Chapter 6 – Trump’s Worst Nightmare

Radio Show Audio With Score and Sound Effects

Since April 2020 I’ve been developing TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM, hosted temporarily here on my meditation blog, as a warts and all work-in-progress. Warning violent content and explicit language ahead. Whadya expect from a Trump nightmare were still trapped in?

And speaking of nightmares: Trump is about to have a Black Lives Matter nightmare, which of course bears very little similarity to reality.

Chapter 6 – Trump’s Worst Nightmare

Meanwhile, one timeline away, in July of 2020, an alternate universe’s Trump has been struck with a deadly case of Coronavirus and is lost in a delusional series of fever dreams. Kinda like our own Trump does with his eyes wide open.

Dr. Faucci makes a deep incision in Trump’s throat. Blood trickles, crossing the orange tan line where Trump’s bloated chest meets his saggy neck.

Faucci says, “OK, I’ve successfully made the incision to avoid the President’s damaged throat tissue, caused by drinking bleach. Insert the ventilator tube, Dr. Edwards of you will.”

Dr. Edwards takes over the operation and Faucci heads for the door, wiping sweat from his furrowed brow.

Ivanka, sporting the latest Paris fashion Covid mask, rises to her feet along with the mask wearing Jared when Dr. Faucci exits the surgery room. She asks nervously, “Doctor Faucci, is Daddy going to be OK?”

Dr. Faucci sighs deeply and wipes sweat from his forehead, “A tracheotomy is a relatively easy procedure. My real concern is that your father hid his catching virus for too long. And, well, the bleach.”

“That’s no answer, Tony!” blurts Jared, his normally high pitched feeble voice nearly inaudible beneath his red, white and blue mask.

Dr. Faucci ignores Jared and calmly addresses Ivanka, “Your father’s odds of a recovery are quite low. And even if he does ever recover, he may be in a mentally reduced to the condition of a moron —

“Reduced?” mutters Jared,

“- where he can no longer serve as president,” finishes Fauci.

Ivanka spins to pound Jared’s tiny chest.

In the adjacent operating room, dead to the real world, Trump does not stir on the operating table as Dr. Edwards carefully inserts a respirator air tube through Faucci’s tracheotomy incision. The operating room fades from view as the White House Bunker fades into view…

Nestled in the safely of his bunker beneath the White House, the real world a forgotten memory, Trump offers his best presidential poker face as his advisors wrangle with a new series of more violent BLM protests.

Larry Kudlow gasps as on the big screen an array of BLM protestors use a stolen city bus to flatten the White House fence. The angry mob charges the heavily armed Secret Service Agents.

Mark Meadows says, “Relax, Larry.  Our troops learned in Portland how to put these dogs to sleep.”

“Relax? This is revolution! And we all know what happens to the player in an old regime, especially one as cruel as ours,” croaks Larry.

Trump laughs at Larry and says, “Chill, Larry. Theses walls of the vault are 6 feet thick, or something like that kinda thickness. Tremendously thick. And we have all the comforts of home here. The best champagne.  The best caviar.”

On screen the Federal Troops lay down their weapons as the angry mob races past them.

“What in Holy Hell?!” shouts Trump, cracking one of TV screens with his tiny fists.

The Director of the Secretive Service, James Murray, calmly says to the shocked Trump, “Not to worry, sir. Like you just said, in your genius way, the protesters cannot possibly reach us down here.”

“Protest? You call this fucking protest.?” bellows Trump.

“Look, sir. The lowlifes have zero chance!” shouts Stephen Miller, making a Nazi salute, which he fakes into a stretch.

“Let’s get back to talking about my fantastic Mt. Rushmore monument to the greatest presidency ever! Mine! Tell me about getting head, Kayleigh.”

The men all laugh at Trump’s sexist joke, while Kayleigh does her best to hide her disgust. She rolls over a model of Mt Rushmore into the bunker conference room. “Mr. President, I’m afraid the Rushmore survey ream has determined that there is not enough structural integrity to the surrounding rock to add your incredible face.”

“I am not happy about this, Kayleigh!” grumps Trump, folding his arms across his big belly.

Screen Shot 2020-08-09 at 5.03.13 PM

“It’s OK, Mr. President. We have a solution…” Kayleigh loses her train of thought as on the big screen protestors fall and die under heavy gunfire from a more resistant line of White House defense. But an endless stream bat wielding protestors take their place in the bloody battle for the White House above.

“Go on Kayleigh. Don’t worry about the losers up there. Nigger scum,” snarls Trump.

“Well I see a lot of white people with these guys,” says Kudlow.

“The losers can’t reach us. Go on, Kayleigh. Give me some head!” chuckles Trump.

Mastering her outrage Kayleigh says, “Well, it’s simple. All we have to do is re-chisel one of the four heads into your amazing image. All that remains is for you to pick who to replace with your handsome face. Who shall it be, Mr. President, Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt or Lincoln, sir?”

Trump relishes at this historic decision making moment, spinning around and around in his larger life leather chair, and finally decreeing,”Q-Anon calls me the greatest civil rights leader of all time. Lowest unemployment for Blacks ever. Well, before the Covid started killing them off like flies. So I pick to replace the head of Abraham Lincoln head with mine. My base will love it and my haters can eat shit and die.”

Meadows offers obsequiously, “Brilliant as always, sir!  It’s true you have supplanted Lincoln in the hearts of the people after all!”

The gathering of white men, plus one frustrated woman in Kayleigh, give Trump a standing ovation.

For a split-second Trump is back in the real world. Trump’s heartbeat stops on the monitor. Dr. Fauci takes up shock paddles and shouts, “Clear!” and jolts Donald Trump.

Shocked back into his bunker fever dream, Trump points at the security monitor and bellows, “What?! Those rioters, they’re in my Oval office!”

Trump and his team watch helplessly as the security TV screen shows a rush of protestors of all races and creeds swarming into the Oval Office

Trump demands, “Murray, set off the self-destrust bomb and blow the fucking Antifa anarchists off the face of the earth!”

Murray pleadingly turns to Meadows, who coldly nods for him to carry out Trump’s command. “You heard the president.”

Turning to the monitors, where the Resolute Desk is being set aflame, Murray anguishes and finally croaks, “I respectfully decline to carry out your orders to blow up the protestors, sir. You have my resignation.”

Trump spins to Defense Secretary Esper and roars, “Esper, wipe out these fucking terrorists!”

“These are American citizen’s, Mr. President. They can’t reach us in here. I respectfully refuse and resign as well,”

“Where are my Portland shock and awe troops?!” shouts Miller.

“In transit to Milwaukee I believe,” answers Meadows.

“Well, get them here to DC pronto! — Seen this Tweet?” says Trump, jamming a cell phone in Miller’s sweaty face.

The gaggle white men crowd around Trump’s cell phone that reads:

Lynch the #BunkerBaby!”

“The bastards are calling me BunkerBaby! Even after I crushed them in Lafayette Square!”

“Um, my mom taught me sticks and stones may break –”, says Robert Tulsa before he’s cut off.

“Shut the fuck up! Sergeant Cosco, escort these traitors my bunker!” shouts Trump pointing at the TV screen.

“Name’s Tulsa. Mr. President, and I am afraid Mr. Esper and Mr. Murray cannot leave as we are sealed in.”

“Look, COSCO. No one’s in the hallway!” shouts Trump pointing at the TV screen.

“But, sir, the 2 ton door operates slowly, by the time we see rioters we could be….”

“Break the seal!” demands Trump.

“– fucked.” finishes Sergeant Tulsa. “The door moves slowly. You could be killing us all.”

Trump defiantly pushes the open button and gloats, “Fuck off. You’re Black. Obviously, you’re in on this with them. You want something done right you gotta, um, something something or other.”

Miller takes charge, “Seargent, remove, Esper and Murray from my bunker or you’re up for a firing squad!”

“Pussy. I told ya. Look. It’s all clear.” gloats Trump. “You see. You’ve got nothing to fear but it something… We have nothing to fear but, ah.. Oh, fuck it!”

Gunfire erupts as mob of rioters race up the long hall for the bunker door.

“Seal the bunker! Seal the bunker!” shouts Trump.

BANG! Sergeant Tulsa falls to the marble floor, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

Kayliegh shouts to the mob, “Power to the people! I am not with the dictator, sexist, racist Trump anymore! I’m free! Yay!”

The laughing protestors get such a kick out of Trump’s sad reaction to Kayleigh’s betrayal they let her slip away.

An angry Black man races up to a screaming Trump and raises a bloody hatchet.

Trump begs on his knees, “Black lives matter!  Praise Jesus! Black lives matter! Spare me! I’ll sign any law you want!”

Trump curls into a ball and weeps like a baby sucking his thumbs, eyes slammed shut, waiting for a death blow.

The angry black man laughs saying, “Pathetic!” He plants the axe in Trump’s throat.  Exactly where the incision in the real world. Blood gushes and all goes black.  Faintly, the beep of a life monitor gets louder and Trump’s eyes flicker open.

Thrilled to be back in the real world where he is on life support, Trump cracks open his eyes to see his loyal personal Black attendant Robert reading the newspaper beside his hospital bed. Trump’s bloodshot feverish eyes close.

We see Robert’s Washington Post’s headline reads:

PRESIDENT CONTRACTS CORONA VIRUS. LIFE HANGS BY A THREAD!

To be continued in Chapter 7 – Weekend at Trumpies

Special thanks to my wife Elizabeth for playing Kayleigh and Ivanka.

As always my handy disclaimer that this 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 Trump, and his charming GOP enablers, or for that matter, the supposed good guys in this dark comedic tale.

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

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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.

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.

 

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

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

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

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

And now, without further ado I present…

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

Meanwhile… one timeline away.

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

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

“I tell you I am President Trump!”

“Hola. And I am Barrack Obama.”

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

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

“Uh, no.”

“Why not?” says the security guard.

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

Trump flashes back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Grandma…,” whispers Robert to himself.

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

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

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

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

“Not your fault Trump infected you, Bobby.”

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

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

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

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

“Anything, Grandma.”

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

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

“Hate’s a virus, love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nowhere,” says Trump vacantly.

“Nowhere?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Robert, help!” chokes Trump.

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

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

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

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

END CHAPTER 3

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

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

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

BONUS MEDITATION

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

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

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

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

Coming fever dreams…

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

Old radio style audio and edits added May 16, 2021

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

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

TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM

CHAPTER 2 – THE WHITE HOSPITAL

Meanwhile, one timeline away …

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

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

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

“Two years!?” shouts Trump.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“President Schwarzenegger?!” shouts Trump.

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

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

“Eating?” says Trump.

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

Trump laughs wickedly and says,”Ousted how?

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

“What happened to Biden?”

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

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

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

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

“And Bernie?” says Trump.

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

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

“Jared. Epic landslide.”

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

“Your old pal Chris Christie”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The White House a hospital?” says Trump.

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

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

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

“Mutations?” says Trump.

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

“How many dead?” says Trump.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trump fumes until he spews, “Fuck me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And my idiot son?” asks Trump.

“Eric’s dead.”

“The DeSantis Variant?” puzzles Trump.

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

“How?”

“You really wanna know, sir?”

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

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

“Show me!”

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

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

“Huh?” says Eric loudly.

A male rhino charges for Eric.

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

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

“Stop! Seen enough.”

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

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

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

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

“Fine how?”

“Finally got this all  figured out.”

“How so?” puzzles Robert.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

END CHAPTER 2

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

Make a donation to help me keep bringing you more chapters. Old style radio show audio coming soon to more chapters. Thanks.

Donate for new chapters and audio .

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

Trump Impeachment Hearings Canceled?! – A Cosmic Parody

Happy evening of 11/11/19. I hope you will enjoy this somewhat humorous quantum meditation look ahead two days into one possible timeline. A fantasy that will 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.

Take a deep cleaning breath, in through your nose and out your mouth five times. 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

I awaken groggy and ready for coffee. 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.

DSC07062

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. 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 in this waking dream Trumpian fantasy 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.

And now back to our Trumpian fantasy. 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.

End fantasy meditation. We now return you to your present timeline.

Which timeline to which of endless possible futures 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.

Oh and no imagining 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.

Screen Shot 2018-06-10 at 5.34.11 PM

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