The odd man posts an AI generated picture of himself in papal garb and regalia seated on ecclesial throne to his social media account.
And here I’ve been worried that some fed-up person might successfully end his life and his ascension to authoritarian absolutist assholery kitsch (ataaak). I no longer worry that such an unfortunate life-ending act would be coming. Such desperately wrong action would be wrong for ethical reasons and bad for the murderous substrate populace of our fragile society and equally morally compromised wellbeing. (May it not happen!)
I now think that the buffoonishly foolish caricature of a man will be done-in by God, Fate, or Karmic Forces, felled by Force of Nature in fully open observable gasp of fallenness effectuated by no human agency or cause.
Just . . . Dropped.
There will be some mourning, as there should be.
There will be some relief, as you might expect.
There will be an exorcism of the befuddling mashugana with which 40% of the country above the Gulf of America and below the Great State of Canada has been in thrall and affliction since November of 2024.
I will pray for the fallen felicitous felon as his dissipated soul seeks final judgment and clarifying new quarters in the magnificent golf club of the netherworld, replete with entourage of sycophants, former strange agents, and big-haired admirers sipping cocktails and calling to him from their tables.
Death has a way of settling aberrative and agonistic asininity.
His political remnant will, undoubtably, name airports, defunct government buildings, cities, fighter-jets, and mma stadia after him, as well as change names of former oceans into the East Coast Trumpic Big Waters and the West Coast Trumpic Big Waters in his blessed memory.
His grieving wife and family will receive safe-passage to Vladivostok or Riyadh, their needs taken care of by the two trillion dollars he took in after taking in the saps in his second term grift-and-grab in plain sight while leader of the freeze world of America Made Great By A Greater Man Than Ever Lived. —AMGBAGMTEL.
Here in Maine, as the sun suddenly shines through thick morning fog, and trees put on bathrobes as birds burst into their bedroom, we pause to reflect.
There’s no explaining aberration, avarice, or asininity. We live with it when it arises, befuddled and lamentably overwrought at the chaos, harm, and damage left behind in its wake. We wonder how such cruelty and unkindness could take root among such seemingly benign and well-meaning populace. (Here, please consult history books and documentary data about such goings-on if you are lucky to find any remnant things extant after the last great purge of any recorded facts about our history.)
I will look for a dark suit to wear to the obsequies.
I will smear ash and potash on my head and face.
I will sit 7 day shiva and observe 49 days of bardo ritual for his remnant soul and for the lamentable country torn and ruptured by the deceased’s folly.
And because we do not speak ill of the dead, I will not speak another word nor pen another phrase again about him. Such is the enormity of emotion felt at the passing of such a consequential and incomprehensible man — one we’ve had living amongst us, one for whom undue deference and mind-numbing obeisance hypnotized a nation.
And so — Amen, Shantih, Shalom, Arrivederci, and (of course) Write When You Get Work!
Here endeth our absurd adventure! Here beginneth our disturbed grief!
Sede vacante!
