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The Road To Tyranny Is Paved With Dementia

The perfect puppet President could never comprehend the damage he never remembers he does.

Block quotes = WebMD stages of dementia.
Italics = Inner Dialogue + quotes from the film Memento.

You’ll notice more changes in their thinking and reasoning. They may have trouble making plans, and they may repeat themselves a lot. They may also have a hard time remembering recent events.

So, Where are you? You’re inside an oval office. It doesn’t look like the oval office when Barack was here. It looks like a pretend staged version. Why are you here? There’s a man on a screen who appears to be talking to me. Who is he? Don’t ask me a question, don’t ask me a question…

Papa Dementia
There are all kinds of generous Papas in the world. At Christmas much of the western world knows the most generous chubby bearded fella who zips around the world with gifts as St. Nikolas but in France he’s Papa Noël. The Soviet Union had Joseph Stalin, also known as Papa Joe. He brought all kinds of gifts to people too, often meted out after long train rides to nowhere. What the last election in the U.S. really boiled down to (aside from some vote rigging in five counties in five states to swing it in favor of management’s choice, something we’re not allowed to talk about) is an unaccountable rogue state apparatus of intelligence agencies and party apparatchiks who work for unelected foreign global interests to have the greatest gift they could ever hope for, a puppet President who doesn’t know what day it is. He was selected on the third day of the eleventh month and glory to the regime they called him Papa Dementia.

Papa Dementia likes ice cream and young children. He licks one and caresses and smells the other. Disgusting? Yes, his own daughter agreed in her diary after some “inappropriate showers” she was unable to suppress. Remember undemented readers, that was the man before dementia. The one who had an affair with his campaign fundraiser’s wife, the now devoted handler to dear Papa, Dr. Jill. Doctor of palliative care? No. Doctor of mediocre community college reformation dissertations and spousal and elder abuse. The esteemed Doctor Jill whom the corporate media drools over incessantly after spending four years ignoring the deplorable immigrant first lady who wanted to be best. Immigrants are only sometimes a strength.

The man before dementia could hide behind his power as legislative gimp to the credit card industry in Delaware, signatory of the patriot and Iraq war acts, the urban crime bill, the telecommunications act, the Gramm-Leach-Bliley Act and numerous other legislative calamities that have rendered the United States of America a constitutional republic in history books only. The demented condition now is a good excuse for the devil to part ways with any responsibility for his past disgraceful behavior. Ten percent for the big guy. Fire that guy or you don’t get the money. Never underestimate his ability to F things up, his good buddy Barack said. He was always incompetent, but now he has a convenient excuse.

Management loves a demented devil. He reads their scripts with the eloquence of an Irishman the morning after St. Patrick’s day. We’re not even asked to play along and believe that logic and reason are never needed. There will be no questions about inconsistencies or hypocrisies in their scripts from Papa Dementia, he won’t even bother to practice reading them. He doesn’t know the meaning of his utterances. The words will be read on command from an oval office playroom adjacent to the real thing. When he’s incapable of reading the mask covered faces of his hand picked Pravda audience he might turn to deep whispers commanding his subjects to do something because it’s so obviously the correct and decent thing to do otherwise his handlers would not have written those words down for him to recite. “Get vaccinated people, get vaccinated, do your patriotic duty and get vaccinated.” His whispering or yelling improvisation skills are deployed in direct proportion to his declining approval ratings.

I’m looking for Peppermint Pravda, she’s my press secretary, has anyone seen her? Did I say that already? I’ve probably told this to you, but I have this condition.

When the results of an election are make believe, so is everything that follows – press conferences, photo ops, conference calls with world leaders who play along, mandates that follow the science, patrolling borders, enforcing laws, respecting the constitution, transitory inflation, vaccine safety data, caring for the working or middles classes, an insurrection worse than Pearl Harbor and 9/11 combined, believing white supremacy and domestic terrorism are real threats to the country. An entire national agenda and its astute managers in the pentagon and intelligence communities engineering one Papa Dementia play date after another, each one followed by pollsters unable to hold the artificially approved line. The people won’t play along so easily, chanting something about a Brandon in packed bread and circus houses across the country. Management gathers the Pravda workers and asks them to change the narrative and be more positive. It is Pravda’s fault Papa Dementia isn’t adored.

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