The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, 1920 silent horror movie, Wikimedia Commons (public domain)
I yell out the window, as if I have a role in Network, “Donald J. Trump is driving me crazy!”
And berserk.
And paranoid.
And completely out of my mind.
And with the election only 206 days away, that’s pretty, pretty scary.
And it’s not only me.
The Donald is driving my friends nuts.
I keep hearing them say, “That son-of-a-bitch is driving me fucking crazy.”
And I wonder, “Is he driving Joe crazy?” I hope not.
And I know from your comments on my blog, that you fear your descent into madness caused by our insane clown-faced buffoon.
I know you fear that the orange orangutan is trying to splice the mentally-ill gene into your DNA.
I know you love freedom and I know that Donald wants you institutionalized so you won’t be able to cast your vote for Joe.
Yup, The Donald, decked out in a clean white coat, is driving us all to his funny farm.
Yes, this deranged and demented ex-president is at the wheel of one of those white, Ford, mental health paddy wagons, with the words: Trump’s Funny Farm painted in orange on the side panels. And from within the ambulance, we hear the radio blaring out Napoleon XIV singing:
They´re coming to take me away,
Haha, they´re coming to take me away,
Ho ho, hee hee, ha ha,
To the funny farm
Where life is beautiful all the time
And I´ll be happy to see
Those nice young men
In their clean white coats
And they´re coming to take me AWAY,
HA HAAAA
As Trump drives, you cry realizing, “We’re not going to lock him up, but rather, he’s gonna lock us away.”
A scary thought, isn’t it?
In the ambulance, Donald sings, “Insanity loves company.”
“But Donald, we don’t want to hang out with you,” we reply.
Especially not in your Trump-owned mental hospital. Where we’re forced to watch you greedily smelling, tasting and touching our Medicare dollars as they roll into your coffers.
An institution where your name appears in large gold letters which are secured in cement to the roof of the building.”
I know you’re imagining the name, Trump’s Home For The Mentally Ill and Residential Towers.
What an idea.
A Trump Tower housing folks unhinged by Donald Trump himself.
A tower where Fox News clips of the loser run for 24 hours a day which causes the inmates to foam at the mouth and howl at the moon.
I ask you good foaming and howling folks the following questions:
“How many of us, Democrats, have already been committed to mental health institutions because of the nut job’s words and actions?”
Is the National Center for Health Statistics keeping track of the numbers?
How many votes has Joe lost due to Trump Narcissistic, Sociopathic and Psychopathic Syndrome?
To no surprise, the Donald shows no remorse for our pain and suffering. The bully laughs at our weaknesses.
Causing me to wonder, “Can I sue the bastard for intentional infliction of crazy on me?”
And as Trump’s poll numbers tank, what other crazy things will this despotic, desperate, demon do to prevent us from voting?
Will he hawk pills, vaccines, food supplements, topical sprays and gummies claiming that they’ll give us longevity, when they’ll really cause us to sleep through election day.
I pause when I see a black and white yin yang painted across my brain. My brain whispers a secret, “Crazy is good, for we will be obsessed with voting, donating, canvassing and working for Joe to win.”
I smile, walk toward the window, open it and yell:
“Joe’s going to win! Joe’s going to win! We’re going to win!”
