Saturday, June 4, 2016

(2037) The Funeral of Donald Trump – A Futuristic Forecast

“But you tell me over and over and over again my friend
Ah, you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction” – Barry McGuire

I imagine that a cursory glance at this post’s title might lead one to believe something controversial this way comes. Let me be clear, am I calling for Donald Trump’s demise? Umm, err, (stutter, stutter)… no! This is neither present day flight of fancy, nor profound prophecy, but rather a highly imaginary, fictionalized, dystopian envisioning of the possibilities and aftermath of a Trump presidency - meant to entertain, not to become part of history’s reportage.

Again, Secret Service, FBI, CIA, NRA, KKK, YWCA or PTA this is neither a threat, nor a call for a hit on this worthless, parasitic slug of an almost human being, just a little verse about the worst.

(2037) The Funeral of Donald Trump

“Our God is dead!”
The headlines read
In Trump Times and on Trump Cable.
Donald Junior's in charge
On his throne, living large,
As the Trump Manifesto enabled.

There’s a line of succession
You’ll be shot if you question.
Next in turn, his most current wife/daughter
An in-family conception
Born of Donald’s oppression
Of Ivanka, initial wife/daughter.

Neo Nazis were there
Guns held proudly in air.
While the KKK played honor guard.
Only whites now are free,
By the first Trump decree
But for slaves, all the rest have been barred.

The poor kneel in the street
Beg for scraps of Trump Meat
Though they fear that it’s processed from people.
Then they rise to their feet
Ordered off to retreat
For a vigil at Trump Church and Steeple.

Then, of course, there’s the flag
Once a tri-colored rag,
Now, an image of Don’s snarling lips.
And the dollar, past tense
Also gone are the cents,
As we pay now with Trump Blackjack chips.

No more Senate, no House
No nine judges to grouse,
No long-winded and old Constitution.
Declaration repealed,
For the Art of the Deal.
And a nation cries for absolution.

 “Don't you understand, what I'm trying to say?
Can't you feel the fears that I'm feeling today?
If the button is pushed, there's no running away
There'll be none to save with the world in a grave
Take a look around you, boy, it's bound to scare you, boy”

Any comments, questions, criticisms, candid confessions, cash contributions?  Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com.

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