Lennie Donnie begged, "Le's do it now. Le's get that place now."
"Sure, right now. I gotta. We gotta."
And George the Rabbi raised the gun and steadied it, and he brought the muzzle of it close to the back of Lennie's Donnie's head. The hand shook violently, but his face set and his hand steadied. He pulled the trigger. The crash of the shot rolled up the hills and rolled down again. Lennie Donnie jarred, and then settled slowly forward to the sand, and he lay without quivering.
Of Rice and Zen
Every time someone posts one of these "Trump & Jesus" pics, I get a slight bout of nausea. It's not that we don't think Jesus would refuse dinner with Donnie. Much to the contrary. If Jesus ate with prostitutes, traitors, lepers, bigots, and zealots, we think Jesus would have dinner with Donnie. Good chance some of the prostitutes might even know Donnie as a client. Donnie might feel right at home.
Even the famous story of The Woman at the Well lets you know that at least one person in recorded history had more spouses than Donnie. Of course we don't know if she cheated on all of her spouses like Donnie, but that doesn't really matter. All we know is that she had managed to marry 5 times. Donnie, he's still trailing with three.
The nausea gurgles up into my gizzard when I see Big Don's supporters equating him with Jesus. They are not "co-pilots" of the S.S. Good Ship America. They are not "team drivers" in a big rig rollin' down the road of making any country great. They are not co-captains in the global Super Bowl.
What we do want to argue is that one has made a career of self promotion and the other a career of self demotion. One has spent his life regaling anyone who will listen the 'yuge' money he's made. The 'biggest' deals ever. The other, as the story goes, paid his taxes and opened a can of whoop ass on the people whose shoddy money exchange business were extorting and blocking the outsiders from going to a worship service.
To make matters worse, the facial expressions in the pic above look like Jesus is taking Donnie to the vet to be put down. Donnie thinks they are going for "walkies." Jesus' face, the most tired picture of Jesus ever seen, looks like he wishes he'd made this trip sooner.
Looking a little more closely, the light is shining bright above Donnie's head as he walks in the lead. Jesus is accompanying Donnie. Jesus is Donnie's Tonto. Even for the sheer lunacy that American protestants have produced (Falwell (both), Swaggart, Jones (Jim), Copeland, Crouch (Jan & Paul), Roberts (Oral & Ricky), Scott (Gene), Hinn, Thomas (Kerney), Tilton, and Jim & Tammy, Koresh), this is a stretch.
Where does this methane seep up from in the swamp known as American religion? Imagine the conversation that led to this abomination of desolation.
Grandpa: You know, Trump is leading this country back.
Grandson: I know Pee Paw. There is a stirring in my loins. A fierce desire to discern the appropriate medium to express the quintessential probity of the Raging Don. Pee Paw, you know me. I not one to push maudlin verisimilitudes onto the faithful to evoke some visceral agitation. J'ai peur, Pee Paw. I fear my aim may not be true, that I may miss the mark should I write another one act play.
Grandma: Well, Cletus Germanicus, I know you to be a man of the sublime. Never have I seen your art stumble into the trite and common. I well recall that portrait of Young Donnie you were commissioned to paint. Oh, the thought of it is enough to need another glycerin pill for my heart. I remember the first time I saw the Scylla of Hillary and the Charibdis of the Main Stream Media. And Donnie, the gubernetes of courage, standing shirtless on the bow, the bull horn raised to his lips, shouting the rowers to take courage.
Grandson: Mee Maw, you do flatter like Georgias. Yet I discern a vision. A vision of Donnie by the Sea.
Grandpa: Do you see Jesus with Donnie by the sea?
Grandson: Sweet Pence, I do. Ecce Homos! [He is convulsed, thrown to the ground, with gutteral emanations from his contorted throat. The fit subsides. He returns to our world, the divine madness having left Cletus Germanicus.] I saw Donnie and Jesus, down by the sea, but not under the boardwalk. There was the light of reason, the very Logos, shining from the heavens onto Donnie. Jesus followed hard after, somber, pensive while Donnie strides across the Hellespont. I must bid you both fare even tide. To the computer. Photoshop be my mistress.
Or at least that's how it plays out in our mind. Why not have Jesus walking 5 paces behind? Why not just have Donnie walking on water? Or feeding 5000 with 2 Big Macs and 5 Large Fries? We strain at the limits of our finitude to grasp such an unholy kitsch.