A Dull Child Drops Bombs and We Watch it on the News

The madman with the intellect of a slightly below average seven year old, and the depth of a single ply square of ass wiping tissue has bombed Iran. Cable pundits on corporate TV discuss this development in the studious and formulaic manner of so called normal times, resembling dead people seated in the waiting room for hell who believe that they are still alive. Hey Samuel, you don't need to figure out how to pay that speeding ticket. The Massachusetts RMV has no access to the bowels of hell where you will be burning in agony for the next three hundred trillion years.

Trump spoke to TV Cameras and said something about he and Bibi Netanyahu being a team like the world has never seen, and something else about congratulating General Raisin Cane (that is how the caption on MSNBC read) and also told the microphones and lenses that Iran's nuclear facilities had been obliterated. The pundits took this all in with utmost solemnity and parsed and puzzled about next steps, boots on the ground and other matters reflecting on the stability or lack of it in future mid east developments. I noticed that Trump's tiny, immovable eyes barely existed at all, as if they were a pair of oil stains on a napkin, or maybe two beige buttons sewed into a face drawn upon a burlap sack. Trump's leathery, sagging visage rather has the tinge of withered burlap, and he spoke about the bombing of Iran with a constricted mouth - his lips hardly moving, almost resembling the speech of a ventriloquist pretending that the dummy on his lap had uttered every syllable.

Behind the ventriloquist stood three ghosts - voiceless, flaccid, cardboard cutouts held stiffly aloft with plywood spines. These resembled the famous rappers, DJ Vance and Lil Mark O, and one other who I have sadly forgotten.

The most peculiar thing we have agreed to ignore, is the utter fuckwittery of our moment - a world run by an idiot who may be nothing more than a deformed mannequin hooked up to a broken computer. Those dead eyes gazing at you from some screen, recycling the same five phrases, and telling you that bombs had just fallen, but now it is “time for peace” - this ought to leave us quivering in shock as if we learned that the laws of nature had been repealed and that time abruptly ran out on the age of mammals.

What if Trump had said just that? Folks, the bombing was a great success for the best military in all of history, and now it is time for vertebrates to move out of the way. This is the time for slime mold, cockroaches and anoxic ponds that smell like rotten eggs. We will have the greatest primordial swamp of festering meat and mosquitos that the world has ever known - bigger and better than the virgin oceans after The Late Heavy Bombardment and only I can drain that swamp, but why would I? And that Late Heavy Bombardment was nothing compared to what we did to Iran - what I did to Iran with the help of General Raisin and bombs bigger than a whale’s dick.

Trump dropped the bombs and gave a special thanks to the all mighty creator, and Rachel Maddow stared across the broken eons of time like someone sleep walking through a permanent Ketamine drip. We have fallen off the edge of the flat earth, drifting through the vacuum of end times, apocalyptic fascism (or is it fashion?) as if we were riding to the beach in a 1955 Buick Convertible.