Democracy dies in derpness
Stupid, senile, syphilitic...stroke?
"We'll have an economy based on wind. I never understood wind. You know, I know windmills very much. I've studied it better than anybody I know. It's very expensive. They're made in China and Germany mostly -- very few made here, almost none. But they're manufactured tremendous -- if you're into this -- tremendous fumes. Gases are spewing into the atmosphere. You know we have a world, right? So the world is tiny compared to the universe. So tremendous, tremendous amount of fumes and everything. You talk about the carbon footprint -- fumes are spewing into the air. Right? Spewing. Whether it's in China, Germany, it's going into the air. It's our air, their air, everything -- right?"
No one has been this fixated on windmills since Don Quixote. Cervantes tells us Alonso Quijano's derangement stemmed from reading too many books, clearly not Trump's problem. Pinpointing the cerebral event which caused this will be a task for doctors and pathologists who are not subject to military discipline, and I'm just an amateur literary critic.
Give it its due, though. One day the Speech to the Turning Point USA Student Action Summit (do you suppose it was the name "Turning Point" that led to the windmill rant?) will be mined for book titles just as the Gettysburg Address has been:
I Never Understood Wind: The Poetry of the Second Civil War
You Know We Have a World, Right? 21st Century Climate Change and the Collapse of Civilization
I Know Windmills Very Much: Growing Up In the Shadow of Trump and Putin
Fumes Are Spewing: The Collected Poems of Stephen Miller
An Economy Based On Wind: How Denmark Became the Economic Engine of the West
It's poetry. And a poem should not mean, but be. Right? Right?
"We'll have an economy based on wind. I never understood wind. You know, I know windmills very much. I've studied it better than anybody I know. It's very expensive. They're made in China and Germany mostly -- very few made here, almost none. But they're manufactured tremendous -- if you're into this -- tremendous fumes. Gases are spewing into the atmosphere. You know we have a world, right? So the world is tiny compared to the universe. So tremendous, tremendous amount of fumes and everything. You talk about the carbon footprint -- fumes are spewing into the air. Right? Spewing. Whether it's in China, Germany, it's going into the air. It's our air, their air, everything -- right?"
No one has been this fixated on windmills since Don Quixote. Cervantes tells us Alonso Quijano's derangement stemmed from reading too many books, clearly not Trump's problem. Pinpointing the cerebral event which caused this will be a task for doctors and pathologists who are not subject to military discipline, and I'm just an amateur literary critic.
Give it its due, though. One day the Speech to the Turning Point USA Student Action Summit (do you suppose it was the name "Turning Point" that led to the windmill rant?) will be mined for book titles just as the Gettysburg Address has been:
I Never Understood Wind: The Poetry of the Second Civil War
You Know We Have a World, Right? 21st Century Climate Change and the Collapse of Civilization
I Know Windmills Very Much: Growing Up In the Shadow of Trump and Putin
Fumes Are Spewing: The Collected Poems of Stephen Miller
An Economy Based On Wind: How Denmark Became the Economic Engine of the West
It's poetry. And a poem should not mean, but be. Right? Right?
posted by Buttermilk Sky at 11:11 AM
1 Comments:
I know Donald Trump very much, and I can tell you that after every one of his speeches, fumes are spewing, they are spewing into the skies above the stadiums. They are spewing into the universal oneness of th ecosphere and beyond. That's why we need a Space Force. To follow the fumes.
Save your MAGA hats if you got 'em. I'll be dead by then, but 50 years from now, some nincompoop overwhelmed by nostalgia will begin a chant of "Make America Gross Again." With a little big of retouching, those hats will enjoy a second life.
All right, my soul is heading back inside my body now, so I'll say goodnight.
Yours very crankily,
The New York Crank
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