A SURPRISE ENDORSEMENT
MARCH 4TH: A COMMANDING — DATE: It’s a date I’m suggesting to the global leaders. It is Tuesday — March 4 — 2030.
Tuesday. March 4. In the year of Allah. God. Jehovah. Yahweh. 2030. A perfect fit. And the irony of it, is not lost, upon me.
That speaks volumes. For I am either an idiot or an idiot, savant. A wrecking ball precursor to reconstruction, transformational.
With but a month (or five or so) to go to Election Day I want to speak as clearly as I oft don’t do to my sallow — fellow — Americans.
The point of this verse, inter alia, is to declare my unfitness to hold the office I do in fact hold. To say — I’m sick — and tired of being — unfit.
Too sick — and let me be clear — too mentally ill am I, to be your president. Indeed I have been, from the beginning and all along — ill, and unfit.
And so in lieu of resignation, I offer instead an unequivocal endorsement of my esteemed opponent, the most honorable … Sleepy, Joe Biden.
A GIFT REPRISED
Sign me in closing, President Tweety Trump. Sorry, Sleepy, about all that Ukrainian-Hunter, stuff. I was just kidding. Don’t even bother to
investigate me; nor anybody in my family. I’ve taken the liberty — of offering — and accepting a presidential pardon, already, too.
I am outta here. Good luck Joe. Be honest, always, with the people. Ne’er lie to them. And check back in here for your updates, daily.
This epic poem I hereby gift ye explains, lots; not just why I’m undertaking the risk of leaving DC’s unlucky Chinese year of the rat — to ye.
More on that later; lots more. For now — I am so outta here — I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Joe: treasure the poem. Barack gifted it to me.
Treasure this poem Joe. Barack left it to me. So too each departing president since George Washington. Each president leaving it to
the incoming president-elect. Treasure it. I wish I had. Alas, I don’t read so I didn’t read it, incoming. And time flies; now I’m outgoing.
George, having previously presented it, to him. Treasure it Joe. Refer to — and defer — to it. I wish, I had. But only my hindsight is 20-20 and improving.
Enter the dragon. No; the dragon’s not the virus. The dragon is Art; and as Arthur enters, he’s spitting — ash — and fire.
A SURPRISE ELECTROCUTION
Some say I’m not perfect; but reasonable men, may differ. I’ve made a secret commitment to Art Everman, my second class, American, citizen.
Whether or not Arthur’s alleged electrocution actually happened I can’t say; nor can I say that’s when it happened Arthur began versing.
And I wasn’t there either when Arthur alleges he had his EUREKA moment in his tub and promptly got himself a policewoman, arresting.
But I will say this if only to end any debate as to what’s happening here. Hands down I can attest that Art’s verse is — miraculous, verse.
There is a vast potential, not in plain sight, but hidden. Hidden as if in the bowels of an algorithm. Almost perfectly hidden. For things
placed in bowels are pretty darn well, hidden. But relax; algorithms, unlike bowels, are really super-duper, clean — metaphysical — things.
The children may be just the open, sponge-like minds mankind needs to see the persuasive value in poetry. Leave it —surely — to the children.
A SURPRISE LEGACY
Abe Lincoln earned his eventual political stature to compromise and confidence — George Washington, through it seems a higher
calling. To my chagrin, I’d done no real work to earn my wealth. Like Citizen Kane, wealth had been a mere stepping stone — to my power.
But what good can power do? What good can power do, I’ve often thought, even as, I’ve done wrong. Now second thoughts empower.
“I’m having second thoughts. Magnificent — second thoughts. I’m studying composition at Arthur’s very much besought School of Poetry.
He in turn, studied ethics at Trump University. Now defunct, once upon a time, it was as well, much besought — and regarded — very highly.
Dissolve the UN; one nation, reconvene. One Rule per nation; each nation its own; and everybody gets her Basic Income, Universal.
And that globally universal Rule? None other than our very much beloved — albeit, our very much — underutilized — Golden … Rule.
A SURPRISINGLY, SIMPLE, PLAN
Dissolve the UN. One nation, reconvene. And Rule the Golden Rule — the Law — in every nation. Everyone gets his UBI and — the Rule.
In these crises multi-task — efficiently. Follow the data. And the science. Let tech crunch the numbers. Use everyone — And lose — no one.
It’s 2020. Set 2030 as the inaugural GCD; the 1st global citizenship day. I’ll be there. March 4th — both date and command — to everyone.
To celebrate citizenship and to recall, perhaps, when more myopic men than I ruled. And I’ll be there if can just scrap these illegal, term limits.
Seize the day; but for God’s sake have a plan around. All my blather of instinct and gut feelings, sounds of indigestion — not instinct.
I’m now hearing that the cacophony of my bellyaching sounds, sound most unbecoming and — to many — most alarmingly, annoying.
Then suddenly, a dramatic plot twist in this great American tall tale; of four antiheroic dictators and a More-Mart greeter — hero.
A SURPRISING PLOT TWIST
Four for humanity they’d have ye believe they are. But with Art — we are five not four — looking for Nobels for the four, antiheroes.
No, ironies are not, upon me, lost. Magnificent, is His timing — Jung’s synchronicities — His magnificence, clues us, as if us — challenging.
To the end of an incomprehensibly baffling mix of predeterminations, free will, miracles — and magic — and what some — luck — are calling.
And that — speaks volumes. For I am either an idiot or an idiot — savant. A wrecking ball — precursor to, transformation’s, reconstruction.
Or leave it to the children. Just not, the Beaver. But natural leaders, just like everybody else, are different from — the follower — rest of us.
Most follow where the leaders, lead. But some are their own leader. Leaders like Greta. She may well, in marching — example — lead us.
My tipping point tipped yesterday; just as another tipped, 78 years ago, on D-Day. Going forward, egalitarianism is on its way — for us.
A SURPRISING DECISION
Some say I’m not perfect; but reasonable men, may differ. I’ve made a commitment to Tulsa and my beloved Oklahomans.
I am, in fact perfect but still, reasonable men may differ. In any event, a plot twist for the ages has twisted me in knots.
I know not what to do. As an apprentice, president, I’ve been learning on the job. I’ve been learning how to be, president.
I am having difficulty just walking and holding a glass of drinking water. My doctors say I have suffered — a stroke.
My tipping point — I fear, has tipped, like Hitler’s, 78 years ago. Keep an eye, dear press pool on me. I fear me — this year.
Keep an eye out, press corps. Bad karma, I’m reaping. And make not of my being respired, artificially — a ‘gotcha’ — photo … opportunity.
Compelled am I to double down; compounding risks, multi-dimensionally. Weird. I’ve been warned of a super spreader event.
A LESS THAN SURPRISING JUSTIFICATION
I’m alright with that. I’m hoping I’m right and everyone’s wrong. In any event I’m betting big on my magic — at Tulsa’s —super spreader.
Soon — very soon now — a cascade of new issues shall soon overwhelm and l’ll be left out to dry and do a fall guy swoon.
Shunned even by, Republicans. My shooting star, fizzles, soon. Fitting for one such as I, so seemingly, a character in a TV cartoon.