House of Trump Cards

Ben Carson. The race card on steroids. The yin to Donald's yang. Ben's a whole deck of cards all rolled into one dark complected fellow who has never uttered an Ebonics phrase. The Evangelical card. The Ivy League card. The Jewish mother card (oy, he's a doctah!). 

The hatchet has been buried, and Dr. Ben has swallowed whatever pride he has left and endorsed Donald. The martyred Trump, whose First Amendment rights were somehow trampled when he cancelled his own rally, back in full buffoonish form within a day of the "civilized debate" experiment. Poor Donald, victimized by mean dudes everywhere, not to mention CNN for its unfair coverage. Enough with playing nice. He's back, mocking little Marco and lying Ted and, yes,  democracy and political discourse at its core -- the "town hall meeting." Too small, he explained. Where would the other 25,000 love festers go? The campaign slogan of the new millenium: Size matters. 

The "cerebral" and "thoughtful" guy described by Dr. Ben Carson, neurosurgeon and total whack-a-doo in his own right, is nowhere to be found. But Dr. Ben did his best to sound earnest when he stepped up to the podium and gave his cringe-worthy explanation of why he and Donald would now be bedfellows. All righty then. 

"We do have fun, don't we," Trump asked a boisterous Ohio crowd, to their delight. Fun? Is he for real? Unfortunately, he is. Worse than real, or worse, at least, than what passes for reality these days. Real reality TV cannot actually be real because it's about people pretending to do things the way they would do them if they were not being filmed.  Silly, but good fun. After a few seasons, it gets old. (I don't think I've heard much about the Kardashians lately.) Unfortunately, by the time the Trump Show gets old, he could be sitting in the Oval Office. 

I can see it now:

"Hey Doc, get North Korea on the phone!"

"Okay, Chief." VPOTUS Dr. Ben Carson, M.D., neurosurgeon, puts down his bible, whips out his cell (in its blingy TRUMP case) and selects "2" on speed dial. He hands the phone over.

"Little Kim!" roars our new President. Dr. Ben re-immerses himself in his Bible, tries hard to ignore the incomprehensible screaming on the other end.

POTUS kicks his feet up on the desk, almost knocks over the large flickering TRUMP pencil holder. "How are those cute little miniaturized nuclear warheads, Little Kim?" 

He's not worried about getting one of those miniaturized nuclear warheads shoved up his ass. He's got Secret Service agents, and, if things go too far, his VP is a surgeon. But what about the rest of us? I'm worried. I'm really worried. 

The alternatives are not great. And no matter how many super important people and even regular folks start campaigning against Trump, Canada and Mexico still look like the only viable options. But Canada's cold, and, at my age, scurrying over that massive wall ain't gonna be easy. 

House of Trump Cards. Season One.