0120blog

Don’t Let the Door Hit You

It’s high noon, you varmint and it’s time you get out of town.

Former president, former president, former president Donald Trump ended his interminable four years of cruel and wanton destruction in much the same surreal way that he entered, with not even a scintilla of class.

An Air Force helicopter had arrived at Joint Base Andrews Air Force base, bringing the first family and assorted parasites to board Air Force One to take them to Mar-a-Lago, hopefully, one last time and one last time on the public dole for the Trump family and all.

And if you listened, you could hear a soothing, comforting sound that had not been heard for all these years, the distinctive sigh of relief that circled the globe, as millions of people didn’t have to hold their breaths another day, not unlike the sounds you hear when told you are no longer going to die, literally.

What you didn’t hear was the flyover of military jets that Trump wanted but didn’t get, poor Donald, he never gets what he wants.

Somber men and women in their starched military uniforms stood like statues as they held their collective noses and issued the traditional 21 gun salute to the departing monster-in-chief, he who dodged the draft with alleged bone spurs, wink, wink.

It had been a busy and fitting last night at the White House, what with Trump signing pardons and clemency orders for 143 people, including a series of corrupt politicians and other ne’r-do-wells. And it wasn’t until 1:07 a.m. that Trump issued his final order, revoking the ethics rules that he had imposed on his own former aides, while he sipped one final Coke and ate one final Twinkie.

It was near zero degrees but not cold enough to shake the blank though frighteningly callous and otherworldly stare off the face of First Lady Melania, whose great success in the White House was to tear out the greenery planted during the Kennedy administration. It was nowhere near as cold as it was for the 400,000 Americans who have died of COVID19, including the untold numbers who may have lived had it not been for the inaction of Trump to the scourge that has enveloped the globe.

Trump was in typical form. It was all about Trump as he spoke while the Trump theme songs, “Gloria,” “Macho Man” and “Fortunate Son” played to the largest crowd ever to send off a president, but not really, and Trump announced that he will be back, sending a chilling shockwave of angst and deja vu through much of the civilized world.

The Trump Team has bizarre down to an art.

“Gloria” was a fitting song to say goodbye, with those prophetic lyrics, “And you really don’t remember, was it something that he said? Are the voices in your head calling, Gloria? Gloria, don’t you think you’re falling? If everybody wants you, why isn’t anybody calling?”

Donald, nobody is calling.

And there was “Macho Man” by the Village People, they who championed the rights of gays and lesbians and transgendered, those people who Trump said were not fit to serve in the military. And the lines were those that Trump said to Melania until she decided not to go anywhere near him at the White House and for very obvious and very good reasons, not least of all his small hands.

“Body, body, body wanna feel my body,

Body, body, body gonna thrill my body,

Body, body, body don’tcha stop my body,

Body, body, body it’s so hot my body.”

And the final dissonant, Daliesque moment came with the playing of the song “Fortunate Son” by Credence Clearwater Revival, a 1970s tome about if you’re rich you won’t have to die in the jungles of Vietnam.

“Some folks are born silver spoon in hand

Lord, don’t they help themselves, oh

But when the taxman comes to the door

Lord, the house looks like a rummage sale, yes

It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no millionaire’s son, no, no

It ain’t me, it ain’t me; I ain’t no fortunate one, no.”

It was truly an “unpresidented” moment, particularly if you were “cocked & loaded” and short on “covfefe” but hoped to visit “Nambia” someday to get rid of all those “bad hombres.”

And back at the White House, Joe Biden is fit to be tied, finding that the Trump family not only removed all the toilet paper but also left only a small container of sour milk along with some green slime-covered cheese in the fridge.

The furniture, what wasn’t taken, looks like it was recently purchased from the Good Will, which it was, per orders of the former president, former president, former president. And there were strange yellow stains on the mattresses along with empty Coke bottles strewn hither and yon.

And there was the traditional note from the former to the new resident of the White House. It went:

“Dear Sleepy Joe:

I hope you don’t mind but I have the nuclear codes with me, you know, kind of like job insurance. I hope you and the missus enjoy your stay at my house and may you be greeted by a flock of killer wasps, rabid dogs, COVID19-infected bats and eternal anal itching.

LOL, Donald and Melania.”

If they asked me for a Trump play list for his final moments in office, not that they would ever ask me for anything, even the time of day, I would recommend the following:

“It’s All Over Now Baby Blue”

“You Can’t Always Get What You Want”

“I Never Promised you a Rose Garden”

“Help”

“19th Nervous Breakdown”

“All About You”

“Don’t You Lie to Me”

“Get Off My Cloud”

“Hate to See You Go”

“It’s All Over Now.”

“Lies”

“Turd on the Run”

“Ventilator Blues”

“Wished I Never Met You”

“You Better Move On”

“A Good Man is Hard to Find”

“Closing Time”

“Earth Died Screaming”

“How’s it Gona End”

“Is There Any Way Out of This Dream”

“The Thrill is Gone”

“Hit the Road Jack”

“This Time I’m Gone for Good”

“Everything is Broken”