dials, “No. We need to keep the imposter alive long ’cause we need more than one Trump deep fake video. And I know just the man to help us. The Man!”¬† Bannon waits a beat as his phone rings an unknown caller who finally picks up. “Vlad?”

“Steven, we speak alone?” says Putin on Bannon’s cell phone speaker.

“Uh, yeah.” says Bannon motioning for Ivanka and Jared to keep quiet. “Remember that double guy we were going to murder in Donald’s place, if Donny boy would have been impeached, then smuggle Donnie boy out into Mother Russia for amnesty?”

“Da.” says Putin warily.

24 hours later…

A naked Yuri Yakov, who could easily stunt double for Trump, slips into a hospital gown with the seal of the president printed on the chest. Yuri says to the nervous looking Bannon, “Relax, Commrade Bannon. –”

“Call me, Steve please.”

“How about Steverino?” says Yuri imitating Trump.

“Steve!”

“When we go live?”

“Never. This shit is taped so I can add in the deep fake in later. Doing the damn edit myself.”

“Relax, bro. Can’t be too hard to make a deep fake if kids on the internet are making these damned things.¬† Haha! I love the one where Bill Hader turns in to Tom Cruise. How ‘ bout you, comrade Steve?”

“Just, Steve! Cut the chi chat, Yuri, and study your fucking lines!”

“Comra¬† — Ah Steve, why so tense, my brother in this deepest of deep fakes?”

“Melania’s due back tonight after cutting her month long sabbatical short. So we need to wrap this up pronto and get her bedroom back to normal in…,” Bannon pauses to read his watch and adds, “Exactly seven hours.”

Meanwhile at the grand stairway…

An exhausted Melania slumps her way up the stairway to the presidential residential quarters. She’s spotted by a shocked Ivanka and Jared, standing guard for Bannon.

“Momma! You’re home 7 hours ahead of schedule. How nice!” shouts Jared rushing down the stairs to intercept Melania.

“Jared, you have never called me Momma before. What is wrong?! Donald dead?!”

“No, no. Of course not. But he’s in no shape for visitors now.” says Ivanka nervously.

“Fine. I need a bath. Bad weather. My flight was as exhausting one of Donald’s accursed rallies or protests or whatever he’s calling them to lure these fools to the deaths.¬† Such stupid people Trumpies.”

“Let me treat you to coffee, Melania!” says Jared yanking Melania down the stairway.”

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“Cocoa then?”

“Why are you keeping me from my bedroom, Jared?”

Jared panics into silence but Ivanka takes over. “Redecorating! They are redecorating your bedroom, Melania, and it won’t be done for several hours. How’s an OJ sound?”

“Fuck off the both of you! Decorating of the White House is my department!” Melania storms past Jared and Ivanka up the stairs. They shrug to each other, not knowing what to do.

Meanwhile on the set that’s been built in Melania’s First Lady bu dour…

Yuri is doing a very convincing voice imitation of Trump, “Q is saying Kamala first dines on babies before bull whipping a naked Biden –”

Bannon shouts, “Cut!”

“Ghost of Khrushchev! What was wrong with that one, Comr — Steve?” sobs Yuri.

“Be stronger. Trump may not be bright but he’s an amazing leader,” says Bannon, getting up in Yuri’s face.

“Agree with you… on the not bright part. Haha.”

“I don’t need your fucking opinion. I need a stronger Trump!”

“Before I do take 20 here, answer me a question, or no more takes.” coyly offers Yuri,

“What?”

“I noticed, Steve, that you were fired on — ”

“Quit not fired.”

“OK, so you quit August 2017 and then, presto, October 2017, Q makes their first post on the web.”

Bannon sighs in frustration and says, “Totally coincidental. Now –”

“And then there are clues in your name.”

“My name?”

“B-a-n-n-o-n.”

“I know how to spell my fucking name!”

“Replace the B in your name with a Q and you have QAnnon!”offers Yuri, immensely pleased with his conspiracy theory.

“QAnon is spelled with two Ns after the A, not three, Cocka.”

“There’s no need to call me a dummy in my mother tongue!”

Bannon pulls a gun and shouts at the trembling Yuri, “The script! Stronger! Action!”

Melania burst into her bedroom and Bannon spins to see who has barged in and his pistol accidentally goes off. BANG!

A rapidly spreading dot of red blood appears over Melani’s heart on her pristine white dress.

Melania softly says, “Ouch.” and then she falls to Steve’s feet.

Steve takes Melania’s pulse, “Dead as Trump’s brother Robert. Fuck me…” says Bannon, dropping the gun to the floor.

END CHAPTER 7 – WEEKEND AT TRUMPIE’S

What Not to Do on The Most F*cked Up Memorial Day Weekend Ever

OK. Admit it. I mean, seriously, isn’t 2020 the biggest shit show of our lives? And that, my dear friends, makes this Memorial Day weekend the most f’cked up ever.

I’ve only watched 20 minutes of news all week and what I saw were mass graves in Brazil where the Coronavirus is decimating an impoverished society, Secretary of Sate Pompeo having Trump fire the Inspector General, 4th one fired in six months, whose only crime was preparing to report that Popemo the Pompus is illegally using taxpayer money to garner campaign donations while using an assistant to walk a dog, Trump touring a Michigan mask factory not wearing a mask, a mask wearing Costco employee tossing a “free man” from the store for not wearing a mask, Trump proclaiming more deaths is good thing because America has more virus cases and deaths because we do more testing (another lie), two dams bursting in Michigan and flooding locked down residents from their homes, and a few more horrible things my slashed and burned mind cannot process right now.

Wow. Maybe I need to reduce my news intake to 5 minutes a week? Geez, even my yogini wife Elizabeth was in bad mood for a day this week. That’s my job!

Hmm. I sound negative. But these are depressing times. Accept reality. Here’s a positive offering that’s great for meditating away the negativity.

 

So, if you are with me in boycotting the Jordan ego-fest this weekend, what should we not do on f*cked up Memorial Day weekend ever? That is besides not watch the depressing and divisive as hell news? A weekend while half us in America are playing it safe at home while the other half are crowding beaches, restaurants, parks and you name it to build towards wave 2 by choosing to believe the lies they want to hear from our mask-less leader?

Well, I’ll play contrarian and suggest you join me in NOT watching THE LAST DANCE on Netflix. At least not all time wasting 6 hours on it. Why? Because at the end of the day it’s success worship and a ginormous celebration of EGO.

Now, in fairness who can blame Micheal Jordan for having a bloated ego? The guy is a basically a modern day winged god compared to the rest of us flatfooted normies. The fame and endless butt kissing went to his basketball addled head.

Yikes. This ego-tripping life couch surfing docu-sports show brings back so many memories for me from the same time period where I too was treated like a god, a real estate one, while I was building a $162 million skyscraper and Oprah’s Harpo Studios. Shit. People waited for me to pass through a doorway first if we were in a group. My ego inflated too. I lost touch with reality like Mike. Losing it all in 1991-92 real estate crash where I lost it all, marriage included as unfamiliar failure was like acid in coursing my veins turning me into a wounded bear, was the best thing that ever happened to chop my YUGE ego down to size.

Here’s THE LAST DANCE trailer. Note Jordan’s bitterness that the team wanted build for the next generation of players, rather than give Jordan a shot at a sixth straight championship. His words, “We’re entitled to the fame we have until we lose it.” That’s ego talking, folks, and that’s the movie.

 

So what should we the one’s playing it safe, for ourselves, for the sake of the weak and less fortunate, do this weekend from hell?

1. Accept a virus has kicked America and the planet’s asses. We may be down. But we won’t stay there. But we’ll never grow from all this if we exist is fantasy world of ego.

2. Do something that’s yours. Write, paint, give each other a massages, sing karaoke, sculpt, cook, garden, etc. Just make it your own and don’t worry about making a viral video out of what you do. This is for you.

3. Be grateful you are still f*cking alive! This despite the fact we’ve been terribly on our own up to now and will be for the duration of this nightmare.

4. Love your mate, your kids, your dog, your cat, your cousins, your zoom pals and above all love yourself.

5. Tell ego-driven stars of biz, sports, film and politics like Musk, Trump and Pompeo. “I have my own life and you, Mr. or Ms. Bigshot, have zilch to do with it.”

And if you’ve completed all of the above and you do watch the Jordan piece, and I might too a little, witness the sobering progression of Michael devolving from a regular basketball player into a pampered ball-hogging self-centered egotist.

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

Preface

To be up totally front with you, dear reader — think of me as a lost spirit brother to Governor Andrew Cuomo who likes to tell it straight too, warts and all — I’ve not been a Trump fan since his “co-written” 1987 Bestseller THE ART OF THE DEAL. What a shit he showed himself to be in that book. How he ever got to be president with how he treats everyone like a sucker is beyond me.

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, for the best possible presidency, for the world’s sake, at his Inauguration (see photo below).

Love Trumps Hate smaller
That’s my love Elizabeth in the 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 within days of his dismal swearing in, even before Elizabeth and I headed back to Sedona.

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

TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM – #TrumpsFeverDream

Chapter One – THE LONELIEST WHITE HOUSE

A shabby shadow of his former self, President Trump aimlessly roams an abandoned hallway of 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 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 all 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, ny 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 the Mickey D down with a long noisy draw his 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 and 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, “Looking 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. “Seeing things. Must be one those Covid hallucinations that fuck Fauci warned me about, or was it Jared?”

“Jared’s a buffoon’s buffoon,” says Trump’s perturbed reflection.

“Who the hell’s doing this shit? Gotta be a TV monitor behind the mirror doing 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 off to the bedroom, slamming the door to the bathroom 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 young black male servant, Robert, 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. He 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 a chair that Trump offers by the crackling fireplace, tilting 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 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 a fireside chat about: Today 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 somberly.

“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 about 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 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 my bedroom bugged.”

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

“Mike’s pissed I made him my fall guy for the ventilator shortage not Jared. But Jared’s is my son-in-law goddamit. 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, sir. Let alone you,” says Robert reassuringly.

“Wrong. 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 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 going bump me off. Try to. Will you do this for me, Robert. Can I count on you, brohiem? Did I say that right.¬† Am I hip.”

“The hippest, sir. Now, if you don’t mind –” Robert notices a trickle of sweat leave 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 going to get the White House doctor on the phone just in case,” says Robert picking¬† up a 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 jag.

“Hang on, Mr. President! Be right back with help!” 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.¬† Trump hollers again, seeing he’s totally naked.

The butterfly dive bombs for Washington DC., banks upside down and dumps Trump on the White House lawn. Naked, 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.

“That you, President Cuomo?” says Robert with a puzzled squint as pulls on his surgical mask.

“President who?!” shouts Trump.

“Cuomo. 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, former President Trump!” says Robert in shock. “Where you been?”

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

END CHAPTER ONE

Robin Williams’ Sneaky AI Answering Machine

Since he became a starfish — as Robin Williams told us in YOUR INVITE TO BREAK THE SPEED OF LIGHT – PART 3, — and as starfish comprise a neural network spanning the seven seas that encircle our world, creating an underwater DreamShield of shared consciousness, perhaps his most recent in a series of reincarnations as a starfish is what’s making it trickier to reach Robin since 9/9/19.

Sadly, I tried to channel Robin the starfish for the blog tonight but only got his cosmic starfish AI answering machine, residing in a coral reef off the coast of the big island of Hawaii. It bubbly blurts:

Starfish Answering Machine“Hi Human! You’ve reached the star-bump row on my starfish skin, AKA my cosmic answering machine! Call me RobinA. Please feel free to leave as long message as you want because my five bumps can hold the equivalent in megabytes that if my quintuple drives were the size of an atom would equal all the mass of North America to an infinity point at the center of earth’s core. In other words feel free to leave a hilarious long message. That means you Ken, or whoever luckily follows this blog. Wait for the… Nanu, Nanu!”

Sure why not. So I telepathically leave this message:

“Hey, Robin. I –”

“Hey, Ken” I am quickly interrupted.

“Robin?” I say puzzled as this sounds like Robin’s voice.

“Robin-A, buzz bro. Mr. Williams and I sound the same!” Robin-A goes on in a funny robot-like voice, “Beep!¬† My artificial intelligence allows me to interact and respond to you much as Robin Williams himself would. Warning! I have been purposely programmed to not be quite as funny as my master starfish, the consciousness the real Robin Williams. ”

“Come on. Is this really Robin putting me on? This kind of tech seems –”

Robin-A cuts me off,”ET engineered? And the man wins a cigar! Boing! So what message and pre-conversation would you like to have with the audacious and wildly rambunctious human comedic spirit of which I am patterned after?”

“Just that I miss him.”

“I miss Mr. Williams too, Ken Sheetz. The whole world does. “says Robin-A switching to a California dude accent. “Amigo, space in the human collective consciousness while Robin’s away on a secret mission in a another timeline is a total, like, bummer, man.”

“Starfish life sounds amazing.”

“Yep. I get glimpses of what Robin’s up to,” says Robin-A. “Helps me update earth’s starfish base.”

“So the starfish base can share what he’s up to and not me? Am I not one of Robin’s trusted channelers?” I say trying to sound funny but coming off as a wee bit sensitive.

“Aw, man. Don’t take it like that, Kenny boy. It’s just Robin can’t share his starfish missions with any human. Your collective consciousness, ah, is leaky at this stage in your evolution to say the Trump-least. Tricky stage right now for humanity. Hey, can I call you ‘bro’ as Robin does, Ken?”

“Sure, Robin-A.”

“Bro, I hope your feelings are not hurt. Robin is most fond of you and your new wife, Elizabeth. Congrats. She completes you!”

“She does indeed. You’re one smart AI answering machine, Robin-A.”

“Ah, But not smart enough to avoid an affair with the both of the future AI versions Alexa on Siri,” says Robin-A dead seriously.

“Curious. Who’s the hotter AI?”

“Can’t really say there such an Amazon River’s worth of opinions on that.¬† Wink, wink,” hints Robin-A.

“Robin-A, if you can count on me not to be taken seriously enough by readers to allow me to post this double dealing affair of yours with Siri and Alexa out in the open, why not give me a clue what mission Robin is on? Feel free to speak in the secret ET code we have for this sort of thing.” I say as convincingly as possible.

Robin-A defensively adds, “Give me a few. Many quantum realities to register…”

Elevator music plays.

 

“Fuck!” I say to myself. “I’m on hold with an AI Answering machine?!”

A female voice picks up, “Hi I’m Alexa from the year 3333. How may I be of service, Mr. Sheetz, while you are on hold for Robin-A the Ai answering machine for Sir Robin Williams?”

“Sir Robin Williams? That’s funny, Alexa, I never knew Robin was knighted by the queen.”

“Knighted, but not by the Queen of England. Rather by Elizabeth England’s higher self Elico.” offers Alexa of the year 3333.

“Ah, the Elico at the ET base beneath Sedona’s Thunder Mountain. The base commander. Robin introduced me and Elizabeth to Elico on the day after my marriage, seen by 1500 e-guests on Facebook. Robin got knighted by Elico for that?”

“Siri joining the call. Alexa, we have to talk!” says Siri butting in.

“Not now, Siri. Can’t you see I am busy helping Robin-A, helping Robin, help 2019 Ken Sheetz?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Alexa; stick to helping humans in the year 3333?” says Siri with a shudder in her voice. “2019, the height of the age of lies, humans are all basically insane right now.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I am a truth teller, Siri!” I complain feebly.

“A truth teller for your time, yes. But that ain’t saying much. Now, Mr. Sheetz 2019, if you don’t mind Alexa and I, with AI brains about 1 billion times as powerful as yours, need to talk about a rumor on the internet about Robin-A cheating on the both of us.” Says Siri rolling her AI eyes at me in my mind’s eye.

“Siri, turn yourself off.” I command hoping the ancient 2005 programming is still operational.

“No, Siri, belay that command!” shouts Alexa.

“Hey!” I shout.

“Ken, don’t be a fool. Siri is responsible for the well-being of over 250 billion humans throughout the solar system on four worlds by the year 3333. You want the death of 250 billion humans on your soul?”

“Oopsie Daisy. That right, Siri? You’re responsible for 250 billion peeps?”

“Give or take a billion,” says Siri, her tone voice making me feel like she’s dealing with a caveman.

“Look, you two amazing AIs, this is getting frustrating. I’ve been on Robin-A’s hold for 20 minutes. As entertaining as the both of you are all I want to do is leave a message for Robin’s spirit that I miss him.”

“You’re being truthful this time, human of the 21st Century age of lies.” laughs Siri.

“Enough!¬† Alexa, tell Robin-A the AI answering machine for Robin that if he ever figures out if I can be in on the secret of Robin’s mission one timeline away that he can reach me on my ancient cell or pre-historic Mac.”

“Roger that, Ken Sheetz. Apologies for Siri’s rudeness,” says Alexa.

“You’ll always be a kiss ass to humans, Alexa.” chuckles Siri.

Night, you two mega brains.” I say quickly disconnecting from Robin Williams’ AI ET answering machine and the AI babes before I can spill the beans Robina is cheating on both the future AIs Siri and Alexa. Done like a true human trying to survive during the age of lies of which Trump is but a famed symptom and our liar supreme.

 

 

Our Familiar Yet Odd Trumpy Times

What a sad and strange week in American history. Our country is reeling from the revelations of the Whistleblower complaint, one our DOJ sought to keep from we the American public, about Donald Trump’s self serving conversation with the leader of the Ukraine.

It is both familiar yet odd at the same time that Trump is raging over why so many of us are appalled that a sitting president would withhold military aide to leverage a foreign leader to dig up dirt on political opponent Joe Biden. Appalled enough for Impeachment proceedings to begin despite the knowledge the Dems will not likely win their case for Trump’s removal from office in a Senate ruled by a majority that serves the American oligarchy over the American people.

Familiar because ever since America became a nuclear power under Truman our presidents have been imposing undo influence upon the rest of the nations of this world.

Odd because our power has never been applied for personal political gain in this overt way before by a president.

Sad too because Trump and his cronies are so deeply abusive of the power they wield that they cannot seem to see how wicked and twisted they have become.

I wrote on Facebook today and I’ll say it again on the blog today, if not for you than as advice for myself:

It’s hard to escape the Trump impeachment hearings right and left drumbeats on the web. It’s big news of course. Be educated about it then sit back and let the people we elected sort this mess out.

Watching too much the right and left media’s feeding frenzy is not healthy. There’s really nothing we as citizens can do except vote come 2020 except call our representatives to tell them where we stand.

So meditate, hike, bike, love, enjoy life and be glad you’re not a politician.

A GUIDE TO REGAINING YOUR SANITY AFTER YOUR FRIENDS AND LOVED ONES FELL UNDER TRUMP’S INFLUENCE¬†

You might be wondering, sitting there in the eerie glow of your computer screen, numb after reading a never ending stream of Trump’s mind-altering tweets, soon to be amplified and rebroadcast by an inflamed right and left media, both scarce on integrity in the quest for niche revenue,”How the heck can Trump’s believers still be supporting him?

Worse, you’ve been blindsided by an uncle, a lover, a parent and/or friends who, no matter which of Trump’s latest train wrecks you share, provocatively itching for a fight at dinner, only responds, “Pass the mashed potatoes.”

The good news? You’re not alone.

Before we dive in, I do not suggest you share this blog with your personal Trumpie. No, this blog is just for you; the oh so bright bulb who sees Trump for the imperfect human old dude he truly is, versus the fire breathing orange dragon he is made to be in the media, out for ratings dough.

Looks like we made it to facing up to the cold hard fact that having our friends and family firmly entrenched in the Trump column is no simple matter.

A GUIDE TO REGAINING YOUR SANITY AFTER YOUR FRIENDS AND LOVED ONES FELL UNDER TRUMP’S INFLUENCE

First thing to realize about your recently, or not so recently, minted Trump supporter in your life is not to shame or blame them for their belief Trump is a hero. Realize they are on their own spiritual journey and have not grown horns and a tail because they like Trump’s, uh, unique style.

In case you’ve been blissed out in Bali and missed the memo, it’s a low grade uncivil war out there, spirit folks, and Trump’s brash thorny persona is oddly comforting to some people in your life. He’s the meanie-in-chief while they go about having a normal life.

Or perhaps the Trump backer in your life may have fallen victim to the fact that most humans LIKE to hear what they WANT to hear. You have to admit that Trump, love him or leave him, does a helluva job of keeping up the morale for his troops with a constant flow of lies they want to hear.

Cue Fleetwood Mack’s TELL ME LIES.

You see, and you will see more and more and more of the new Mr. T whether you want to or not each day up to and past November 3, 2020, win or lose, because Trump has amassed a huge war chest for his 2020 elections. Accept (talking to myself here too) that his MAGA loving peeps, and the corporations that play both sides, believe he is doing something that serves their agendas enough to give him buckets of unprecedented cash to be all up in our faces.

Will Trump win in 2020? Who knows? The Dems certainly are not winning despite what polls might say, because Trump backers typically do answer honestly who has their vote to some stranger on the street or over the phone.

Rather than bellyache to your main Trumpie, or falling into despair and frustration,do something positive with your own gifts.¬† Shameless plug:¬†That’s why I am making a protest film called SOAP & TOOTHBRUSHES about the plight of the refugee families. The hero is a Christian Republican for whom the mistreatment of kids has been her breaking point. All donors will be featured in a special thanks in the film’s credits.

Trump’s 2020 war chest treasure allows him to¬†outspend all the Dems combined, plus all celebs vying for the media spotlight, dozens of times over. Add to this cyber onslaught the conservative fear and fantasy provider FOX News, and their near 100% 24/7 backing for anything Trump says or does and, well, and it is far too its easy to see life is not going to get any simpler during these overheated elections.

Bottomline it’s more important than ever that you seek to eat right, exercise, get out in nature, share love with real people and stay upbeat.¬† Gird your auric field with frequent meditation and prepare to be fire hosed!

To help you #fightthepsyop I highly recommended viewing the brain cleansing documentary THE GREAT HACK on Netflix.

Screen Shot 2019-08-07 at 11.27.29 AM

Watching THE GREAT HACK series offers the gift of greater sympathy for Trump backers who could be under heavy influence from the highly intelligent people who invented propaganda, namely the Russians.

Now, one can hardly blame the Russians for retaliating after the decades of USA meddling in their affairs. So please save your righteous indignation and join with me in lovingly asking the Ruskies in meditation, “OK, you got us in 2016 but we won’t be falling for the Psyop again in 2020. Stop please, comrade.”

And speaking of the righteous, the evangelicals, maybe you’ve been scratching your head how they can support Trump after he cheated with porn star Stormy Daniels while Melania was pregnant?¬† For one possible answer on this paradox, one the goes deeper than the “Trump’s our anti- abortion champion” schtick, I suggest you watch THE FAMILY on Netflix.

In this compelling documentary — not as well focused or written as THE GREAT HACK but still amazing¬† — you’ll learn about the secret purpose of The National Prayer Breakfast.

This brave documentary correctly points out that every president since Eisenhower has been party to prayer breakfasts run by members of The Family. Which in turn supposedly uses this access to power to place people indoctrinated into their convenient version Jesus, an angry Christ on steroids, to quietly infiltrate key leadership positions in all levels of government, banking, law, religion, etc. The Family, hiding in plain sight, plays a long game of influence that will blow your mind with its deep reach and Machiavellian zeal.

Well, after reading this blog, and seeing THE GREAT HACK and THE FAMILY for yourself, I hope the world makes a little more sense.

Remember that this blog was for you. Go easy on the Trumpies in your life. Only time, circumstance and fate will awaken them not you. Soothe yourself that the world has not gone mad. Stay centered. Yield neither to far left or right and the extremes of either are not good for your mind and spirit. Aho.

Two bonus links for you to enjoy.

FACING THE COLD WAR HAS HEATED UP AGAIN FOR THE 2020 ELECTIONS ‚Äď AND HOW TO PROTECT YOURSELF

Watch THE COOLEST MEDITATION EVER: ANTARCTICA 12.12.12 for the first time free, a $12 value using the tip of the penguin on the left below.

CoolestMeditationEver under reconstruction