Deep Thoughts From A Shallow Man
This is the chapter in which I escape tragical history in favor of castles and strange sculptures and find a new reason to love trading cards. It’s all in a chapter I call, “If This Is The City Of Castles, Where Are All The Moats And Shit?” And in case you were wondering, yes, I am making up for all those years when I didn’t swear, thank you very much.
Have you ever arrived in a city and smelled a smell so delicious that you spend the better part of a morning going from bakery to bakery trying baked goods in an attempt to discover the source? Well, I have and the hunt leads me to meet a real, live communist, a Baltic beach and ends with me leading myself and innocent victim into a refilling ambush in a chapter I call “Scenes From a Latvian Living Room And Other Tales of Jewish Geography.”
The chapter in which I visit a small hermitage on the edge of St. Petersburg (Russia, not Florida), miss solo travel and visit the Peter And Paul Fortress, wonder what happened to Mary and sing “Puff the Magic Dragon.” The chapter is called “Feeling Lonely For The Days of Loneliness.”
Although Donald Trump claimed the Coronavirus was “a gift from God,” an argument could be made that the heavens sent him a message by smiting him with the coronavirus only to have him be too stupid to realize he had been smote. This could well mean (gasp) that his heart has been hardened and plagues are sure to follow. The only problem is, the old biblical ones may not be all that effective or impressive any more. In this age of branding, the almighty may have to update its act. After all, what do you get for a guy who embodies all of the seven deadly sins? (In case you were wondering, they are lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride, which pretty much describes the average Monday in the Trump administration.)
Here are a few particular attention-getters for this very particular demographic.
The Fly.
It may not seem like much. Just a harmless, inconsequential little fly, but when it lands on the head of hid second in command and he doesn’t react, it makes him, and The Donald, look ridiculous. And softens him up for the rest.
Donald Trump hates the great unwashed masses (of losers and suckers) so having to hold events where lines will be long and each person will insist on touching him because of the miracle of his recovery from Covid-19 will set his teeth on edge and make his stomach pucker.
An oldie, but a goodie. Given how much of a germaphobe Donnie is, this will likely disgust him enough to send a message. Unfortunately, he won’t be able to see it as a result of having looked directly at that eclipse a few years back.
No matter what he does, each day will bring a drop in his poll ratings. It won’t be a HUGE drop all at once. Instead, it will be a slow, steady undeniable drip that drives him bat shit crazy.
A steady flow of leaks about all the truly terrible things he’s said and done that we always suspected, but now have had confirmed. It’s not enough for his dwindling base to leave him, just those who have a drop of decency left.
Everyone already knows he has a combover, but suddenly even his patented coif will no longer tenable when his hair inexplicably falls out over night, perhaps as a freak side-effect of taking Regeneron.
After years of cluelessness about what an ass he’s been, he suddenly gains an understanding of how big a jerk he is, but is powerless to change it because the almighty has hardened his heart (if he has one).
The Taxman Returneth
The New York Times stories about his taxes through 2018 were bad, but this one would be worse because it reveals he is a broke-ass zdlub who is a wholly-owned subsidiary of Putin Inc.
The realization that he’s mucked things up so badly that his name has become a punchline. It’s a term of derision, an insult. But mostly the name just makes them laugh because they realize what a low energy sucker and loser he is. A real low IQ person.
The Death Of His Pride And Joy.
No, we’re not talking about Ivanka or any of his children. As if. Instead, it’s the sudden collapse of Trump Tower. One minute it’s there. The next, it’s gone. Perhaps it’s due to shoddy workmanship, a sudden inexplicable sinkhole opening up in the middle of Manhattan or sabotage by the Central Park Five or contractors he’s stiffed over the years.
And did I mention the chapter where I race against time to keep the Dead Soviet Leaders Tour alive and end up getting on the wrong side of a mobster outside the Bolshoi Ballet? Where’s Rudolf Nureyev when you need him? Definitely not in the chapter I call “The End of the Dead Soviet Leaders Tour And How Not To Win Friends And Influence Mobsters.”
Then there was the chapter in which my desire for Chinese pickles led me to end up speaking Spanish while drinking third class vodka in the first class train car with a man we thought might be a KGB general. As you might have guessed, it’s called “Drinking With The General, Eating Crow in Novosibirsk And Other Tales Of Horror From The Trans-Siberian.”
As I’ve mentioned on Facebook, I’m still trying to find a way to get a pulldown menu that will allow me to provide easy access to chapters in the second book in the two part Fresh American Bananas saga. Until I get there, I’ll be posting links to a chapter or two each day until I’m done, which should be right before the day of the election. Read them now and laugh as much as you can because things could get serious right after that.
In today’s installment, the Trans-Siberian trip starts with drinking, money troubles at the border, almost getting left behind by the train and a re-enactment of Monty Python’s Cheese Shop sketch in the Russian dining car in a chapter I modestly call “Tales of Travel Intrigue From The Trans-Siberian.”