I had a dream last night. The Mueller report was finally released. It showed Trump was indeed Putin’s puppet.
A long list of treasonous-like transgressions was delineated, proven beyond a silhouette of a doubt.
But it was the last line of the historical document that really caught my attention. It recommended that Trump be banished to the island of Saint Helena, where Napoleon spent his dying years, beginning in 1815, following his final defeat at Waterloo.
Yes, there Trump sat, naked, looking like a Jim Carrey caricature.
His hair looked like an orange bird nest lifted by a violent ocean breeze, a nest without a base. He was trying to construct a Trump Tower out of drift wood and seashells.
He was berating the local landscape, calling everything fake flora and fauna. Indeed he wanted to tweet that the very ocean itself was phony.
“And believe me, no one knows oceans like me,” he cried.
And the universe was dizzy with chanting, quite melodic and soothing actually.
Come on, say it with me, please join in; “Saint Helena, Saint Helena, Saint Helena.”
Steven V. Horton