TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM – CHAPTER 3 – HATE IS A VIRUS

This is a hard fictional story to write as it makes my heart, mind and soul hurt deeply watch President Donald Trump fail to daily take responsibility for his slow and poor response to the #coronavirus. His daily “briefings” have become a near total scam of free campaign media where he lies and send s his followers to their early deaths. Still, an angry media desperately tries to wake up him and followers up before Trump sends us all back to square one by encouraging insane end the stay at home protests. Stupidity on scale never seen before.

I see dumb people

Topping this Trump has halted funding the World Health Organization in the middle of this pandemic to, IMHO and many others, deflect blame from his YUGE ego. This is terribly dangerous and stupid all at once. In other words, the Trump brand of leadership.

 

But the show must go on. Let’s catch you up.

In chapter one we meet Trump’s fictional personal attendant Robert, a handsome young black man who gets along well surprisingly with Trump. Robert runs off for help when he realizes Trump may be coming down with a case of the coronavirus. Trump immediately passes out when Robert leaves. Trump begins to fever dream and is whisked two years into the future on the wings of a giant cosmic butterfly.

In chapter two Trump is dumped by the great butterfly into the White House Rose Garden. Two years have passed and Trump is furious to learn from Robert that the USA is now under the leadership of President Andrew Cuomo and that the White House has become a hospital for VIPS.

And now, without further ado I painfully present…

CHAPTER 3 – HATE IS A VIRUS

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

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

“I tell you I am President Trump!”

“Hola. And I am Barrack Obama.”

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

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

“Uh, no.”

“Why not?”

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

“Look, whatever kinda butterfly you rode in on, Covid-Kid! With no ID I don’t let you in. This here is a hospital. We got sick dying VIPs here aplenty and without no ID you ain’t one.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Grandma…,” whispers Robert to himself.

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

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

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

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

“Not your fault Trump infected you, Bobby.”

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

“If we’re lucky, maybe all that hate he had for our people turned his fat ass to dust,” laugh coughs Annie.

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

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

“Anything, Grandma.”

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

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

“Hate’s a virus you know,” says Grandma Annie patting Robert’s hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trump rips off his mask as he storms up the paneled hallways that uis lined with hospital beds. All are filled with the sick and dying VIPS from religion, business and politics. Some are on on ventilators, some dying for lack thereof.

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

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

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

“Wouldn’t get down on Cuomo or Obama if I were you, Donnie. The libtards are running the show. So where you been for the last two years, pal?” advises Sean.

“Nowhere,” says Trump vacantly.

“Nowhere?”

“All this is just bad batch of Mickey D’s I had before bed. Not real,” says Trump brightly.

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

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

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

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

Trump pulls his hand free like Sean’s kiss was a ticket to a ventilator.

White Hospital stairs“Let’s go, Robert. My bedroom. Now.” says Trump ditching his pal Sean coughing.

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

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

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

More sick VIPS in hospital beds fills the former meeting area between the White House presidential quarters bedrooms. The noise of all the ventilators is deafening.

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

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

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

“Robert, help!” chokes Trump.

Robert calmly sits down in a tattered armchair and says with a wicked grin, “Where’s some damn popcorn when you want some?”

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

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

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

END CHAPTER 3

 

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

Welcome to my writing therapy and I hope your reading therapy. This blog series is a science fiction parody about a dark future, perhaps coming into sad reality due the “too painful to watch” daily show of Trump’s inability to lead during the coronavirus crisis.

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If you are just joining us on the blog here’s a link to read Chapter one if you’d like to enjoy the whole science fictional parody as it builds.

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

TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM

CHAPTER 2 – THE WHITE HOSPITAL

Trump’s former young black personal attendant, Robert, dressed in a hospital gown and mask, helps a badly scratched Trump from the rose bushes to his shaky feet and says,”Whoa. Last time I saw you, I rushed out your bedroom to get the doc. When I came back your were gone! Where’d you go for two whole years? And why are you naked as a Jay bird on the 4th of July?”

Too distracted to answer, Trump notices every window in the White House is brightly lit and wonders, “Why the hell are all the White House lights on?”

“Put on my spare mask and gown on and I’ll show you,” says Robert handing Trump both.

“I’m immune to the virus. Don’t need this junk!” shouts Trump, drawing attention from a masked security guard.

“Sorry. President Cuomo’s executive order of 2021 makes wearing of gowns and masks law,” offers Robert grimly.

“President Cuomo!” shouts Trump. Spotting the masked White House security, pulling out his pistol, Trump angrily complies. As he struggles to gown up Trump says, “Cuomo?! Why isn’t Mike president? He dead?”

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

“Eating?” says Trump.

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

Trump laughs wickedly and says,”Ousted how?

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

“What happened to Biden?”

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

“And Bernie?”

“Virus killed old Bernie same day as Moscow Mitch. But not before he gave his spot to Cuomo. Bernie that is,” adds Robert.

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

“Jared. Epic landslide.”

“Surprise!” says Trump dryly. “So who’s Andy’s VP?”

“Chris, his –”

“Brother, I know. What a fuck fest! Totally illegal.”

“The Senate, they changed them laws to permit sibs in office,” says Robert, trying not to show his happiness.

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

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

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

“President Cuomo, you see, he made the White House into a coronavirus hospital. We call it the White Hospital now. I still work here. Trained nurse now on the front line,” says Robert proudly

“So where do I find the Cuomo brothers’ HQ?”

“You ain’t gonna like what I gotta tell you, sir,” says Robert kicking at the poorly mowed White House lawn.

“Stop fucking around and give it to me,” says Trump grabbing Robert by his hospital gown.

“The Cuomos brother, you see theyt work from the repossessed Trump Tower.”

“Fuck me.”

“After all the lawsuits for your — ahem — handling of the virus, well, it was your baby Ivanka’s only option,” says Robert warily.

“How’s Ivanka?!” asks Trump and then adds as an afterthought, “And the rest of my kids… and Melania?”

“Brace yourself… condolences,” says Robert hanging his head. “All dead except your boy, Barron.

“All my kids except Barron dead! Melania dead? But they were all in great health. The greatest.” says Trump with surprisingly little emotion.

“Wicked virus keeps mutating. Now it’s letting the Boomers alone. Been killing mostly peeps age 30 to 50 now. Eric, well, he went just last week. But not of the virus.”

“No?”

“Eric bowed out on a hunting trip trying to extinct the last Rhino. Rhino got him. So sorry, sir,” says Robert gently patting Trump and the back.

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

“Huh? I know you’re tough, sir. But that’s cold.”

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

“Fine how?”

“Ha. This is all just a fever dream.” says Trump with a delerious chuckle.

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

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

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

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

Robert shrugs and lets Trump storm off to the White House to learn for himself.

END CHAPTER 2

 

Trump Impeachment Hearings Canceled?! – A Cosmic Parody

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

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

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

Reverse this meditation if you are time traveling backwards to the  space-time coordinates of earth’s galactic position on the morning of November 13th. Let’s begin. Take a deep breath. Imagine you’re watching the Monday night sky full of stars. The stars’ movement to the west begins to accelerate. Take another deep breath. In your minds’ eye see the sun rise and streak to set in the west. Now the stars appear again and streak west so fast they are lines of white on sky, flowing behind the rapidly rising and setting moon.

Take another deep cleaning breath, in through your nose and out your mouth.

Congrats. You’ve just time traveled in your mind, breaking the speed of light, to the fateful first day of the Trump Impeachment hearings.

11/13/19, 6:30 AM AZ Time (Written 2 Days Ahead of Actual Date)

I awaken as the first sunbeams light up the autumn leaves to the west out our bedroom windows in gorgeous Sedona. Not yet married 2 months, my love Elizabeth and I are still on our blissful honeymoon. At 67 years of age I have never been happier in my long life.

My beautiful bride has a delightful ritual of snuggling to start each day. But today I separate from Elizabeth’s well toned arms and silently slip from bed.

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I am as excited as a six-year old on Christmas morn because it’s Wednesday November 13th, the first day of the public Trump Impeachment hearings. I feel a twinge of regret leaving our love nest, but I know Elizabeth finds Trumpy stuff a YUGE time waste. She worked in Special Forces during her 17 years of military service to America and she feels quite sad about the low grade civil war we seem to be mired in.

Our little rescue dog Lincoln snores beside Elizabeth, keeping her company as I make my escape. Throwing on my trusty warm robe I close the door softly behind me and turn on the kitchen light.

Wow. Today’s the first live Impeachment hearing since I was in college during Watergate.

7AM is too early for popcorn while I devour the hearings. So I drop a frozen waffle in the toaster just as Elizabeth steps from the bedroom, pulling her white bathrobe around her lovely figure. Love is delightfully distracting. Rubbing the sleep from her beautiful blue green eyes Elizabeth says half asleep, “Why’d you leave bed without hugs, Ken?”

Lincoln hops against my plaid PJs as I say, trying not to sound like a guilty little boy, “Trump’s impeachment hearings start in –”

“Ken, I thought you said you weren’t going to watch the live hearings,” says Elizabeth playfully poking me in my all too Trump-like belly.  I welcome Elizabeth’s gentle scolding because she’s suffered through my serious Trump news addiction for 4 years now, sharing a small home office.

Elizabeth takes me into a forgiving hug. She’s without a doubt one of the greatest huggers on earth. She looks deep into my eyes and says,”I’ll make tea. Get the circus going.”

I flashback to the Trump inauguration Elizabeth and I attended with the support of our fans. Our mission: Hold a space of love and hope in the feisty red-capped crowd for  Trump’s first and hopefully only term in office. It was a hard thing for me because I’ve not been a fan of Trump’s brash style and the harsh way he treats people who serve him since the 1980s.

Love Trumps Hate

Unfortunately, the Ukraine scandal has fired my Trump news addiction back up again. I worry that watching the hearings this morning — and the inevitable cycle of Trump’s feisty blowback — might be harmful to the peaceful energies of my idyllic life here in Sedona.

Little Lincoln pokes me with his paws again. begging for his forgotten breakfast. This snaps me out of yet another of my Trump spells. I pop open the refrigerator and pull out his dog food. I multi-task finishing my waffle, dropping Lincoln’s food in his green plastic bowl to the floor with a familiar little clatter and hurry to the living room.

“Tea’s almost ready” says Elizabeth cheerfully from the open kitchen as I fumble through the hollow book that holds our TV’s remote controls.

I surf to channel 53, CNN here in Sedona where Anderson Cooper is talking without sound. The CNN title card reads:

Trump Impeachment Hearings Canceled

“What the fuck?!” I shout so loudly Elizabeth drops her tea pot spilling to the counter.

“What?!” Elizabeth shouts as she rips off some paper towel. and quickly starts a cleanup.

“I don’t know. Somehow Trump has gotten his impeachment hearings canceled!”

Elizabeth races to the couch, “Where’s the volume?”

Diving to look under the couch on the floor I say, looking at dust bunnies, “Not here.”

I hear Anderson Cooper’s excited voice boom from the sound system that Elizabeth has obviously found first. Anderson says:

“… you just watched Chairman Adam Schiff announce the unbelievable: President Trump has stolen the thunder from today’s live Impeachment hearings in announcing he will resign the presidency of the United States of America, effective noon Eastern time on this historic November 13th 2019.”

Elizabeth and I leap to our feet and dance and scream for joy! Lincoln runs for his safety zone in our bedroom closet. I sweep Elizabeth into the pose of the famous New York kiss of the sailor and the young woman at the end of World War Two.

Can this really be happening (or happen in two days)?  Yes, on several timelines Trump resigns just as Nixon did. But not to avoid the shame, the man has none, but by shrewdly accepting the certainty that the Impeachment of Congress could go either way amid eroding public support. So Trump wisely cuts the deal of his life to be pardoned along with all his family and businesses in return for his resignation.

About noon DC time Elizabeth and I stop working on shipping product for CoolestTechEver.com (shameless plug) to watch TV again. Trump shouts over the noise of the presidential chopper. His face beet red from the shouting, Trump goes on for what seems agonizingly forever. He rambles in a rally-like diatribe against the Deep State, Crooked Hilary and Obama, who he still says was born in Kenya, and more and more. Trump rails on:

“..in anyone’s book, even in Shifty Schiff’s, my Ukraine call was totally perfect! Perfect! Perfect! Perfect! Truth is I only resign today because Mark Burnett and I have reached a deal for me to star in our new reality show THE WHITE HOUSE APPRENTICE, airing Monday 7PM Eastern on NBC. Filming starts right now!”

“Hail to the Chief” plays as Trump high fives his loyal staffers who line the White House lawn leading to the presidential chopper. Head held high, former President Trump proudly strides up to President Pence and bear hugs him off the ground. Trump is already miked for reality TV and so we hear:

“Thanks for the pardon, pard! They’ll be after your sweet ass next, Mikey.” says Trump with a winner’s grin.

“I know, Don. I know. Mother and I are ready to do battle.” says President Pence as  Trump walks away, not listening.

Clown to the last, Trump hurries up the little set of stairs, pieces of toilet paper stuck to both his shoes. Trump hams up the Nixon farewell pose as a gag to the laughter from many; but not Jared and Ivanka, whose plans for world domination have been crushed by ex-president Donald J. Trump.

Impeachment Hearings Canceled

Qanon tweets on 11/14.19 that the toilet paper bit was an intentional insult to the left-wing media to kiss his ass.

We now return you to your present timeline.

Which timeline are you actually on? Trump’s outrageous resignation visualized here? Trump’s rise to become the most outrageous dictator in our blue world’s history? Trump as a humbled man who mends his ways and becomes a surprisingly great president? Somewhere in between? Stay positive imaging please. Imagine no Trump starts World War 3 timelines please. You are far more powerful than you know.

Well, we’ll all know more about what this timeline you’re reading this blog holds on Wednesday. Good night, my fellow meditation fans.

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And here’s the promised audio version. Note that it’s edited to be shorter than the written version.