Trump Vs. The Empire

Trump v. Empire

When will primary season be over? There's an election afoot, and that causes discomfort in many. Mostly it causes gas.

 Who Is More Evil? Hard To Say

If find the whole thing a little ironic. No, wrong word. Bizarre is le mot juste. Right now, everyone I know who’s following the American primary race is actually rooting for The Empire and not the Rebels. Let me explain.

The so called Establishment candidates, Hilary Bitter Clinton, and I guess Lyin’ Ted Cruz, are in a pitched battle for the leadership of their respective parties, to get a chance to become The Head Banana of the United States of Bananas. They are battling who? The Rebels: Bernie “Trotsky” Sanders, and Donald The Disassociated from Reality” Trump. And let;s face it – they are rebelling against the empires that are their parties.

So what is a person to do when Evil is Good and Good is Evil? The answer is simple: Eat. A lot. Preferably chocolate danish. And cinnamon danish will do in a pinch. But there are side effects to constant eating of life-affirming sugars and dough.

Unnatural Emissions and Omissions

Everything I eat makes me gaseous and bloated. No matter whether it’s carbs, fibre, protein, sugar-based confections like those delicious petroleum-laced snacks made by a faceless conglomerate that has various safety violations and a few environmental crimes under its belt, or even bacon, which technically speaking, is its own food group according the Grand Council of Baconistas.

To alleviate this blight, everyone says I should do a ‘cleanse’ and avoid all matter that causes gases to form in my belly. There are several problems with a cleanse. First of all it sounds like something a religious, fascist zealot would do, so right there you lost me. Second a ‘cleanse’ involves denying myself of things I like. Self-denial is something people who have too much time and wealth on their hands do. I don’t have the time to deny myself stuff because that would mean cleaning out the pantry.

And a cleanse is something vaguely associated with cleaning, an act I loathe because it means I have to wear rubber gloves and be exposed to chemicals that, while shifting my brain into an altered state where conversations with inanimate objects tend to be quite hysterical, tend to have a deleterious effect on my relationship to reality, and thus my wife.

Make  Me

Worse than that, why would I want to clean anything? Isn’t that why there are cleaning ladies? And by that I mean no disrespect to the legion of cleaning men, although that term does seem like a bit of an oxymoron, given the males I know. Unless, however, it’s a neat-freak man, with obsessive compulsive issues and no readily available medication, living in a clean apartment with fresh cut flowers.

Dare I say, it goes against my genetic code to deny myself those things which will lead to the joy of the palate and the bloating of the belly. Come to think of it, the DNA testing results from that guy with a limp and a patch over one eye in the back alley near the strip club was a little suspicious. The results came back with the proper 23 chromosomes, but 4 were still dormant, hence explaining my deep desire to nap every afternoon after lunch.

Well, seeing as this is all too absurd for even more words, I will cleanse my palate with something sugary and cleanse my mental pallet with some sleep.

Mightily Manly and Majestic,

Little Lord Fauntleroy Druker

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