IT’S ALL MY FAULT
Trump: A Product of His Own Placement
By Duane Scott Cerny
President Trump has made it clear he wants his likeness chiseled into Mount Rushmore to be forever memorialized alongside great leaders of the past. This wish proves that likeness and likability only appear nearest one another in a dictionary.
Sadly, there is no comparable mountainous location for the not-so-great presidential administrations for the likes of James Buchanan, Andrew Johnson, Franklin Pierce and Hoover. Herbert, not the vacuum.
Trump recently implied he wishes to be on a stamp, but “S&H” has already claimed green, his favorite color. The DOJ will attempt to correct this situation post-haste by confiscating all S&H books on eBay. Apparently with only one million completed books, one can finalize a coup. Who knew?
Changing the name of the Gulf of Mexico, proposing Canada become the 51st state, and fetishizing Greenland (again, the color!) are perhaps examples of the caffeine buzz motivation of way too many Diet Cokes. Clearly, the global map in Donald’s head leads nowhere regular Coke would want to be deported.
By now we’re all too familiar with the many products Trump’s name and/or image have been featured: on bibles, board games, sneakers, collectible coins, tokens, trading cards, NTFs, steaks, water bottles, watches, mattresses, bobbleheads, commemorative pens and whiskey glasses, apparel of all types and, of course, Stormy Daniels’ ass.
As we near the 100th day of the administration that will assuredly last one thousand Republican tears, let me expand upon Trump’s wishes in advance of his wants. Hey, it worked for Marjorie Taylor (Greene again!)
Just imagine DJT’s image…
In space: Elon Musk can adapt his Starlink satellites to project Trump’s big face into the big sky above, allowing all of us to finally see what a black hole looks like.
As ice cubes: Not the rapper/actor but real ice cubes in the shape of Donald’s head. As they slowly melt, you soon realize there’s nothing left. Just like in real life. Except it’s right.
On toast: The Virgin Mary broke through the crumbs from some miraculous unsanctioned Vatican toaster, so why not Trump? Spread your favorite toppings across the face that launched a thousand lawsuits but hold the jam. The Supreme Court prefers preserves notwithstanding Democracy.
On dashboards of self-driving Teslas: Who wouldn’t want Trump’s sternly fanatical face staring back at you right before a horrific traffic accident? And the last thing you’ll see? Trump’s mug on an airbag made in China.
On parade blimps: Be it helium, hydrogen, or McDonald’s-induced flatulence, the MAGA masses will cheer along the parade route barring anything explosively triggering. You know, like AOC dropping truth bombs.
On crop circles: Imagine flying over Stoke-on-Trent, glancing down and seeing Donald Trump looking back. This will prove that not all aliens can be returned from whence they came. Oddly, it may also explain certain gluten allergies.
In cappuccino foam: Who cares if the side of your barista-written cup reads “Whore” when your name is Jorge? There’s Trump’s foam face waiting to be licked. Here’s a quick latte tip: Start by sipping his hairline, as the rest of him dissolves quickly when exposed to the air of reality.
On a brain-implanted microchip: Who needs the real world when you can sing the praises of the multiverse without even knowing the lyrics? Everywhere you look, every thought you cook, from every felon to every crook… Trump is watching you. No auditions necessary for his casting of Guantanamo Bay: The Musical.
On grains of sand: Yes, every one. It will take an incalculable amount of time to impress Trump’s image on them all, from every ocean, every desert, and every sinking beachside Florida condo tower, but it will be worth it. And how can showering Trump’s sandy face off your butt crack not feel empowering?
But will all the above representations of praise, in addition to all those still unimaginable in the nightmares of Democrats, make Donald happy? Sadly, no. Republicans can rally around this golden orange calf until it’s happy hour at the Golden Corral, but the praise required will never be satiated. The salad bar may be fully stocked, but hamburgers remain the only communion to be consumed. No, Trump requires adoration and loyalty far beyond mere religion. The sneeze guardrails are off.
Donald is an empty vessel. A hole that can never be filled. Not with the quasi-love of multiple wives, lovers, porn stars, Truth Social fans, sycophants or the increasing temperature of FOX-TV’s fact-denying vitriol. It’s actually hot enough to boil an egg, if you can afford or lay one.
For now, and into the near future, the image of Donald Trump will remain. His physical merchandise will soon trickle out into sad garage sales and sadder estates. Make America Great Again swag will fill thrift store bins and hangers for decades to come. Like Beanie Babies, these collectibles will find themselves unwanted by future generations of puzzled thrifters. The young will acknowledge Trump as “something” they heard of. Like Pokeman, Harry Potter, or the time we had that black president what’s his name.
Time will be the great arbitrator of Trump’s significance or insignificance. He could be the end of the world or a cosmic blip of unfortunate events.
So buy any random bag of Cheetos and find Trump’s edible doppelganger. Dig down deep in the bag and you’ll find it. Take some tasty satisfaction in biting off his head and savor the thought of better days. Your teeth may remain orange for a time, perhaps even beyond whatever third term dictatorship Trump may steer, but eventually you’ll be able to rinse that man right out of your hair.
I mean mouth. Crunch!
Duane Scott Cerny takes the blame for most everything in his monthly satirical column, It’s All My Fault. Best-selling author of Selling Dead People’s Things and Vintage Confidential, he is the co-owner of Chicago’s Broadway Antique Market and is a guest favorite among fearless podcasters.
Contact him at E-ThanklessGreetings@yahoo.com.
