I So Wish Donald tRump Would Just Die. Or….

There. I said it. I bet many others are thinking & even hoping for the same thing

An Immodest Proposal

There. I said it. And I am hardly alone in my sentiments. I can safely posit that just about every sane and well-informed American with a mind, soul and heart has likely felt the same thing. If only for a second or two.

I am not a hateful nor violent man. I was raised as a true and good Christian in the Episcopal Church and still strive to follow the tenets and mission of Jesus H. Christ, as I perceive them, as best I can. I came of age within the 1960s counterculture and continue to revere the notions of peace, from individual to international, plus universal love and human bother/sisterhood, man! To borrow a phrase from the late, great Sam Cooke, what a wonderful world it would be if everyone strived to foster goodness, humanity and love all over this beautiful and bountiful yet fragile orb in space we are fortunate to call home.

Time for tRumpy Turd to take his medicine (photo by Mika Baumeister via Unsplash)

I have never thrown a punch in anger nor started a physical altercation with another soul. Last time I shot a gun was at Boy Scout camp. And I am certainly not the sort to wish suffering much less death on others, even those who have severely wronged me. Like Tony Soprano in reference to his mother Livia, I just consider them dead to me. Not actually deceased. But, as much as I can, non-entities within my consciousness and existence. I do not acknowledge their presence much less engage with them.

Alas, I find such sunshine of my hardly spotless mind impossible when it comes to Donny Gold-Plated-John Rumpster. I certainly don’t wish him to be killed (I won’t say assassinated as I don’t consider him a legitimate president; Hillary won the popular vote in 2016). That would only make him a martyr. And, well… it’s murder – to me not merely a rock-hard taboo act due to the old “Thou Shalt Not…” deal but rather just my basic tenets of humanity.

Plus it would make him a martyr to a thoroughly indoctrinated cult of poor souls who have fallen for his con (to enable his grift and sate his voracious narcissism and…). Many of them are angry, ready to break the standards of human decorum and decency as well as bend and defy rules and laws to get their way. The news of the day alerts me to how a large slice of the MAGA crowd has violent tendencies. And guns they are unafraid to use.

This may be the be the giving season, but they’re the last sizable tribe I wish to gift with a martyr’s halo atop Captain Combover. (I must confess that a prison shearing of his cranial hair con will be like the best Christmas ever for me. Being rid of his fractious, odious presence would be the full 12 Days of Christmas for our nation at large as well as the whole wide world.)

Danger to the Republic! (photo by Rod Long via Unsplash)

It wouldn't solve the schisms and isms – great Bob Marley rhyme I just had to nick – that are fragmenting our precious democracy. But it would hopefully be a step a beneficial direction. And make the 2024 POTUS race between two people who are not – at least as best we can surmise seems – sociopaths.

But Wait! There’s An Aternative!

A compromise, if you will. Which is what democracy is all about in the end.

I call it “The Joe Kennedy Solution” for what to do about Donnie tRumpy. Let nature takes its course.

To borrow an intro from my fellow Binghamton, NY boy from our mutual hood, Rod Serling: Imagine a man. A victim of a massive crippling stroke in a wheelchair at his Palm Beach mansion, barely able to lift a finger much less utter more than a few quirky, mangled words as his family and existence shatters.

It happened to Joe; I’m surprised that it hasn’t already happened to The Donald. Look at his atrociously unhealthy diet. His corpulent figure and lack of any exercise other than swinging a golf club. His sweaty, blotchy and weirdly disguised complexion. His blood-pressure-boiling anger. He’s like a neon-lit warning sign for an imminent highly-negative heart event.

The Joe Kennedy comparison is instructive. I do believe tRump is just about the worst person in American public and political life since the paterfamilias of the Kennedy clan. Financial finagling, bootlegging, lobotomizing his slutty daughter, stealing Gloria Swanson’s fortune, appeasing Hitler and likely rigging a presidential election for real are some of his venal sins.

Papa Joe Kennedy during his “Hey, Hitler’s OK” years as US Ambassador to the UK (public domain photo)

Compared to Dastardly Donald’s litter of little piglets, Joe Kennedy’s brood turned out to be far better and more humanely aspirational than he was – credit staunch Catholic mother Rose for much of that. Despite JFK’s philandering and Teddy’s boozing that caused the death of Mary Jo Kopechne, even speculation that Jack and Bobby had some role in the death of Marilyn Monroe, they all did some good in the world. And John and Bobby didn’t deserve bullets blasting apart their rather keen brains.

So rather than kill off Trump or wait for his 91 felony charges to play out and – as the overwhelming evidence suggests – land him in the pokey, garbed in a jumpsuit that matches his fake “tan,” I hope for something more immediate. More effective. I’m even tempted to add it to whatever passes for my prayers to the Divine. Desperate times call for Deus ex machina measures to rid us of the accursed bloated bag of blubber, bullpuckey and bile. Yet not blot out his fat ass.

I Have A Dream….

Now imagine a man again. In a wheelchair at Mar-a-Lardo. Watching his house of conman’s cards that’s the tRump Organization collapse around him. Melanomia running off with a young stud whose massive member makes Donnie’s wee mushroom of a pecker look like a joke. Maybe his Tweedledee eldest gets popped in a drug bust with his girlfriend Kimberly Cokewhore (some kinda artificial stimulant must have powered her frenetic 2020 MA-GOP-A convention speech). That instant karma John Lennon sang about strikes Tweedledumbo second son Eric and Javanka. Barron decides to transition into womanhood….

It’s maybe in the genes? (photo by John Cameron via Unsplash)

Cue up Sam Cooke again. What a wonderful world it would be. If only for a few minutes before we get back onto the dead serious business of trying to save our precious republic from the depredations wrought by the Orange MAGA Menace.