The Trump Within Us

Being of a masochistic bent, I follow politics quite closely. I generally know who is being defenestrated in any political party or campaign.

And this being Duval County, I generally have stopped assuming that things are satire. Recall that this is the city where Ken Adkins was considered a great moral leader right up to his indictment. Truth is generally stranger than fiction, and so forth.

I was reminded anew of this adage when I started seeing publicity for the Duval Trump Club. At first, I thought it had to be some kind of a joke. Then I realized they were serious.

This is a club, as I understand it, to celebrate and sing praises for one of the best three presidents this century. And in the spirit of celebration, I’d like to offer some possible guidelines here that members can be use.

I mean, I’ve pretty much always trumped out. I toyed with the idea of running for City Council with a MAGA slogan.

That’s for Make Avondale Great Again, of course. My platform would’ve been to build a great, big, beautiful wall-and make Murray Hill pay for it.

I realized, obviously, that City Council is only a viable campaign for people with money, or people who speak in tongues, or people who spout more clichés in any given hour than I have reasons to live. Not only that, I didn’t want to run against Earl Testy.

So I gave up that dream. But even if one doesn’t want to propose that the adjoining neighborhood build a wall, there are ways to prove oneself worthy of joining Duval Trump Club.

We all surely remember where we were when Donald Trump declared his candidacy in 2015. (NO, not doing whip-its in the Walgreens parking lot-that would
be absurd.)

We saw him come down an escalator … and from there, with some Neil Young song playing, he commanded a nation.

Try that the next time you’re at The Avenues Mall. Declare a run for office-Soil & Water, or State House, or Mosquito Control board; just pick your favorite grift-and play your boom box at +10 as you glide down from Belk or whatever is on the second floor these days.

One of two things will happen. You MAY encounter a heckler. If so, get your private security force, or a nearby biker gang, or Yahweh Ben Yahweh cult, or an amalgamation thereof, and sic ’em upon said heckler.

“Get out of here! Go home to Bernie!”

Boom, biff, pow. That shit works. I saw it on TV. And no one ever sues, either.

Mall cops COULD come after you, too, clearly, and they may outman your hired muscle. If so? Pick your pejorative. Call them agents of the deep state, say they’re working for Crooked H, talk about their tiny hands.

Choice is yours. If the latter, 80 percent of Republicans will eat it up like Bill Cosby’s pudding.

There are churlish people who tell our president things like DO NOT CONGRATULATE when a pal wins an election.

If you want to be down with the Trump Clubbers, don’t be like them. Give Vlad props for winning the big one (again!). Daps to Duterte for mowing down 13 drug dealers-applaud him for delivering on a Bakers Dozen.

These aren’t things American leaders do, at least traditionally. They don’t talk about wanting to be dictators for life. But, lest you worry about being a weirdo for being too Trumpy, just do things like help bomb Yemen, destroy Syria and ensure that today’s kids can go to die in Near East land wars just like their daddies did. W and Barack did that, and so does David Dennison. All good!

You’ll doubtless want to mumble about putting drug dealers to death, but show a heart; say something like “This is going to hurt me worse than it hurts you.” For added effect, say it in Russian. Goes great with vodka and golden showers.

Speaking of hurt, you likely have a family of some type. Model yourself after Donald. Some kids will get all the attention, some kids will get none. Luck of the draw. Make them all sign NDAs. And wives? Be sure to Tinder replacements from the Honeymoon Suite. When you’re a star, etc.

The beauty of Trump Club isn’t in some sort of coherent ideology, beyond the desire to print and borrow as much money as possible in the next six years to keep entitlements going until the dollar loses reserve currency status. No, like being a Bronie, it’s a lifestyle choice. Not that there are any parallels between grown folks who fetishize My Little Pony and old folks who venerate Donald Trump.

After all, one is an absurd fantasy world. And the other is a cartoon.