Hail, Seizure!

So, here we are, just hours away from Trump turning the world into a primrose garden full of earthly delights and faery folk. By the way, I have a gorgeous ocean-view lot for sale in the Pacific Palisades. Only burnt once.

I live in the most optimistic country on the planet, and it makes me wonder if there’s something in the water that I’m not getting. Clearly Indonesians aren’t paying attention, but to be fair, all the ASEAN nations lead the whoopie wagon. This leads me to suspect it’s the durian fruit warping their minds. In some places (looking at you Aceh) unmarried couples are forbidden to eat durian alone, which would certainly make me a pessimist. Breaking Away: The Cas... McMaken, Ryan Check Amazon for Pricing.

Japan being at the bottom of the list I can understand. If I had to work 15 hours a day and scream my loyalty to the company in front of my boss every morning before I was allowed a bowl of rice and some raw fish, I’d be pretty down on the global situation too.

Will Trump change the world? Well, no. No human in 6,000 years has achieved Übermensch status. Don’t get me wrong, I like Trump in the way that I like Loki (the Norse demigod, not the Marvel character). He’s a spoiler, a deus ex machina, but he is aware of his role and that spoils the fun. The great harlequins of history are not conscious of the roles they play.

Nevertheless, I am enjoying watching the procession of unwise men to Mar-a-Lago, begging forgiveness and seeking dispensation. They are inconsequential reeds at the river’s edge that will bend whichever way the political currents flow. They are not worthy of respect.

If I were a child penning a list of consumeristic desires to Santa Trump, my missive would have one line: get rid of the Bumbledicks. That’s all I really want for Christmas. I am so tired of the entrained microminds infecting the public sphere with their peculiar brand of insanity.

The Bumbledicks have destroyed the culture, which was highlighted by two recent and incongruous events: the passing of one of America’s greatest cinematic talents, David Lynch; and Trump appointing a porn star, the father of Angelina Jolie, and a Catholic madman as “ambassadors” to Hollywood, recognizing that Hollywood is a foreign entity in its own country. Mel Gibson, who lost his Malibu house to bumbledickery, was heard to quip, “Does the appointment come with an official residence?”

I’m concerned that Trump is a reincarnation of Augustus Caesar. After the turmoil of the Roman Republic’s collapse and the end of the civil wars, Augustus established the Principate, a political system that maintained the outward appearance of the Roman Republic, while centralizing power in his hands.

Lunakai Collagen and V... Check Amazon for Pricing. In other words, I like Trump for his entertainment value, but I don’t trust his motives as far as I can spit into the wind of a typhoon, while pissing uphill. There’s a certain schadenfreude watching the cultural dictators of the past decade get face-planted, but I have to wonder what the price will be for the gloat.

Pendulums (or is it pendula) swing both ways.

As we stand on the precipice of history, ready to leap into the shadowed realm at the map’s edge, we would do well to recall that novelty does not imply improvement. It’s like when the pain in my shoulder abates, only to have my knee go out — the net effect is different, but not better. At least with the shoulder I could still run a marathon, if I was ever so inclined.

A new era brings a different set of weirdness, and there’s something to be said for that. At least there’s the honeymoon period where fantasies are given free rein, before the make-up comes off and we squarely face the consequences of our choices.

As they say down Nawlins way, “Laissez les bons temps rouler!” We’ll worry about the hangover when we get there.

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