Rantings Of A Demented Candidate

So, the Republican convention is underway, and I thought I'd take the obnoxious voice of Donald Trump again and speculate on the sort of crap he might blather on with. Needless to say, finding his voice is highly revolting. And odds are what he actually says will be much worse.

“I’ve just gotta say, folks, it’s great to see all of you out here ready to confirm what we already know: that the only person who can take this piece of crap party back to power is me, me, and me. Donald Trump. Because I am the best. I am the greatest. I do great things, folks. Everybody knows it. They know that the Trump name stands for quality and integrity and all that good stuff.

Hello, Cleveland! Well, those members of the community who got in here, anyway. I don’t give a crap about any of those stupid protesting ****ers out on the other side of the police lines, let me tell you. It’s been awhile since I’ve been in Cleveland, and let’s be honest... this is probably the last time I’ll ever come here, because let’s face it, the place is a hellhole, folks. Hell on Earth, let me tell you. When I get into the White House, I’m gonna build a wall right around this cesspool of a city and turn it into a prison, just like that movie, Escape From Forrest Gump, with Kurt Russell taking shots at Tom Hanks, right? And I’m gonna sentence Rosie O’Donnell to spend the rest of her life right here, believe me. Have I mentioned what a disgusting cow she is? It’s terrible, just terrible.

I know, some smarty pants reporters are going to be saying, hey Donald, you can’t sentence anyone to anything. You’re not a judge. Well, you know what I say to that? **** you! First thing I do when I get into the White House, I’m gonna be passing laws that revoke your rights and let me do whatever the **** I want! Emperor Donald, folks, that’s me.

And let me tell you something, folks. There are a lot of people out there who look at me and they criticize. They dare to question me. They think they’ve got the right to make fun of me. They refuse to bow down and worship me as I so richly deserve.

Well, **** that! Because I’ve got big plans, folks, big plans. As part of naming myself Emperor For Life, Supreme Majestor, and His Stupendous Greatness Lord Donald, which all of you vermin are gonna have to memorize, I’ll be passin’ a law that makes even the slightest criticism of me illegal and punishable by terms of seventy years hard labour in the Donald Trump re-education camps. You heard me right, folks.

Because anyone who makes fun of me, says I’ve got little hands, or thinks my hair isn’t actually real hair, they’re gonna end up there. Along with everyone who voted against me, believe me. Because the Trump campaign is gonna keep track of every ballot and who voted for who and what their social insurance number is. Don’t ask me how we’re gonna do it, we got ourselves a hell of a system. And after the election’s over, we’re gonna be busy settlin’ scores and puttin’ people behind bars and into forced labour and all that great stuff, am I right, folks?

You know what I expect outta life? What I’ve already got. Incredibly hot wife, I mean have you looked at Melania? She’s smokin’ hot and sexy and never in her life would even dream of plagiarizing anything. Let me tell you, folks, she’s almost as hot as my daughter Ivanka. And don’t worry, just because I’ve already divorced twice for younger women every single time doesn’t mean that’s gonna happen again anytime soon.

I haven’t had a chance to go out to Eastern Europe and scope any hot babes for the position of Mrs. Trump #4. Just kidding, believe me, trust me, that’s just a joke. Hey, if I’m lyin’, may lightning strike Justice Ginsberg.

Speaking of the old bat, let me tell you, she’s absolutely disgusting. First order of business after I’ve suspended your rights and all of democracy, I’m havin’ the whole Supreme Court arrested and locked up in my Trump re-education camps. Just because. We don’t need nine morons in black robes lookin’ like something outta a bad movie from what’s his name? Oh yeah, a bad movie from Olaf Bergman tellin’ us what to do. We just need me tellin’ you what to do. Like it was always supposed to be.

Where was I? Oh, right, tellin’ you what I expect outta life. Like I said, I already got that hot wife, and she’s gonna look all hot and sexy and gorgeous and amazin’ as First Lady. I got lots of people sayin’ to me, yes sir and right away, Mr. Trump, and let’s not forget, as you wish, dread lord of darkness. I got all of that. I got respect, let me tell you. I got respect from everybody and everything. I got respect comin’ outta my ass.

Everybody knows what a great guy I am. I mean, the blacks love me, even when I’m dumpin’ all over them or havin’ their homes torn down or plannin’ on revoking the 13^th Amendment. The Mexicans love me. Doesn’t matter if I’m callin’ them rapists and demandin’ they pay for the yuuuuuuuuge wall I’m gonna have built. Muslims love me, even if I think all of them should be kicked outta the country, believe me folks, that’s the first order of business when I get into the White House. Civil liberties, my ass.

Anyway, who else loves me? Women love me. Because every woman wants nothin’ more than to have a rich guy take care of ‘em and tell ‘em what they should do, right folks? Well, to be fair, not every woman. I mean, that Megyn Kelly, she doesn’t seem that impressed with me. Don’t know why, what did I ever do to her? Except that whole thing about blood comin’ outta her whatever. Hey, you know what? I still stand by what I said.

Hey, there’s Scott Baio, ladies and gentlemen, give the great guy a big hand. Did I promise this whole thing was gonna be star studded or what? And we all know that Scott Baio, he’s a hell of a guy, real A-list material. Scott, I’m seriously thinkin’ of havin’ you be my Head Honcho Of Culture, or whatever the **** I’m gonna call it after the dumbasses vote me in. Nobody can do that job better than a truly great actor like you.

It’s great to see Scott out here. And Kirk Cameron. Hey, Kirk, any thought to becomin’ my Grand Poobah of State Theocracy? We’re gonna need one, but you’re gonna have to shift your focus to the Worship of Trump first. Because aside from bein’ an Emperor, I’m elevatin’ myself to god status too.

Hey folks, there’s old Pat Robertson there lookin’ like he’s about to stroke out. Fooled you, did I? You thought you’d be the Grand Poobah of State Theocracy in the United States Of Trump, right? Well, sorry, old man, but that just isn’t gonna happen.

You know who’s not here tonight, folks? Lots of Republicans who are refusing to bow down and acknowledge me as their rightful master. We’re talkin’ two former presidents. We’re talkin’ two former GOP presidential candidates. And yes, John McCain, I still stand by what I said. I don’t like guys who get caught and end up prisoners of war. They’re losers. Losers! I like winners. Winners like me.

And we’ve got plenty of Republicans out there who decided not to show up at all. They made up all sorts of excuses. They snickered when they asked if they’d support me. They said they were busy mowing the lawn this week. Well, boys and girls... mostly boys, because I don’t give a **** about career women. When I’m in the White House, I’m comin’ after every single one of you in this party who show me this kinda disrespect. 

You don’t disrespect a Trump. And what I end up doin’ to the Mexicans and the liberals and the Muslims and the blacks and the Daughters Of The Revolution isn’t gonna be anywhere near as bad as what I’m gonna do to you traitors, believe me, folks, I know what I’m talking about. We’re talking scorched earth, people, the mother of all throwdowns.

That reminds me of my old pal Saddam. You know, when you really got to know the guy, he wasn’t that bad. Sure, he slaughtered lots of people, but he made an effort to take pride in his work. You know who else does that? Winners.

Anyway, I’m gettin’ carried away with myself. Make America Great Again. That’s my motto. That and Donald Trump Is Master Of The Universe. Because let’s face it folks, believe me, I am. Everybody knows that, and when I’m done and Crooked Hillary is spending the remainder of her days in a prison cell, it’s not gonna end there. Because I’m gonna have her daughter and grandchildren serve her sentence after she’s gone. All part of my Destroy Freedoms And Rule With An Iron Fist agenda. Wait, did I say that out loud? I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. Forget I said anything, okay, folks?

In closing, I just wanna thank my running mate. Mike Pence, governor of that great state of Indiana. This man, folks, he and I think alike. Mike, I swear, you’re not gonna regret hitchin’ your wagon to the greatness that is Trump. I mean, seriously, am I right, folks? We got the best team, the most amazing people workin’ for us, and we got all the suckers believin’ every line of bull we feed them.

Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, can possibly go wrong now. So don’t worry, Mike, we’re goin’ all the way to the White House.

Or as I’m gonna call it, the Trump House." 

A Day In The Life Of A Cat

And now it is the cat's turn to have her say....

7:03 AM. Awake. And why am I awake again? I usually wake up in twenty minutes from now.

7:09 AM. Well, obviously this is not going to work. In endeavouring to go back to sleep, I am coming up empty. This displeases me. Oh well. Might as well get up and face the day. And get the staff to work on making my breakfast. That’s always an essential for any cat to start their day, after all.

7:14 AM. Staring out the window, brooding. A glance at the thermometer. It’s going to be a hot one today. Best to stay inside. Fortunately the staff keeps the place air conditioned. All the better for my personal level of comfort.

7:19 AM. Took you long enough to get downstairs, staff. How about some breakfast?

7:22 AM. The staff has set down some field rations, which I disapprove of, but also some salmon and a bowl of milk. Much better, staff. I set to eating, and reward my staff with some purring as well. It’s a good thing to maintain some positive reinforcement. Works much better than throwing up a hairball in a shoe.

7:38 AM. The staff is on her way out the door to that work place. Well, hurry back, staff, I have specific kitty needs, after all, including having my every whim tended to, and belly rubs, let’s not forget those.

7:40 AM. Watching the departure of my staff in the car. Maybe she’ll bring ice cream back with her. With apple pie. Apple pie would do nicely. 

7:43 AM. Looking out the window. Even through the glass I can hear the muffled barks of that irritating mutt from down the road. There’s no point using positive reinforcement with dogs, if you ask me, and of course you are asking me.

8:22 AM. Watching the Weather Channel. The overly anxious and prone to paranoia forecaster is going on about how it’s going to be hot enough today to fry an egg on the sidewalk. Yes, well, why would you want to do that, since you’re going to get some grit and dirt in the fried eggs?

8:43 AM. On the back of the couch, watching the flying lunches picking around at the grass outside. If only this window weren’t between us, I’d be after you right now. Fortunately for you, I like being inside air conditioned spaces on hot days.

11:38 AM. Waking up from nap. Feeling just a bit peckish.

11:41 AM. With much reluctance, I eat some field rations.

12:05 PM. Noon news has a feature on that political convention starting up down south of the border. What is it with Americans that makes elections last forever? And why does this one have to come down to a choice for the one you hate the least? If you ask me, human beings would be better off if they just stopped lying to themselves about who really runs the world and voted for cats.

12:07 PM. That insufferable egomaniac with that horrible guinea pig hairpiece is blathering on. Turning off the television. Honestly, that man is even worse than a vet. And vets, as all cats know, are pure bred abominations.

4:58 PM. Just waking up from another nap. I wonder where my staff is.

5:22 PM. The staff comes through the front door. Well, staff, it’s about time. 

5:24 PM. Inspecting the grocery bags as the staff unpacks. No ice cream, but there is some apple pie.

6:05 PM. Supervising the staff while she makes supper. Fortunately my staff doesn’t like tofu, because if she did, I’d just have to trade her in for another staff.

6:29 PM. After a dinner with some stewing beef for me, the staff spoils me with some apple pie. 

7:35 PM. The staff has the news on. The usual vacant headed commentators are chattering on about that convention again in Cleveland. Two thoughts: this is really going to occupy the whole week? And isn’t Cleveland that awful place listed in Dante’s Inferno?

8:03 PM. That egomaniac is bragging and sneering at the same time. The staff is rolling her eyes and bringing into question the sanity of an entire party membership. Oh, now staff, they can’t all be crazy. Just enough to choose that idiot for their candidate. I repeat what I said earlier: people should just vote for cats to be in charge. I mean, we are in every single way that matters already.

8:05 PM. The staff has turned off the television and is making mental calculations as to how long before that crazy election is over. Well, staff, I hate to tell you this, but the very next day after that election is over... the media pundits and political operators are already going to be talking about who might be running in four years. While, no doubt, that tiny handed orange skinned toupee wearing narcissistic fool is throwing a temper tantrum and demanding recounts and holding his breath until he gets his way.

8:51 PM. Getting a belly rub from the staff. Oh, this is very good, very nice, relaxing. At least until I decide I’ve had enough and the claws come out. Strange that we cats never really know when we’ll have had enough, but it just happens.

11:00 PM. The staff is watching the national news. The lead off story is that convention. It appears that Trump is planning to drop nukes on France. You know, something, staff? I think he needs to build a wall. A wall right around him, with a ceiling above him, just him and nobody else. Let him talk all he wants.

11:02 PM. The president of France is looking rather cranky as he makes a statement on television denouncing Trump. Well, cranky for him. If it had been the last president of France, we’d be talking ugly cranky. Yes, ugly cranky is a term. Now.

11:41 PM. The staff is off to bed. Well, good night. Try not to have too many nightmares. Especially about toupee wearing egomaniacs with tiny hands. Don’t worry, staff. There aren’t enough truly crazy people south of the border to vote that guy in.

At least I hope not.

A Day In The Life Of A Dog

It is time once again for the point of view of the dog and the cat, starting, as always, with the dog. And with that whole convention next week in Cleveland, it seemed like a good idea to get their perspective.

7:22 AM. Waking up at home. Feeling pangs of hunger.  Haven't eaten since those cookies I swiped at nine o'clock last night without the human noticing.

7:26 AM. The human comes downstairs. Human! Hello! Is it a wonderful day or is it a wonderful day? Tell me, how about we get started on some breakfast? Because just between us, I’m feeling quite a bit peckish right about now, and could benefit from a bite to eat.

7:29 AM. Gobbling down a big bowl of kibbles. Boy, does this taste good!

7:33 AM. Out the door for my morning run. Bye, human! Don’t go for a car ride without me!

7:41 AM. Running through the back fields, barking like I’ve lost my mind. I’m sure that cranky cat pretty much thinks I’ve lost my mind, or gone off the map, or started chasing my tail, or whatever it is cats think we do. Cats are strange that way.

7:58 AM. Stopping in to see Spike the Magnificent, Tormentor of Squirrels. Hello, Spike!

7:59 AM. Spike and I have exchanged greetings in the customary canine manner of sniffing butts. I wonder why humans don’t do that. Surely it would make more sense than that shaking paws thing... I mean, shaking hands thing they do. Who came up with that idea in the first place?

8:01 AM. We confer on movements of the enemy. The squirrels have been curiously quiet as of late. We expect they might be amassing a secret plan to take over the world. Either that or they’re just not that fond of summer heat. 

8:03 AM. Spike tells me that there’s that whole thing starting up today, a convention for a bunch of people who use an elephant as their symbol and have an orange skinned lunatic as their candidate. Yes, I’ve been watching the news too. There’s never a story out there on the taste consistency of dog treats. I don’t know about you, Spike, but elephants like eating peanuts, right? Just like squirrels. That surely must mean the elephants and squirrels are in on it together, right?

8:05 AM. Spike remarks on how glad his humans are to be Canadians and not have to put up with that sneering guy wearing the weird hairpiece. My human wonders how many guinea pigs were sacrificed to make that hairpiece.

8:08 AM. Well, I’m off. Just in case my human decides to go for a ride without me. See you later, Spike!

8:21 AM. Returning home. Human! Loki, Chewer of Slippers and Annoyer of Mailmen, has returned!

8:32 AM. Okay, sure I’ve only been up for an hour and some change, but you know, it’s a hot day, and I think a good nap is in order. Circling around in the living room precisely three times before settling down on the rug. Just the way doggies should do.

11:26 AM. Waking up. Glancing at the clock. Good. I didn’t sleep through lunch.

12:08 PM. Have successfully mooched dinner rolls from the human. Yum yum yum!

1:29 PM. Barking at the mailman as he stops to leave some mail. Hey! Get lost, you monster!

2:09 PM. Engaged in serious canine philosophical debate with myself. Is it true that the dog wags the tail... or is it possible- just possible, mind you- that the tail wags the dog? Or is that just too metaphysical and weird?

5:28 PM. Waking up from nap. Nice smells of food coming from the kitchen. Ah, good, my human’s making dinner.

6:35 PM. Supper with the human. Some shepherd’s pie for both of us. Well done, human, I do so very approve, you know.

7:03 PM. Supervising the human while she washes the dishes. You never know when a human might need a good barking at to keep at it, after all.

7:41 PM. The human has the television on. The talking heads are blathering on about all eyes around the world will be on Cleveland for the next few days. The human tells me that no one in their right minds would want to go to Cleveland. Why’s that? Is the whole city run by cats?

8:03 PM. The news has that awful guinea pig hairpiece wearing dolt sneering and yelling. The human starts describing him with a series of curse words that would shock a nun. Human? I didn’t know you had that sort of vocabulary.

8:04 PM. The human turns off the television. She says she has no interest in replacing a television, and if she continues to hear the voice of that Trump person, she’s going to end up throwing something at the screen. Okay, that makes sense. I can see why he’d have that effect on people.

9:18 PM. While the human reads a book, I busy myself staring at the ceiling fan as it turns over and over and over and over and over and over and.... I’d better stop staring at it, or I’m going to throw up.

11:00 PM. The national news begins, with the anchor telling us that earlier this evening, Donald Trump had himself yet another cringe worthy moment when he declared that his first act in office will be to drop a nuclear bomb on Paris. The president of France is not amused.

11:36 PM. The human is off to bed. Well, good night, human. I’ll stay down here. You know, if you ask me, it would be better for all concerned if humans just elected dogs to run things. We’d ban mailmen, wag tails, and see to it that there are dog treats in every kitchen.