Election Impressions

by Taxi

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By now, after a long presidential campaign season marked by shocking levels of corruption scandals and salacious smut – and the election right now being a mere handful of days away – there’s really no need to repeat or parse information that everyone already knows.  But if you’ll kindly indulge me here, I will share below some random, haphazard, stream of consciousness impressions of this election, which I’ve been quasi following from the faraway hills of the Levant:

Well, there’s that weird uncontrollable coughing and plenty of groping and charitable cronyism; there’s Putinism and much perverted poll-ism; there’s thugs in duck-suits waving banners on pavements and a porn star is weeping on TV.  I’ve got my rigged race and your rigged race together in our nation’s deplorable basket case.  See them rancid rats and DC gurus in their thousand dollar swimsuits abandon Donald’s ship?  Forget NATO and remember our tax cuts and spit on Obamacare, these deserters were being told by an odd orange face that fucks with disgraced democracy.  Booby-trapped race card played under and over the table and nasty feminism here, there and everywhere –  no lives matter more than their divisionism and their blood-stained brand name.  Is there anyone in the whole goddamn country who doesn’t suffer from an unsavory ism?!  Oh lookie: thunder from blue skies and then some undignified fainting fit on 9/11.  Why not rig the elections in Washington and in Palestine, whispered the lady making marmalade out of kosher lemons in her Chappaqua kitchen.  Why not baseball bat Syria for Israel and the Al Saud family with the help of Turkey and ISIS and the neocons croaking in sealed crypts?  Trump laughs at no-fly zones and his index finger wags when he asks us to bring down the vast-footed refugees with a small tremendous vote – (now watch yourself add busy graffiti to his walls made of ghetto gold, if he wins).  Say Wikileaks and pantsuits ninety nine times before breakfast and you just might get your genitals grabbed by the Midas touch.  Look at them two gleaming blonds debating and not a hair out of place, all thanks to 50’s hairspray and all that Reaganesque toothpaste diet – in their hands, a long list of sex predators and the Socratic National Enquirer – on their lips, corncheese lies and memorized witless hate – oh  nightmare to be stuck with Hillary’s laugh in an echo chamber – eternal slo-mo torment, the kind of torture that never kills but drives one darkly insane.  Nightmare too to be stuck in an elevator with Trump harping on about his perfect… hands.  Oh so heartbreaking to have no American Jesus!  Look, here we have greed, greed, and more greed – triple greed gnashing at gnashed-out tax payers – and Babylon Bill can make you barf and make himself a million bucks in five minutes flat – he, priap with bulbous nose and beady eyes and pink-as-worms skin, he reeks of white collar crime and leaking semen and irredeemable wife in handbag of bacon rinds.  My, my, pfff, just look at the Hollywood sign and attack dogs on botox and the media mad at the upstart who came in from the cold and rattled their bones and their cagey bank accounts.  Brings to mind Assange and Hannity and project Veritas and that stunner with cats eyes called Melania in Furs.  Establishment trillionaires against anti-establishment billionaires dueling with bejeweled swords – not nice to be stabbing someone in the face with diamonds and laughing, madam secretary.  Trump worries about size when blade size don’t matter but the comeback thrust does – he with bricklayer wolf-whistle and big bad gold ring, look at him bingeing on Mad Men series and a bevy of beauty queens with crow-feet smiles.  This is what it’s like to have an election where the powerful run all crazed and disheveled down the corridors of power, panicking and deleting their Twitter and emails before sunrise.  Best to throw bricks through the windows of the establishment while they’re counting their loot, people!  Burn down the PC towers and the establishment just might follow!  But… good grief!  Is that Huma’s Wiener I see in Hillary’s falling teardrop?  Yes.  And the FBI now doth penetrate for fingerprints on corpse…

Who will win the election after such a mass amount of rank speculation and propaganda has been dumped on us?

Either way it goes, our grand Ship of State will indeed be steered by small hands.