top of page

The Dark Mole who Would be King

David Sherman

You’ve made bitter almost every breath for the last 10 years. It’s not entirely your fault. After all, I do have a mind, sometimes, and I could choose to ignore you. Unplug the 24-hour news channels, kill the subscriptions to newspapers and magazines obsessed with every sick utterance and ambition.

Insanity and ignorance – “Maybe we can nuke hurricanes.” -- makes you completely unpredictable except for the slime and greed aspects of what passes for your character and your endless, senseless babbling. Let’s not forget grabbing money from the poor, rich and gullible as fast as your little hands can grab it.

Of course, the similarly-inclined amoral, immoral, greedy and thoughtless are in your corner, as well as the lunatic power-hungry faction that gladly kiss your ass. No need to mention their names, we know all too well who they are.

And then there’s the fascist running dogs – yes, I read Mao ­­– you’ve seduced, being one yourself. Of course, you didn’t read Mein Kempf, despite your daughter saying you kept them by your bed. Difficult to read Mein Kempf when you can barely read a teleprompter, but the main ideas of white Christian supremacy -- somehow called populism -- hatred and concentration camps were already in your wheel house. You were the man that took out ads in the Times calling for the execution of five young men exonerated of rape and murder, demanding they be executed anyway. After all, they were Black and you get erections thinking of executing Black people for living while being Black.

Not a surprise coming from your black heart, but a black mark on the Times for publishing the ads. That morality takes a back seat to money is not exclusive to you. It’s an American tradition.

As is said, people get the governments they deserve and the U.S. deserves you -- a giant orange turd that should be scooped up in a plastic bag and dumped into landfill atop familiar McDonald’s remnants, empty fried chicken buckets, disposable diapers and rats. It’s unlikely, but a man needs a dream.

My favourite dream is that along with the buildings you love to plaster your name on there will soon be a jail-cell plastered with your name. And, between you and I, I often check news feeds hoping to see you’re dead. No such luck yet, but again, a man needs a dream.

I resent the massive chunk of my adult life wasted fretting about something I have less than no control over. You’re a cancer that has metastasized across our border and into various pockets of Europe; a morbid curiosity, like a dark mole the dermatologist cuts out and then leaves us to worry about the pathology report.

You bring to mind the sounds we hear in the walls some nights as either squirrels or mice nest for the winter – a rodent flying in a Boeing with the mantra “lie and deny.”

We haven’t quite figured out what species is scurrying around our attic, and the same can be said of you. You are human, sort of, but a rare species -- little brain, little hands, big mouth and unparalleled inability to tell the truth, think logically or even think of anything besides what might enrich your ego and your inflated wealth, despite the never-ending fraud, the ravenous picking pockets of the desperate, uneducated, overworked and unemployed poor who need to believe your land of make believe. The vaunted U.S. constitution demands the right to freedom and happiness, just not food, shelter or protection from charlatans or protection from automatic weapons.

You promise the less-privileged a way out but your ambition is to make their lives worse – enhanced poverty by a thousand desperate donations of grocery and rent money. Their only way out is the graveyard you would whistle past. And, if you have your way, you will speed their internment. Without disposable income, they serve no purpose.

What stays out of their pockets you design to end up in yours and your offspring’s, including a daughter you portray as a sex object. Lest we forget, you’re a convicted fraud artist, rapist and pedophile with an appetite for teenage women in their underwear or less, hence your passion for beauty pageants.

There are many reasons to loathe you, and, worse than long Covid, you won’t go away.

The U.S. is a nation born and bred on hate, avarice, violence and hucksterism, a country that defines perfidy and you are its personification, learned at your racist father’s knee.

Unfortunately, some here have begun to follow your example. “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,” a behaviour not restricted to white Christians, has been replaced by “to hell with them.”

I can stop watching hockey once the Canadiens become too frustrating, stop visiting a restaurant when the meal no longer is equal to the bill for same.

But, like bedbugs or lice, higher life forms than you, you are resistant to extermination. Or being ignored.

I have tried to rationalize my poor resistance to the ridiculous spectacle you make by comparing you and the circus that worships you to that of the thick Herman Wouk novels I devoured when I was a teenager. Yours is a tale of many volumes, eventually enough to fill a library that you and your cohorts would advocate burning, especially since the truth is forbidden and you’re barely literate. Your congregation wants to burn books with sexuality in them but don’t mind you being a sexual predator with ardent admirers with similar perversions, like Matt Gaetz and Jim Jordan, good Christians that they are.

My compulsion to read of you and the repugnance that surrounds you is an illness searching for a cure. I’ve cancelled subscriptions only to be lured back with one-time only discounts. By one time only they mean only one time a day. After all, you’re poison for the soul but good for the news business.

There is a part of me that is sympathetic to the destruction of the U.S. but they created the need for an ersatz messiah with its unbridled vampire capitalism, lack of proper education, inherent racism, unfettered firearms, starvation wages. It is a nation where greed and selfishness reign, where you and your spineless cronies want to assure not only that taxing the rich is obscene but cheating on your taxes – if you’re rich -- is encouraged. Kill the IRS so working people get taxed, rich people get yachts.

American imperialism used to be a catch phrase for all the American junk on theatre, TV and radio. We were buried in American junk food for the mind and body. Now, we’re hooked up to an IV of U.S political inanity, personified by you.

Your paper money proclaims, “In God We Trust.”

It leaves out “Everyone else we screw.”

And, you’re ambition is to be “Screwer-in-Chief.”

29 views0 comments


bottom of page