notice: as few apologies for Trump as from him
Trump doesn’t need a private army. With all those months of moving trucks filled of classified docs in circulation at his club and who knows where else, his club where he resides full-time in spite of his own state of Florida’s business licensing laws in open tax evasion, his investors have every branch of the USA armed forces; incidentally the largest and most expensive military in global history is the largest and most expensive endeavor in global history, for ego ain’t new. Every Federal alphabet agency and bureau are theirs, the DoD, IRS and DoJ, all manufactured weapons with new targeting. No court in the country can overstep his executive privilege granted by a Supreme Court also of like/hivemind. The small town 2A freaks are worthless to him now, as worthless as they are to their own communities, won’t anyone consider that. They’ll be the ones replacing migrant workers. The more elemental one sees themselves as, the more elementary is their effect, as with Trump lashing out like the child screaming on the store floor because mom wouldn’t buy the thing. In that vein Musk might drain the Treasury into splitsville, leaving behind a note saying he’s also vacating the office of DOGE to anoint himself as EGOD and the country let it happen. Because they only ever minded their own dreams over actual reality. Diamond took 30 years to kitchen sink the comic book industry because every tradesman and their supporters only ever minded their own dreams, and not the mass of actual reality.
What fun eternal recurrence, parallels in recycled lessons never learned, there. Just prior to the red scare of the 1950s where politicians and celebrities alike had to confirm in courtrooms that they in fact were not communists, many a career snuffed nonetheless, head-shrink Fredric Wertham pushed a comparable witch-hunt of smaller scale, stirring public opinion, mass hysteria and legalities to fine and jail comic creators and vendors alike. To such the extent that regular sales figures of the mid-40s to mid-50s would never again be matched or surpassed no matter how many alternate covers to hide the derivative pablum of power fantasies preaching the logic of rapists and murderers, might making right and ends justifying means. For entertainment, because they feel they deserve it as the world burns. As but one of countless sad stories, Plastic-Man creator Jack Cole had to demean his own skill and talents with strips for that new upstart Playboy magazine, because despite writing and drawing periodicals himself selling millions of copies, none would hire him, even for generic commercial art gigs and with a young wife in tow. Eventually he killed himself. Like some weird trial run, precursor for the comic shop employees and artist assistants in coming weeks, as much as the people losing actual necessities near and far.
Perhaps the ship sinks because all are arguing over what song the band (likely Me First and the Gimme Gimmes) should play last, rather than work a bucket brigade. But then, they could have just not bought the cruise tickets to begin with and instead helped their neighbors avoid eviction. None care to confess how virtue-signaling and problem-solving are never not synonymous, as they weigh excusing what gets their own blood pumping of greater and ultimate import.
This hellhole of politicians cheaper than life-saving regulations, where free speech only applies to marketing campaigns and food packaging. And none seem to care unless their favorite pop culture gets halted, pop culture being the modern opiate of choice for those among the masses who want an addiction, but entitle themselves to personalized foreplay prior to the predictable depletion. Even the most religious give more time to social media than to worship or service, sharing with competing brands of faiths and agnostics alike the attribute that all things unfamiliar and uncomfortable can and should get castigated in favor of some “personal truth” which is never anything more than justification, for one’s biases and addictions and generally shit affect upon the bits of the world they do encounter offline. If it’s just about ourselves, why even pretend to share in a culture or society? I fucking loathe taking blame for others, because I refuse to propel mine own beyond its due course. Let any ego fly free and grow enough and it learns no need of a flag or cross to shelter behind/underneath. I’m no mutt, I’m a mongrel through and through.
all caps the space aliens were pretending to be the ghosts all the while SEEING RED AGAIN ms corfield dat arse I do declare