Vote for the same ol’ shtick; Mrs Hillary Clinton.
Whilst once there was a time in which politicians were acceptably immoral and had private agendas for which presidential powers were sought to necessitate; we are now in the perilous epoch of activism and public power.
The sway of the influence no longer is cast by those climbing by ambitious claw and tooth to the top of the perpetual foothills; for the era of personal politics is upon us.
People looking to gain an attribute beyond power are named upon the ballot slot.
Whilst we have Clinton; from the elderly school of dangerous dogs ready to bark and bite a jaw-shaped hole through their enemies in vainglorious effort of keeping the course, we also have Donald Trump – the irrelevant.
Trump has travelled through 7 decades without experiencing negative consequence, living on the accumulations of Trump the Greater and Senior – a Republican and a businessman. The father, one of the potent individual by which the United States came into fruitful fruition, died with an empire ready only to crumble.
From a 7 billion dollar legacy of concrete and formidable zeros, we look into a future of rubble and a single zero.
With Father’s empire to cushion his every failure, Donald has only one successful promotion throughout his life and this is fact that he inherited his name and fortune.
“My name is Donald Trump and I am extremely wealthy” is the successful fact; compounded by his repetition into being something he himself conjured.
And with this being his only success; Donald seeks to push the saturating idea to the hilt; “My name is Donald Trump and I am so extremely wealthy that I became President of the USA”.
A lonely failure, prisoned by his father’s success, the fortune that should have blown doors from hinges before him has constricted him to having one single phrase and one simple point: “My name is Donald Trump and I happen to be wealthy”.
For an individual without the backbone of solid achievement, and with only one thing to say, we now have the ambition that goes beyond seeking power and focuses its aim directly at legacy: Donald Trump wants to be more successful than his incredible father.
Donald wants approval that he has done something without his father, independent from the legacy that shackles him and free from the burden of his own mediocre 70 years.
Upon victory, Donald will seek another – now an international appeal, once more without substance and with the style of an ill-educated celebrity; whereupon he will be met and matched by the world of rabid politicians ferocious in their attacks to gain ground and influence.
A legacy of rubble comes tumbling towards us now, of which Donald Trump will insist on being voted most popular by those who remain.
Clinton is the antithesis of this.
For those denouncing her successes as being a matter of inheritance from her husband’s career, we should remember that she became a Senator and Secretary of State despite her husband writing her off as a figure he sought alternative company from; orally.
Hillary Clinton inherited high intelligence, few sociopathic tendencies and a moral upbringing from her parents.
With so adept a brain and education (in career as well as through a high-standard of schooling) saw her to the role of Senator and White House Secretary of State.
Her femininity, husband’s adultery and the portrayal of her as a frigid career woman caused Hillary to sharpen the teeth and strengthen the grip to hold fast until the ambition was met with completion and another challenge.
Hillary is an old-school politician with the evident will to surpass the standards tossed at her feet by challenges throughout her life; she has made selfish actions and thoughtless mistakes and these in her past are astoundingly rare and accounted for.
Clinton is spectacularly qualified as a politician and leader, whilst that sharpened ruthless edge makes for a President the nation and world is in need of.
And above all; she is a good person. Seeking changes in the world that are essential, though not easy, and changes that are right, though unpopular.
With Hillary Clinton as President of the USA, the world would have a typical leader, more of the same, spouting the day-to-day jargon we’ve come to expect and that many are revolting against.
She would do the job and well.
Donald Trump as President will be the result of a popularity contest with such self-absorbed fear that it shall supersede the point of the entire electoral process; to anoint a leader to do right by the United States of America.
Clinton now portrays what people most want changed: a removal of the jargon, of the old elite, of the dynasty, of the nepotism.
And I expect the removal of this to come profoundly so; following the defeat of Donald Trump in November.
But this depends on the will of the people.
Some vote for Hillary against Trump and vice versa.
Some vote for Hillary because of her policies and the high probability of her proficiency in the role.
Some who vote for Trump are not voting for policies or his qualifications for the role; they are voting for his personality.
And this is weak.
And for a comment on fear; I am afraid that the people of the United States are becoming beyond holding aloft as an example of how to lead the world.
I fear the United States is about to finally disappoint the world beyond reconsideration or forgiveness.
So in aggressive Western response to the economic and expansive rise of China, Brazil, Russia and China, aligned with the decline of the USA and the European Union; I’ll be keeping my chin up and sense of humour alight…I hear Canada’s popular as of late.
I brought a large pink ruby donkey home with me from work the other day.
I’m telling you this because it’s looking at me right now.
Rather; it’s not looking at me, more so to the window and away from me. But it has an expression on it’s long, slapped-lobster- coloured-face as if to say: “I swear I wasn’t watching you! But I can if you want…”
This pink donkey’s beginning to have a presence in the house.
I keep finding it in rooms. Nothing creepy, aside from the Mrs (who’s mine by the way– all mine!) transporting him from room to room. And suddenly there he is; causing me to stop stirring my tea and wonderful half in my head, half spoken: “Why the fuck is he in here?”
Salvaged out of the bins of a nursery I work with, I’ve always has an appreciation for solid toys that don’t break easily.
Breaking easily is what I find to be the critical aspect of most things around and about me; prior to them being in pieces.
This large pink donkey however…this thing is Russia-proof.
The sort of toy that is immune to both knives and teasing. It’s probably emitting some noxious gas as I write this; some reliably-1970’s-gonna-get-ya product this.
Too solid rubber to be devastated; too mentally dense an expression on its face to absorb any kind of bullying as anything but pleasant comments about its complexion.
Lucky pink donkey.
I’m far too sensitive, you see; and that hurts to say.
Perhaps I can learn a thing or two from this donkey.
And maybe that’s a depressing fact; that I can learn a thing or two from a donkey.
Or, maybe again, it means I’ve reached a level so high I can only learn from inanimate objects. Sun Tsu, Marx and Shakespeare are all just a tad too easy these days; I need a good sturdy rubber donkey to keep me thinking about my diet.
Well…that was meant to simply be a sentence; and it turns out, upon closer recollection, that this is true.
I haven’t had a walk home like that since I was an obese baby.
Even the weather was improved; to the degree that my memories of it seems as though the golden sunlight was added later, but no – it was that glorious.
Smiles and laughter everywhere; with plenty of pointing – the good kind.
The good kind of pointing is polite, and you can tell how it is not just by the facial expression behind, but also because I reckon that finger’s a little floppy.
What would you rather have in your face; a sturdy index of a flaccid forefinger? Let alone a penetrating pinky?
Apparently a pink donkey’s what most folk want in their face; forget the pointing, good kind or bad.
Well; I got the polite kind, as well as so many smiles and warm expressions of: “Enormous pink donkey eh? Good for you; I can relate to that – It’s about time!”
More pink rubber donkeys for everyone.
This things has it’s very own sunshine and when it hits; you grin with the pinkish vitamin D you’re being beaten about the head with.
I got home that day and found myself improved.
I could learn from this donkey.
We’ve already bathed together; it went really well.
The train’s ticket conductor on the journey home and I had a charming liaison in which he wrote out a toy-ticket for the donkey.
How absolutely motherfucking charming!
I’m 27 and he was at least twice my age, and here we were both being jollied by a pink donkey.
This is an even more effective a way of meeting women than holding a baby.
You might be familiar with the way chaps can hold a baby as they meet women; holding it out in front of them as proof of procreating potency and niceness.
A fellow with a baby, strapped on to his chest like body armour, speaks to the world: “My penis is accomplished and I make up for that by being fatherly and mopping up the consequences and the consequences’ consequences.”
Those strap-on babies unnerve me, being as it seems like a make-shift “don’t shoot me” shirt.
You can’t lay a finger on that guy whilst he’s wearing one of those.
He’s immune to society touching him; law officials won’t risk the law suit, other men won’t risk the leaking baby, and the women want so desperately to get to know this sensitive chap with an accomplished willy.
Take all that; and this pink donkey trumps it all.
“Trumps it all” – damn.
Can’t we alter the terminology here?
Why not give Trump the word “Trump” and proceed to change our definition of it to a guy who has everything wrong with him – a bloke for whom money is working.
Money is evidently making Donald Trump all the more unhappy to the point that he is engaging in political warfare with the most vital nation on Earth because his daddy never loved him.
He’s a fellow with such a huge bill for sating his appetite that he’s going to make Mexico pay for it.
I have a tremendously unsubstantiated feeling that Donald Trump is looking forward to diplomacy in China because their coins have ickle-wickle holes in and he yearns to get that Yen home and start fucking the dignified history out of it.
That hole-in-the-arse/pain-in-the-arse/Donald-Trump is apparently in need of a large rubber pink donkey prescription.
If it worked for me; it can work for Trump!
I’ve just realised that Donald Trump would, without hesitation, strap a baby to himself to avoid being assassinated. I hope, should his assassination come about, it’s in a child-free area; though I feel children tend to avoid him anyway.
Kids are like dogs.
They don’t like arseholes.
And they love giant pink donkeys.
Me too; for all the three above.
See you tomorrow,
Donald. Having a small penis is no excuse for behaving like that.
Donald. You’re a threat to international security and you’re not even good at it.
Donald. You’re a threat to international security but to me you’ll always be a silly bitch.
Donald. Really; money does love you back. Don’t listen to those mean poor people.
Donald. You are unintelligent but far more stupid. Nor too bright. Plus an idiot.
Donald. You look like a rapist who doesn’t get what the fuss is about.
Donald. Every single Mexican who ever lived is better than you at being an American.
Donald. If I were you I’d wish I were me again.