Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 5 – The Desert Sickness

Here’s some old timey radio style audio for them’s like to listen versus the whole readin’ thing.

Howdy Buckaroos, I wrote the first draft for this here chapter 5 ’bout 6 months before old Trump actually got the Covid. And, well, you didn’t need to be no Western Fortune Teller to know that it was a gonna happen. What with them rallies an’ all the kissin’ talk. And here I am in 2021, addin’ old-style radio show audio with the best western accent I can muster up, to amuse and astound the left and right alike.

Heads up you sensitive folk who don’t like gunfights, people a dyin’ and one a them there alternate universe Trumps and other GQP a gettin’ they’s comeuppance, well, just feel free to mosey on off.

CHAPTER 5 – THE DESERT SICKNESS

Meanwhile one timeline away….

Trump blinks his open 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 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.

“Don’t speak! Your throat’s badly seared. Nod if you understand me,” offers Dr. Fauci.

Trump nods “yes” curtly.

“Now, Mr. President, serious question I need a serious answer for 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, resisting the urge for to do a 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’m close to the time of day you drank the bleach.”

“Midnight?”

Trump nods, impressed Fauci guessed right on 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 that coma, uh, there’s an old friend here who must have a word with you,” says Dr. Fauci as he 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 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, sorry about that expression! — Um, what with how my Veep pick and you, um, have had a little run-in on Celebrity Apprentice –”

Trump’s eyes widen with rage as he grunts angrily.

“Sorry. — I’ll 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 bankers are demanding $3 trillion in aid –” Pence stops his political blathering under Trump’s searing glare.

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

Trump writhes and groans in agony that his fever dream about Schwarzenegger as president in 2022 might be 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 here. Get well soon, buddy,” chirps Pence.

Enraged, Trump struggles mightily to free himself of the 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 fade from view.

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

WELCOME TO CORONA NEVADA

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 with red cowboy hats, mill about on the dusty street.

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

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

Oblivious to the gunfighters, Trump stares into the desert sky, 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 ya I love Sheriff Trump more than you, Nephew. Don’t it?”

“You raised me, Uncle! Of course it does!”

“Draw, nigger lover!”

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

BANG!

The blue masked young man watches in shock as blood spreads 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 lover. Give my regards to my slave loving sister in hell.”

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

Trump does not answer. Rudy shrugs his shoulders and returns to dragging his human cargo for his funeral parlor.

A short time later on the outskirts of town, Rudy whips his horse team, pulling a wagon full of dead bodies. “Ah. That dang sheriff wants me put these bodies in separate graved, the red and the blue. But I just ain’t got the time no more. Can’t keep up with this desert sickness. — Whoa!” shouts Rudy bringing the horse team to a halt.

Rudy chugs a bottle of whiskey, downs the bottle and tosses it into the canyon.

Rudy pulls a lever and the wagon bed lifts up. Corpses rain into the canyon below. “Well, you’re all finally together now, aren’t ya? The red blue alike,” cackles Rudy.

BANG! A bullet hole appears in Rudy’s forehead. “Welp, them injuns die warn me this was their burial ground…”

Rudy falls into the canyon below, joining the dead.

A Native American pats his stove pipe hat, with a feather on it, holsters his rifle and rides off into the distance.

Back in town, 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 of Corona, here in the Old West. “Reckon I’m on the set of Westworld?” says Trump, puzzled at his Western accent. “That’s as odd as a rattler with jingle bells on his durned tail. Fuck. Can’t shake this danged bum fuck accent!”

Kellyanne Conway, takes a seat beside him on the bench. She’s dressed in 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.

On the street a woman in a red bonnet falls to the dirt.

“Another customer for Rudy. Desert Sickness keeps takin’ people from the Right we won’t have much of a Right left,” says Trump with a shrug as he digs into Kellyanne gravy soaked burger. 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,” purrs Kellyanne.

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

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

Trump’s badly overweight deputy, William Barr, Billy in this world, 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.

“Why, paintin’ 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 chickens who are slaved to wearing a mask and keeping their distance! Silly old blue bellies are terrified of the desert sickness.”

“Stupefyingly stupid. Right, sir?”

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

“Got anymore of them delicious burgers and gravy 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.

“Billy, why in holy hell 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,” grouses Kellyanne.

“Meantime, Corona’s citizens, red and blue both, are runnin’ outta food fast — and they’s a blamin’ you, Sheriff,” offers Barr.

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

“Oh, Dad. Why’d I gotta be a horse in this dream?” brays Eric the horse.

“Shut up! I got me a nigger ta see!” barks Trump.

A short time later Trump Trump glares over the cash register at the blue mask wearing Robert, his Black personal valet in DC of 2020. The same one who saved his life with mouth to mouth, and who is now in this reality 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 Yankees gottsta realize this here sickness serves God’s purpose. It’s like the wolves. They thin the herd! Get it? 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 you’d be still 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, “No doubt as a slave. Nevada’s a free territory, 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 to see you lynched –”

Trump shoves Barr aside and bellows, “Shut it, Deputy! 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!”

“You know, runnin’ this little store I get to know a few personal things about the folks in this town. 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 example, your “Stormy” twice a week deal with the town whore,” calmly offer Robert.

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

“I am already sorry, Donald. Sorry I ever moved to your piece of shit you call a town,” says Robert taking Trump and Barr forcefully about the shoulders and escorting them out of the store with a shove and they fall into the dirt.

“And you still owe me for that shipment of hydroxychloroquine, Trump!” snarls Robert as he slams the General Store door shut and pulls down the CLOSED window shade.

Robert turns from the storefront and almost jumps out of his skin at the sight of a Native American. The same one with the stove pipe hat who shot Giuliani. Robert breaths a sigh of relief and says, “Chief! Gotta stop sneaking up on me like that!”

“Mocasins. I hear all crazy orange one spoke. His venom smells of sulfur,” says the Chief sniffing the air in disgust.

“Ha. They don’t call you Laughing Skies for nothin’!” laughs Robert, transferring a big bag of grain into the chief’s muscular arms.

“No joke today, Robert Tulsa. You twist tail of demon,” says the chief.

“Ah, Trump’s just an old wind bag. Nothinl’ to fret about,” says Robert, trying to convince himself.

Chief Laughing Skies says sadly, “No. Trump worse than US Cavalry.”

“Worse?”

“Blue bellies kill the Paiute. Trump kills own White tribe. Evil spirit,” says Chief Laughing Skies grimly.

Robert peers out the window at the fuming Trump. “Well, I can tell you one thing for sure, Sheriff Trump’s madder than a wet hen.”

Outside Robert Tulsa’s General Store, Barr dusts off his boss. Enraged, Trump spins to Barr, “Billy, I want a full investigation into where Robert Tulsa gets his stock foods.”

“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 Bobby was responsible for helpin’ the Chinese bastards spread the desert sickness to our fine Confederate folk.”

“Hell, yeah! That 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, uh, we red doors don’t wash our hands and wear masks,” offers Barr feebly.

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

An out of breath kid, wearing a blue cloth mask, runs up to Trump and holds out a note. But Trump is too busy kicking Eric the horse in the ass to notice.

“Ouch! Stop it, Pa!” neighs Eric, who only Trump can hear.

“That’ll teach you for eatin’ up all the horse pills!” shouts Trump.

Townspeople, red and blue alike, hide the fear in the eyes that the Sheriff is talking to a horse who they only hear neighs and whinnies.

“Those are my horse pills, Pa. For my worms,” neighs Eric.

“Don’t talk so loud, Eric. The horse pills are secret recipe for stayin’ clear of the desert of the Desert Sickness!” says Trump giving Eric another kick in the horse’s ass. Eric the horse poops on Trump’s boots.

Townspeople hide the fear in their eyes that the sheriff is talking to a horse, who they only hear as neighs and whinnies. Eric poops mightily.

“You shit my boots, you stupid nag of a son!” complains Trump.

“Sorry, Pa. It was the worms made me,” says Eric the horse.

BOOM! A fireball rises in the desert sky. Debris falls. Townspeople scream.

The uncle who killed his nephew, seared by the explosion, stumbles from an alley up to Trump and says, proudly saluting, “Sir! Blowed up that town windmill like you asked for, sir!”

“Huh?” puzzles Trump, still ignoring the kid with a note.

The murdering uncle adds, “You know, the windmill that pumps water to the town. The one was makin’ everybody get the cancer with that terrible noise.”

Trump makes the noise,”Whirrr whirr whirr? “

“Yup! No more whir, whir whir, sir!” says the murdering flashing his lousy toothy grin at Trump.

Barr worries quietly to Trump, “How we gonna get water without the windmill, Donald?”

“Why, uh, from the creek, a course!” shouts Trump.

“Dry Creek dried up. Ain’t rained a drop in Corona for over in a year,” worries Barr.

“No problemo, sirs. I know a secret spring where the town can get the freshest water in the –” the murdering sycophant’s eyes go wide and he falls face first into the dirt at Trump’s shit covered boots, dead as a doornail.

Trump steps over the murdering uncle’s body and complains, “Desert sickness strikes again. Where’d my booze hound good for nothin’ Rudy go? Street’s littered with corpses!” Finally spotting the kid with the note Trump bellows, “Seen the undertaker you lousy blue-masked brat?!”

The boy in the mask bawls, shoves the note in Barr’s chubby hand and runs off.

Barr opens the note and his eyes go wide.

“Whut?” growls Trump.

“Note from Kellyanne,” says Barr offering the note to Trump.

“Well, read it!”

“Pray for me, Donald. I have the fever. Love, Kellyanne” says Barr softly.

“Louder!” yells Trump.

“PRAY FOR ME, DONALD. I HAVE THE FEVER! LOVE, KELLYANNE!” bellows Barr, hiding any emotion on his rolly polly puss.

Townspeople red and blue stop dead in their tracks.

Trump stiffens and preaches piously to the shocked coughing townspeople, holding his Bible high, “Fever? Ha! Who cares? I am the Chosen one! And I hereby choose that my love Kellyanne will not perish the Desert Sickness! So help me, Trump!”

“Show’s over, folks Get back to your business!” Barr shouts at the dazed townspeople.

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, the hood down.

Atop Eric the horse, Robert Tulsa is surrounded by two dozen KKK members whose Tiki torches light their sinister eyes.

Trump raises a mug to the stars, “A toast to the end our water troubles…”

“You’re dad gum, sir!” says the amazed Deputy Barr.

…drinkin’ our own urine!” proclaims Trump to the stunned Klansmen

Barr discreetly pours his mug of piss into the sand.

The KKK men raise their mugs of piss, cheering, “For he’s the jolly good fellow!” as they drink the urine through the mouth slits in their hoods.

Robert says, “Oh my God, Guys, you’re going to drink piss for Trump? Hang me now!”

“Ah. Dee-licious!” shouts Trump as he turns from orange to green and vomits. The KKK men lift their hoods and vomit, to the incredulous laughter of Robert.

“Appears we may still have water problem, sir. — Uh, how’s Kellyanne doin’?” worries Deputy Barr to change the subject.

“Dang desert sickness got her,” says Trump, wiping his vomit soaked hand on Barr’s leather jacket.

“Oh, Donald I’m so sorry. So sorry,” says Barr, throwing away his jacket.

“Yeah. Sure gonna miss Kellyanne’s burgers and gravy,” muses Trump.

“Is that all — I mean me too,” bumbles Barr.

“But lookin’ on the bright side….”

“Here it fuckin’ comes,” mutters Robert to himself.

“…I’m single again! Yee haw!” cheers Trump, hamming it up for his lynch mob.

Robert says bitterly, “Let’s get this party over with you and your “fine people”, Mr. Mayor, Reverend, Sheriff and Racist Asshole.”

Barr cracks Robert in the jaw with the butt of his rifle.

“As Carona’s mayor, sheriff and reverend I hereby send you straight to hell, Robert Tulsa,” says Trump bitterly.

Robert spits out blood on Trump’s platform cowboy boots and says, courage lighting his large brown eyes. “I said get on with it. I don’t want the last thing I hear in this life to be your bullshit,” says Robert, the rope tugging at his neck.

Eric the horse, who only Trump can hear, brays, “He’s heavy, Pa. You’ve been eating all my horse pills. I ain’t got the strength to carry this man.”

“Well, you’re not gonna have to carry him far, Eric!” shouts Trump.

Robert twists to face the KKK mob and says,”Trump is talking to a fucking horse. Come on, guys. We gotta rid of this senile mother fucker before he lets the Desert Sickness kill us all!”

“Nice try but they don’t speak nigger!” laughs Barr.

The lynch mob laugh so hard the almost laugh their KKK hoods off.

“Final chance. Speak your last words , boy!” bellows Trump.

“This is all I got. America was built on the backs of my people and the extermination of it’s native –”

Trump smacks his son Eric horse on the butt.

The KKK men cheer with Trump as Robert chokes.

BANG! A distant rifle’s sound splits the air and the rope above Robert’s hangmen noose is cut free. Hands tied, Robert kicks Eric hard in his ribs.

Eric the horse neighs to Trump as he races Robert,” Sorry, Pa!”

“You traitorous nag!”

“He kicked me hard, Pa! Sorry!” nays Eric, racing Robert off into the night.

Trump turns to dumbfounded KKK men and hollers, “Well, don’t none of you grand wizards own a fucking gun?”

The KKK thugs all fire. All miss.

Trump forgets his fury. He staggers, suddenly dizzy and cough-says. “Man…

“Trump’s got the desert sickness! Let’s get the fuck out of here!” shouts the only skinny KKK man. The KKK men thunder off and run smack into Robert, Laughing Skies and the Paiute warriors.

“Billy, Billy, you gotta help me back to the town., “croaks Trump.

“Sorry, Donald. It every man for himself. You got the Desert –” BANG!

Hey there, Buckaroos. I’d say that bullet went through Barr heart. But that old Billy Barr ain’t got no heart.

All is darkness. Black as the soul of Donald J. Trump. Trump floats over the desert in a hospital bed… intubated.

A fly lands on Trump’s nose. He squints, trying to remove the fly, shakes his head, best as he can, but the fly sticks.

Trump finally notices the fly has the face of his father, Fred Trump. Fred the fly shouts,”You’re no good, Donnie. You’re no good. You’re going to even fuck up getting Covid. Aren’t ya? You’re a fuck up, Donnie. You’re a fuck up, Donnie. You’re a fuck up, Donnie. You fuck up everything!”

Trump groans in agony.

“Can’t believe I gave you three million dollars a year when you were a baby. You’re not worth three cents now!

A Black hand reaches out from nowhere, swats the fly away and disappears instantly. Trump breathes a sign of relief when he sees the lights of Corona in the distance. Trump swims through the air with his arms, pulling the hospital bed floating towards the city.

He looks down and sees a celebration taking place in the town square, headed up by no other than Robert Tulsa, who announces, “Citizens of Corona it gives me great pleasure to introduce to you our new Sheriff. Sheriff Barrack Obama!

Barack dances onto the stage and hugs Robert to the wild applause of the townspeople, now all wearing American flag masks. Sheriff Barrack is flanked by the Paiute chief Laughing Skies and his band of warriors, who bravely rescued Robert and defeated the KKK.

Floating high above in his hospital bed ,Trump moans in agony as Barrack launches into a speech, “If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is still a place where all things are possible…”

Back in the real world Robert Tulsa is enjoying watching Obama’s 2008 victory speech on the hospital TV in Trump’s room. A fly lands on the intubated Trump’s nose. Robert swats the fly away. And we notice this the same hand that swatted the fly away in Trump’s fever dream.

Suddenly, Fauci enters. He panics at the sight of Obama’s victory video playing and says a bit amused, “Robert, what are you doing here? You can’t play that kind of thing while Trump is sleeping! It’s gonna get into his mind and it’s going to totally screw with his dreams wherever he is in his coma!”

Robert quickly remotes the TV off and asks, “Is the President gonna make it, Doc?”

Worried, Fauci speculates, “I don’t know… There’s a lot of horse medicine in him.”

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.

Special thanks to my wife Elizabeth England for her fine portrayal of Kelly Anne Conway as a Southern belle in the West.

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.

Phew. It takes months to make these audio recording. Donate at the link below to keep my one of a kind quantum space time meditational audio entertainment and enlightening content flowing.

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BONUS CONTENT: A NIKI MINAJ CONSPIRACY THEORY

7 Years of Robin Williams Visitations

Seven years ago the world lost one of it greatest actors and comedians of our time when Robin Williams chose to take his own life. The devastating news came without any sort of clear warning signals. A public outcry of grief and mourning erupted across the world that had not seen since the shocking death of Princess Diana.

Last week my wife and I had coffee with Robin, at least as my writer’s brain, happening for seven years now, likes to envision his brilliant light still shinning from the afterlife. Over java I asked Robin’s spirit what he thinks of our Covid crisis and here’s what I imagine he had to say on the matter.

Hey Groovy Gals and Guys,

Holy shit. This would all be funny if it were not so damn tragic, folks. People are literally dying because politicians, my brother and sisters in the media and regular people on social media are fabricating stories. All in a feeble effort to make them seem more important than they actually are with more clicks and eyes. In the end this toxic BS is simply to sell everything from donations to snake oil cure to tennis shoes to precious metals to crypt o-currencies.

Worst part is it done by appealing to the worst in human nature; a crusty old white man who lives in fear in our noggins. It’s gross gross negligence to plant fear in people’s hearts on a money-making scale never seen or felt before.

Now, I am sure many of you who were fans of my movies did not like every damn thing I acted in. You only watched the ones you liked, right? GOODWILL HUNTING over MAN OF THE YEAR (MOTY) let’s say. MOTY being one of my films that should have worked that didn’t. In fact, if you judged my career based on MOTY you mot not be here.

Treat all the Tuckers, Johnsons, Bezoses, Hannitys the same way. You are the master of your own story-verese. You pick and choose your reality. Take a pinch of reality from the blue and a spritz from the red. Stay balanced in a unbalanced AF world.

Time to stop listening the BS artists. Truth is love. Be smart. Get vaccinated.

Love, Robin

King of the Star Fish Nation

Robin’s kidding about the king thing But I do still see my vision of Robin — likely just a part of my beautiful imagination as I can’t bare he left us so soon — is reincarnated as a starfish. The starfish nation is a a nueral network for the planet Robin has explained to me.

Shameless plug. Read my far out sci-fi comedy set in another universe, Trump’s Fever Dream, using the pull-down menu above to access all 12, and counting, chapters. If I lifted your spirits please make a donation to keep more Williams visitations, new TFD chapters and cool cold style radio show audio coming.

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

Love Trumps Hate smaller
That’s my love Elizabeth and Fellow Voice Actor in the Coolest Meditation Ever Antarctica penguin hat.
Old time radio audio added 2021 to rewritten April 2020 chapter 1

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

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

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

Chapter One – THE LONELIEST WHITE HOUSE

Meanwhile, one timeline away…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Robert peers his head back inside the door inquisitively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About that N word, sir. I wish — “

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

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

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

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

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

“Happy to but why, sir?”

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

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

“May you what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“President who?!” shouts Trump.

“Wait, what the, that you Donald?”

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

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

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

END CHAPTER ONE

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

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

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

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

Overview: Trump’s Fever Dream

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 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.

TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM – CHAPTER 8 – TRUMPTOPIA

In chapter 7 we left the Donald Trump of 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

Letting Go Of The 2020 Elections

The elections are finally over, at least the campaigning and voting part, right? I am relieved it’s relatively peaceful. I feel the pleasant tickle of a deep healing beginning, sprouting like a fresh lotus flower at the center of my brain.

Today’s meditation blog, channeling ET spirit guide Ohom* (short for Open Heart Open Mind), is to aid and speed our healing as a traumatized nation by sharing that yummy lotus healing I am feeling.

Let’s get started.

ME: Ohom.

OHOM: Yes, Ken.

ME: So nice to hear your inner voice so clearly, Ohom. It’s been hard to reach you for months.

OHOM: Yes, the anger Trump intentionally fosters is not conducive to telepathy over such great time space as separate our worlds.

ME: I’m a little ashamed Trump got to me as much as he did.

OHOM: Your president does have a talent of finding everyone’s passion and poking at them.

ME: Yup. For some it’s love of our park lands — sold off. For some the work of years of gaining environmental protections — gone in an instant. The list goes on.

OHOM: Abusing refugee children, separating them from their parents and putting them in cages, then lying and blaming Obama as the initiator of this peace time war crime was the straw that broke your peacock’s back.

ME: Camel’s back. Not Peacock.

OHOM: Ah.

ME: And yes, Trump got me with abusing kids in those damn cages. After he did that I became dedicated to campaigning against Trump. (Here’s a link to the over 100 videos I made for Twitter on BuzzBroz.)

OHOM: You are far from alone. But the time has come to heal. To put this election, even before the results are known behind you.

ME: Good. While you meditate with the readers I am going to enjoy some life on your peaceful world of Nektar for now. Bye for now for what will be years for me but only a few minutes the earth people.

OHOM: Bon voyage, Ken. — Just you and me now, dear reader. Please concentrate on my words and the mind pictures they paint using my namesake of an open heart and open mind. Breathe deeply and add your own personal energy to this blog meditation.

Today, the day your particular earth’s media crowns Joe Biden President Elect, whenever that occurs for you, is a very dangerous time in your American history. Many timelines lead, as I am sure you know, to your species’ endpoint.

Unfortunately, it is as impossible as catching the wind in the palm of your hand, to close off the energies of the birth of timelines, positive or negative. Nor does your higher self in fact want you to avert possible futures you can handle with grace. What is possible is that by using your consciousness en masse humankind can birth more positive timelines.

Many of you, my friend Ken included, have chosen to be here on earth at this challenging time for the Great Splitting. Relax. Zero stress choosing either the happy paths of light or the paths of pain and darkness, for all the is in the end are shades of light mixed with darkness. A brightness or darkness you have sought to experience in multiple realities as a spiritual teaching.

Indeed, you are a far greater being than you know. You exist simultaneously in infinite realities, a master soul experiencing all things, all times, all joy, all races, all genders, all sorrow, all to learning from equally. Truly misogyny, racism, cruelty, abuse and more negative realities are all a form of self hatred.

Now, without judgement, split yourself into a right brain oriented person in the reality of Biden as president and left brain oriented person in the reality of Trump as president. The energies expressing themselves in your elections makes that easy. Now there are two new earths with two different reality trees, each equally real, each equally valid and on the same journey to full cosmic awareness for your master self, your master soul.

Take a walk in the reality you’ve chosen, a Biden presidency or a Trump presidency. Surrender to the fact you are not a helpless being getting pushed into a reality you did not choose. It’s simply the opposite of your choice on one matter versus another. Don’t judge yourself a failure if Trump won in your reality despite your efforts for Biden and vice versa.

Now, take a deep breath and gaze about the room you are reading this blog in. Both realities look the same at this early stage of the Great Splitting. So it’s a wonderful time to accept both realities. Surrender to your own majesty, your courage, your grace.

Let go of all the stress of the US elections. Let go of all the mind control you’ve experience from both the left and right, who simply vary in style and subtlety. Let go of the terrible strain it was to vote amidst a deadly pandemic.

Accept that ultimately, it does not matter who won the election. Repeat out loud: It does not matter who won the election. Now visualize the coolest tomorrow you can for yourself and the world you live in.

Last, freed of judgement on yourself for the timeline you are experiencing or your new alternate self is experiencing, do the same forgiveness to anyone in the opposite reality. After all, you do not get angry with your reflection and we are all a reflection of the one great consciousness we call this universe and multi-verse. Work together, left and right, as best you can. giving it your all and letting go of all outcome.

OHOM

Thanks, Ohom. Back to me, your fellow earth man Ken Sheetz. I will share tales about my 4 year visit to Nektar some other time.

I close with a path Ohom’s meditation from 2012 in Antarctica that seem very appropriate for the job we’ve taken a 4 year break from of saving this world from global warming. And so you can guess which timeline I am on. Ohom “appears” in my 24 meditations in Antarctica film at 31 minutes and 11 seconds.

*DISCLAIMER: Please be flexible and not too literal in doing these meditations. Ohom may not be an ET and simply be a part of an awakening writer’s imagination, meant to give me some self-objectivity and/or a totally real insect-based highly advance life form from the 13th dimension in the Orion star system. I just know the OHOM meditation always boosts my spirit and I hope it will your too.

Peace.

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.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 8 – TRUMPTOPIA

A big thanks once again to my talented wife Elizabeth England for playing all the female parts in this 2021 reading.

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 the supposed good guys in this dark comedic tale.

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

Listen up, America! 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, along with 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.

Donate for the Coolest in stories and meditation.

For the Love of Trump

Screen Shot 2020-04-06 at 6.14.40 PMUnlike many players in the conscious community, suspiciously sure of their gifts to channel, I am never sure when I talk to spirits and ETs that it’s not just my vibrant and playful imagination. Nonetheless, whatever the reality, I find my meditations with an ET named Ohom, short for Open Heart Open Mind and who I’ve been reaching out to for ten years now, gives me some distance, many light years of objectivity. So here goes…

Ohom?

Yes, Ken?

Good, you’re there.

Always, Ken. Our connection exists outside the bounds of space time.

That’s handy during the super stressful era of Trump and his enabler clan.

And I hope for your readers too. What can I help you with, Ken?

You told me back in 2015 Trump that would win the presidency and get a second term. Do you still feel Trump is going to win a second term come November?

“Win” is such a strange word to my planet Nektar’s culture of love and cooperation.

Please don’t be a politician, Ohom.

Was I? Deepest apologies. In answer to your concern, YES, humanity is still on a timeline where Trump wins reelection — via cheating the system — and your species’ path to death by environmental destruction, famine and nuclear war continues unabated.

How do I and others help the world get off this dead end timeline?

As I told you and your amazing wife Elizabeth in 2017, as preparation for your DC meditations, you must each hold a genuine space of love for Trump in your heart.

I’ve tried! Went to his 2017 inauguration and tried. But the orange man already rolled over the Standing Rock tribe as one of his first executive orders before we left DC after the Woman’s Day March. He’s impossible to love!

Meaning you’ll be a master of unconditional love when you can love the unlovable Trump.

Feels like loving Big Brother in Orwell’s 1984. A surrender.

Surrender, precisely.

But surrendering to loving a toad like Trump feels like betrayal of all the Antarctica 12.12.12 meditations.

Quite the contrary. Ken.  Can you honestly think of nothing Trump has done during his time in office for which you can love him for?

Well, he’s showed us how much racism and sexism is operating at the heart of America.

Go deeper into your feelings.

And President It Is What It Is’s blatant disregard for life does make it easy to see the pattern of lies that’s been holding humanity back.

So can you love Trump and his enablers for fulfilling an ugly purpose of exposing where the cancer is in your country that needs healing?

If I am honest, which we always are with each other, then a little, yes.

Was that so hard?

Yeah.

All the better.

Anyone ever told you are that you maddening at times?

Ken, the harder it is to love the unlovable the stronger the impact on the collective consciousness.

I am not sure about what you’re saying.  Our collective consciousness is in a lot of pain right now over Trump.

Compress the coals of hate into a diamonds of love and humanity will transmute that pain into light and corrected action.

Sounds like an ET version of MLK’s mantra “We shall overcome.”

Indeed. Hold that tiny diamond of love for Trump’s unconscious role in raising awareness to racism and sexism in your heart and let all hate consuming you fall away.

Trump’s daily inaction on saving people from the virus does not make it easy.

Then keep doing the diamond meditation over and over again until it is easy and your heart comes to bliss. Peace on earth begins within each of you amazing humans.

Thanks, Ohom.

Blessings. Transmission complete.

And thanks to you for joining an ET meditation at this time when there’s so much superstition running in the collective consciousness. To hell with such limiting fearful nonsense! Don’t make yourself part of a small flat Earth. We are part in a vast infinite universe. And who is to say we really do not have ETs out there, thought travelers like Ohom, ready and waiting to help and advise us if we but ask?

Support our planetary meditations and grab some health boosting tech to help you through these tough times at CoolestTechEver.com.

Mary Trump to the Attempted Rescue

Screen Shot 2020-07-25 at 2.30.57 PMCould not put down Mary Trump’s new tell-all TOO MUCH AND NEVER ENOUGH. We’ve never seen anything like this firsthand take on Trump, or any other president ever, by a family member who also happens to be a professional shrink.

Indeed, Trump niece Mary’s well told book is by far the best of the orange king tell-all genre, spawned by our citizenry’s desperate search for meaning behind the spectacle of the Nero-like Trump presidency. Forget the rest of the tell-alls and dig deep into the depressing  inner realms of the Trump psyche aided by Mary’s professional speculation.

Ah, but don’t lose sight that’s ultimately what the book is when it comes to the shrink parts – speculation. And the disgruntled speculation, at that, of a woman treated terribly by Donald and the entire greedy Trump family. Still, Mary Trump’s brave deep dive into Trump family life is restrained and laser focused. Unless you have a hardened Q-Anon brainwashing shell around your mind, you will gain new insights about the tragically troubling puzzle that is Donald J Trump and those enabling his disastrous presidency.

In her already best-selling page turner, one that El Presidente Trump and his legal team failed pathetically to get banned, Mary Trump dashes any and all all hope of DJT ever becoming a good president. First because she feels Donald is deeply damaged goods due to a heartless father who coddled his son’s bullying and lying bluster to the exclusion of his heir apparent, Mary’s father Freddy; second she poses that deeply ingrained in Trump’s psyche is a driving need to please his cold as ice Father, which produced an obsequious nature in Trump around strong men world leaders; third she portrays the endless sums of daddy money that floated Trump cheating his way though his education and business, leaving him an incompetent fool; and last Mary believes that due to a mother who abandoned Donnie as a toddler that Trump suffers from a malignant vacuum of compassion and love deep within our fearful leader’s core for anything except money and power. And more, but these were the key salient points for me.

Before opening page one I had the preconception that I was not going to learn much new in Mary’s book. After all, it’s a 24/7 news world of Trump, our impeached president, and we are trapped in like moths to a eternal feeling flame of brainwashing hammering away at our minds. So how much new could there be to learn about the guy who cheated his way to presidency using Russian assistance? Indeed, just this week alone we’ve seen Trump launch Trumped up invasions of Portland and Chicago of federal troops as secret police, snatching innocent protestors into unmarked rental cars and whisking them off to black sites. But Mary’s storytelling is patient and potent in it’s heartfelt yet detached telling of her grandfather Fred Trump ‘s cruelty. A frosty hypercritical brutality that led to her father Freddy’s alcoholism and ultimate death at only 42 and the withering of Donald’s soul. After reading all this groundbreaking tell-all, done Mary says for love of country and not profit, helps one understand Trump’s lack of empathy for a Corona Virus death toll. A devastating toll well over 140K, with his icy attitude of, “I’ll be golfing if you need me!” mirrored in Mary’s sad account that while her father Freddy was dying in a hospital Trump was at the movies. And yesterday when people were mourning the dead of the virus alongside the death  civil rights pioneer Congressman John Lewis there Trump was on the greens with Green Bay Packers fallen hero Brett Farve.  I could not resist a digital political commentary.

18th(1)

I’ve lost a brother named Fred to alcohol too. And while I can relate to Trump needing to turn his back on Freddy’s destructive drinking to some degree, when my brother ended up in a hospital in 2015 with a bleeding ulcer from his over drinking I dropped everything and remained beside his hospital bed as he lay in a coma as many days as I could afford to be away from work. That’s what brothers do. My Freddy would die alone eventually in 2017 by ostracizing himself from the entire Sheetz family.

Considering how much I dislike Trump, it’s amazing how much we have in common, a bad father, a lost brother named Fred and a successful real estate career. Floated by endless cash from his dad and later suspected Russian money and now taxpayer money he abuses, Donald, however has never hit the absolute rock bottom I was blessed to experience in the real estate crash of 1991. Losing everything would send me into therapy and on the long road to recovery from my bad dad’s racist influences. But not so for our commander in chief who is an erratic untreated pack of neurosis we are all suffering under. A bully of cosmic proportions of unchecked ego. Fact is, I will consider it a win if we don’t end up in a civil and or nuclear war before his crazy reign ends. It will end someday won’t it?

I could go on sighting more awesome examples of why after reading TOO MUCH AND NEVER ENOUGH you’ll finally get why we must be even more concerned about Trump than we already are. Let that one sink in.  But I’ve said enough without being a spoiler. Enough I hope to get you to “take read”, as they say in Hollywood regarding scripts.

5 stars for an entertaining and informative look at what makes our wannbe dictator tick and why he is so vulnerable to Putin, Kim and other powerful enablers that, who like his father Fred Sr. keep Trump propped up as their useful idiot.  Read the book before you disagree with my harsh assessment of Trump please, one I have even more deeply after the fast read. I promise Trump won’t really care… even if you’re deep into the kind of brainwashing his millions in campaign funds and Russian psyop enable by Zuckerberg can do to paint a false reality.

Thanks for the attempted rescue, that is if America’s not already too far gone, Mary Trump.

Trump the Golden Calf

Can you feel it? America is having the saddest 4th of July weekend ever.

Most of all we Yankee Doddle Doers are sad to be leading the developed nations, and many of the undeveloped nations of the world, in the outbreak of Covid-19 and resulting deaths. And for reality deniers like our divider in chief, the 19 stands for 2019, the fateful year when the corona virus that would knock America on its fast food inflamed fat ass like an asteroid strike hit. Only this asteroid hit is like watching an amateur soccer match at 1000 frames per second.

My heart sank Friday night as I watched the Trump speech at Rushmore on FOX NEWS. Basically, Trump took a page from one his favorite books, this according to Ivana’s divorce testimony, MEIN KAMPF. Watching Trump insanely trying to link Mt. Rushmore to the protection of Confederate statues, erected as a hostile subjugating message to African Americans during the Jim Crow and anti-civil rights eras, was physically and spiritually nauseating. Perhaps knowing he’s lost the elections — if it’s done legally — Trump’s speech, surely written by White Supremacist Stephen Miller, sought to drive a wedge of lies deep into the hearts and souls of his far-right base proclaiming, “If Trump can’t have America no one will!”

Mt Rushmore

As I dictated pained observations into my phone recorder, while the crowd of unmasked super spreaders cheered, my wife Elizabeth did financial reports for film funding magicians FROM THE HEART PRODUCTIONS, while keeping half an eye on Trump. Alas, such multi-tasking is not possible for me. It was then we both noticed Trumps makeup had more gold coloration in his bronzer than usual.

Gold Calf

I sighed to Elizabeth, “Trump’s made himself into a golden god for his peeps. How I wish his brainwashed and conned fans could see he’s more like the golden calf false idol in the Bible that the lost followers of Moses fell for.” And the more I thought of it, the more I could see the sadness of what’s happened to the evangelical and New Age community can be likened to worshiping that famed false golden calf come to life. And a fatted calf at that.

A little background how I got here. I’ve enjoyed the New Age movement since writing a screenplay back around the turn of the millennium for a pilot called EVERYTHING I WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT LIFE I LEARNED FROM SITCOMS.  The sitcom, written with my fiancee of the time a successful Canadian filmmaker and one of the top ten line producers in Hollwyood, centers on my fictional creation Dr. Robert Trainer, an alternative medicine hypnotherapist who sends people into old TV sitcoms to role play with the greats of black and white broadcasts that live on in our collective consciousness. TV and radio waves from these old shows is even now rippling out into deep space and they, for good or ill, will be some of the first images of use received by alien cultures of who we are.

Unfortunately, the bound to be a hit pilot we wrote never got off the launch pad because the networks deemed it a rights clearance nightmare. I argued it would be worth the trouble, but Hollywood’s elite are not into debates. As it turned out my study of the New Age movement did peak my curiosity in the Shift as it was called back them and its eccentric and beautiful people. Several years later I became fully exposed to the New Age community firsthand in in my film work during the depths of the Great Recession of 2008-2012. It was then that I made some real life New Age friends while filming some of the top players LA’s spirit community. I liked a lot of what they said about the future we were heading.  Ah, those were the good old days. Today the New Age community like the rest of America is split into Trump supporters and those of us how feel we are holding to the original values of a better tomorrow for everyone regardless of race or creed.

Eventually, I had my own New Age awakening while on film assignment in 2010 in Italy. I swear there was booze or drugs of any kind involved when I saw three angels that fateful May 5th. These were 7 foot tall blue ET angels to be precise.  This power and majesty that’s never left me in awe, all happened before my eyes alone in a yoga hall during a mass healing from Gulia of Santa Maria Del Sol. And I have been connecting to these thought traveling ETs for over 10 years now, and these three beings call themselves Ohom, an acronym for Open Hear Open Mind.

As always, I allow the possibility that Ohom, who I see at times as my higher hive self, is simply my own powerful and highly playful imagination at work. You see, I am not one of those New Agers who pretend to know it all. In fact, I really don’t call myself a New Ager as my consciousness work is a of blend of the old world and the new to come. Awakening at age 57 explains part of that fact. Plus what I feel is the earth manifesting a new group of trustworthy elders for the awakening of humanity.

I don’t really know or pretend to what my awakening is all about. One where I learned the power of love and brotherhood. I only know I am awake to the plight of humanity’s enslavement to the almighty dollar, a world choking on greed and pollution, a dumbed-down intellect that can no longer see truth, and that I am here to make my own small contribution to the real Great Awakening. Yes, the real Great Awakening, not the catchy title the Q psyop has sought to steal for it’s own nafarious purposes.

Looking on the bright and dark side of these strange times both at once, there’s little reason to fear a full blown civil war in a country that’s still so subservient to the ways of the white patriarchy. Nope, we Yanks are too comfortable, left and right, with our luxuries and toys to actually rebel IMHO.

Nor do I believe that violence ever leads to good. Still, Elizabeth and I support the imperfect #BlackLivesMatter with donations and free social media from BuzzBroz because our police need to rise to serving people of all colors and creed equally. In the words of the great Martin Luther King…

“We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor, it must be demanded by the oppressed.

The BLM protests are forcing long overdue change to happen. That change is small now but will grow greatly if the GOP can be pushed aside in the vote come November. Today’s protests are largely peaceful. Yes, things have gotten out of control at times. But an open heart will tell you that’s understandable given our black brothers and sisters seek to overcome 400 years a racial repression by our white Christian patriarchy. This generates a black anger that’s nearly impossible to contain.

Despite my firm belief that America is not heading for a new civil war some Q and Trump people want,  make no mistake that the agitators both within and without the country are a danger to the heart and soul of this country.

My advice as a newly awakened elder is that instead of overly chastising our brothers and sisters in the New Age and evangelical community, allowing that some chastising is indeed needed, have heart and show some love by helping them accept and understand  that they are lost in the flood of Russian, Chinese, and domestic Trump pysop.

Indeed, to protect our own Trump rejecting minds, while people we’ve adored in the New Age movement have been converted into ardent Trump and conspiracy theory share-bots, we must pare our Facebook pages down to as small a Trump contingent as possible, This lest we too be subject to the weapons grade social media that Mark Zuckerberg and his ilk are virtually doing nothing to prevent. See my post here on the blog FIGHT THE PSYOP to get ten tips on protecting your mind and spirit.

My love Elizabeth, a 17-year vet, a New Ager with values close to my own, has been in shock and dismay all week that even after the horrific revelation that Trump knew of a bounty on American Troops, and that, in perfect alignment with Putin and not his own intelligence, after a weekend of golf, proclaimed it’s all a hoax anyways. Despite all this Elizabeth was devastated that some of her dear New Age friends have not budged in their support of Trump.  Seems nothing short of nuke on New York might sway people from their crazy uncle in office. Nah, probably not at this point.

If Trump Nuked New York

I theorize that the common denominator from what I see on social media is that there are a large number of anti-vax players in the New Age community and their passion for that cause that has many New Agers under Trump’s endless Russian style fire hosing. What each lose sight of is that Faustian bargains never generate good karma points or final outcomes.

Trump’s bravado, hollow jingoistic slogans, will not bring this country out of it’s dark night of soul. I invite you to join me and Elizabeth in setting the intention in the collective consciousness for a true awakening! Let’s make this time a truly great awakening grounded in the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness and dedicated the principle that all men are created equal.

Happy 4th of July, whether it’s holiday for you or not.  And here are some great speeches in case you’ve forgotten what good leaders sound like.