Donald Trump had spent the entire campaign telling the Republican electorate that he was the best at everything; no one ever beat him at anything. He extolled his riches as evidence that he was smarter than everyone else. His boasts flowed like wine.
He was telling us that only he could cast off the tattered old rags now worn by Lady Liberty and adorn the country with glorious new robes of silk and gold. In reality, he was Trump the Weaver, a weaver of dreams, and he was telling tales of how he could weave new vestments, returning us to a glorious and fantastic country, the envy of all.
“How amazing it will be,” he said, “we’ll be so tired of looking majestic in our gold and silk regalia, we’ll have to wear shades.”
He’s been telling us how wonderful things were going to be: jobs would be plentiful, taxes would be lower, and there would be no more illegal aliens soaking up our benefits. He’d bring back silk fabric here, gold thread there.
He spoke loudly of how he needed no help, no assistance; he would man the loom alone and work night and day to craft the country’s new vestments. He told of using the finest silk fabric that he gathered himself, as no one else could supply it. He needed no help to mine the purest gold; he picked it from the ground himself. He would create the finest garments man had ever seen, in this world, or the next.
The country was told that he, and only he, could fashion an ensemble so incredible, so amazing as to defy description. He told of countless hours working the loom’s magic to create such finery that though fit for kings would be given to all of the ordinary citizens. The country would be returned to its rightful place atop the world’s fashion conscious, resplendent in the dazzling and brilliant clothing created by Trump the Weaver.
With great fanfare, Trump invited scribes and tellers of tales to see the vestments and bear witness to the awesome colors, the stunning patterns, and the iridescent sheen even though the clothes were not yet finished.
Trump explained that only the truly wise, gifted with amazing intelligence, could see the glorious sights. The opulence couldn’t be appreciated by the cretins of the establishment class.
And as the scribes and tale tellers marveled, Trump the Weaver extoled the magnificent display to which they were privy: “Aren’t the clothes incredible? Aren’t they amazing? Have you ever seen such a sight?” His enthusiasm was contagious and the scribes chimed in, “amazing, marvelous, incredible” were their exclamations. They were truly awed. They bowed and kissed his ring as they departed.
But once outside, they questioned what they saw. “I didn’t see anything, did you”? “No, but he must be right, for we are but common people and Trump is a billionaire and the smartest wizard in the land, he must be right. We just aren’t wise enough to see.”
So, the scribes spread the word far and wide of the magic that was being worked by Trump the Weaver. “How grand the vestments were, how exquisite – and the colors, they put a rainbow to shame, they were magnificent!” They didn’t want to appear as cretins so they “embellished” a little to appear as though they were gifted and wise.
Soon the townspeople began to talk, to anticipate when the wondrous things would come. The tales grew and soon Trump the Weaver was raised to a level befitting a wizard. The townspeople told tales of the magic that was at the weaver’s command. His powers and majesty grew through fables and myths, and the townspeople believed – well, at least half of the townspeople did.
The other half poo-pooed the weaver’s magic and just didn’t believe the tall tales that made Trump the Weaver out to be eight feet tall, well hung and more powerful than a bull in heat.
Finally, in November, the clothes would be revealed for the first time. The entire kingdom was eagerly waiting the glorious unveiling. Many expected to see opulence as never before, silver and gold, jewels and silk, all woven into garments that would wrap the country in riches and comfort. There would be Trump steaks for everyone, Trump University diplomas for everyone, Trump games for everyone, flights on Trump Airways, and vacation timeshares at Trump Baja (if any of those still existed).
The kingdom would be on easy street thanks to Trump the Weaver. Lady Liberty would once again be the envy of the world, resplendent in riches as never before and to prove it, Trump the Weaver would hold a rally wearing a suit of his finest creations.
The town criers and tale tellers made it known that only the truly wise and gifted could appreciate the finery that would be on display and only they would be able to see the magnificence. Lesser Neanderthals would not be able to see the splendid and magnificent robes that would adorn the magical weaver.
So when the great unveiling came, fully half of the townspeople feigned amazement at the beauty of the suit “adorning” Trump the Weaver – “how wonderful,” “it’s truly magic,” “more beautiful than I imagined,” and some were brought to tears by the splendid images of gold and silk they imagined they saw – or were told they should see.
The other half saw no exquisite robes, no silk finery, no gold-stitched lapels, only a chubby, balding, fat-faced, small mouthed, old man with small hands and a bad comb-over. And by the way, his willie was wee too.
Trump the Wizard had no clothes!
Categories: Humor & Satire