corbeau et renard

 

As it turns out, Donald J. Trump is incorrectly compared to Ronald McDonald. Actually, as regularly it is being revealed, Mr. Trump is that Wiley Coyote (forgive the mixed mammals), Monsieur Rénard, le Fox!

In Medieval Europe, a series of stories developed into a cycle of allegorical literature based upon local fables surrounding an anthropomorphic red fox called, Reynard. His great talent was the ability to confound other anthropomorphic animals. The fox would take on the translated name and customs of the socio-linguistic group in which he appeared. The general motives of Reynard's adventures involved deceiving others for his own advantage, and avoiding retaliations stemming therefrom.

Now, if that don't sound like a pumped up "Trump,"

Then, there ain't no clown in this dump to jump!

Like a shooting star, the peripatetic progress of Donald Trump has been so fleet that we have missed the details of its implications. It is as though a grand banquet had been prepared. The table is set with the finest China and glassware and all of that excessive silver. Everyone is seated at the table, except that the host-chair is empty. In walks Donald Trump. Before sitting down, he gives the table cloth a big jerk – unlike with the usual table trick, everything goes a-clatter! Trump snaps his fingers; in come a bunch of jesters and clowns with new table settings. Each place is set up with a smart phone, with Twitter and other instant-communication apps prominently displayed. Then, Trump begins to speak:

Look here, maybe youse didn'nt get the tweet; this is my frikkin' party, we'll play by my frikkin' rules! First of all, in case youse hadn't noticed, at the touch of the button in front of you, the world is at your disposal. Apart from that, this is the first presidential election that combines all that technology with the prominence of reality television.

In case you didn't realize it, I am the greatest exponent of reality television. In other words, why you silly bastards are running around kissing asses and grubbing for money – from people like me – just to make your inane, boring, television commercials, all I have to do is freakin' show up! Even though I have more money than you can even imagine, I don't need to spend it on those stinkin' ads. Another thing, you guys are so intimidated by reporters and so-called "journalists," that you let them lead you down the garden path with their stupid questions. Just watch me; not only do I ignore their questions, I make my own, and answer them. At the same time I humiliate those punks into silence. Those creeps deign to question me – don't they know how rich I am?!

And youse – all o' youse – don't you realize you can't touch me with a ten-foot pole? You'd better start treating me with respect; not only will I come after you with the fury of hell, if you poor bastards think you can ostracize me, just remember "Ross Perot" ands "Ralph Nader"!

 

Curtis W. Long

Curtis W. Long

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