Donald Trump, Savior in Chief

I awakened in the same miserable cave as the one that prompted last night’s post. It’s cold and damp and hopeless in here. The sun is long since hidden and I have reason to believe it will not rise in the morning sky; our nearest star sensed the coming doom and left for a galaxy friendlier than the Milky Way. So, too, our nearest planets. They reckon something unpleasant is about to unfold, so they disappeared into the night sky, seeking a new, kinder, and more forgiving gravitational attachment. Everywhere I look, people and places and ideas are scurrying about, trying hard to find a place on the spectrum of visible light devoid of anything orange. The only hopeful spectrum to be found is in utter darkness; illumination, once a treasure to behold, has become the face of horror.

Looking around this once beautiful planet, I see ugliness everywhere. Dictatorships, assassinations, terrorism, and raw greed turn truth upside down, spilling sewage into the air supply and filling milk cartons with gasoline and mercury. Last night, I thought the only hope for humanity was its elimination. This morning, the thought has become certainty. Perhaps Donald Trump, his primitive brain itching to send the nuclear codes to his tiny fingers, is indeed our salvation.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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