Jun 30, 2020

June 22, 2020: Living On Tulsa Time, A Delicious Comeuppance, The Golden Swine



tRUMP got pranked
tRUMP got spanked
tRUMP got trolled.
tRUMP got rolled.
tRUMP got humped.
tRUMP was spunked.
tRUMP got tRUMPed

It was a delicious comeuppance. He said that over a million had requested tickets to his rally. He told us in all earnestness that there had never been an empty seat and there certainly would not be one in Tulsa. Plans were drawn, arrangements made, a stage constructed to accommodate the overflow from a filled Bank of Oklahoma arena where the “president”* (1) would again bask in adulation before yet another huge crowd. A hundred thousand would walk through hell, crawl over glass, risk the prospect of hospitalization and ventilators, indeed death itself, to revel in the reflected glory of the 'chosen one'. (2)

They stayed away in droves.

Instead a mere 6, 111 gathered in a venue seating over 19, 000. Fully two thirds of the seats in the arena were vacant leaving our Caesar Disgustus to gaze out into the vastness of empty blue, with his empty voice filling an equally empty void. It was a lackluster performance, filled with only the usual venom; the whiny little bitch—ever the victim—offering no vision for the future, making no effort to bring the nation together, saying not a word about the tRUMP virus once again coursing through the veins of the nation.

They stayed away, as we say in the movie business, in droves.

It was a delicious prank, inspired by some grandmother who suggested on anti-social media that people order tickets in advance and then don't show. The youth of America went into action, filling out forms—including a release demanded by tRUMP absolving him, his organization, the Republican Party and the venue of any liability should the attendee contact the dreaded tRUMP Virus. Over a million on Tik-Tok and other media responded, feeding the legendary tRUMP hubris with just the sort of information calculated to produce the desired result. Accordingly, our Disgustus began to crow, like Foghorn Leghorn, as visions of a hundred thousand or more would gather from all across America in deep red Oklahoma to worship at the altar of the golden swine. “A hundred thousand, I say, a hundred thousand, there won't be an empty seat, there never has been an empty seat”....

But the rooster always crows in the morning regardless of what awaits the day. And our Caesar Disgustus, as befitting a birdbrain, is as predictable as the morning sunrise.

And so it was that Disgustus was presented with a crowd as thin as his sagging poll numbers; now confront the grim reality that the nation is done with him, disgusted by him and is impatiently awaiting his demise.

Of course he tried to explain it all away. It was the virus he tells us, forgetting that he has—through breathtaking incompetence—made this nation the epicenter of the disease. It was the Antifa (anti-facists) who blocked the entranceways, and scared away his followers—universal evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. Disgustus, ever overestimating the gullibility of his audiences, unabashedly fills the airwaves with bold faced lie.

So let us take a moment and tip our hats to the youth of this nation. In an inspired use of guerrilla tactics they have taken the very weapons of the pig, in this case the anti-social media, and turned them against our would be Caesar. This is an encouraging development, for we must defeat tRUMP before we can be about the business of creating a more perfect union. We must destroy the golden swine before we can continue our journey toward the promised land.

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  1. Once again the word president is in parentheses and in lower case as well as accompanied by an asterisk to denote the illegitimacy of this administration, brought to power as it was through Russian meddling and financing.
  2. Reference here to our Caesar Disgustus betraying a messianic complex by telling the press on the White House lawn that he is indeed the 'chosen one'.

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