The Lady and the Trump: The toxic love affair of Donald Trump and America

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A toxic romance is characterized by the behaviors of the “toxic” partner that are emotionally, psychologically, and oftentimes physically damaging to the other partner. These relationships are marked by jealousy, insecurity, narcissism, dominance, and control. It takes two individuals to have a toxic relationship. Donald Trump and America; the toxic partner and the recipient of the toxic behavior.


Donald Trump and America: Grab her by the pussy…

Donald Trump and America began their toxic love affair on a brisk November morning in 2016 when the debonair “billionaire” swaggered up to the long-legged Lady Liberty and grabbed her firmly by the pussy.

He was right. He was a star, and she would let him do anything. We watched with aroused foreboding, the deplorable perverts we are, as he ran his tiny clumsy hands up and down her divided body, his serpentine tongue slithering down her naked neck and between her bare bosom, his oily-mickey-d-fry fingers crawling orange-tarantula-like up her legs and under her long flowing robe.

It was like watching the Ramsey and Sansa wedding night scene from Game of Thrones season 5. We knew the nature of the characters. However, we were naively anticipating some mild erotic violence. Some small part of us held on to the fleeting notion of some last-minute reprieve. But there was nothing we could do. We just had to watch while he defiled her, again and again, and again.

For what foul favor was this chaste maiden’s virtue traded for? To what brutish Lord did her sanctity now belong? However, unlike an uncooperative shanghaied bride, or some unwitting pawn in a contest of kings, Donald Trump and America were hot and heavy. Lady Liberty fell for the fumbling foreplay, and Miss America was down for some red-hot red-hat role-play.


Donald Trump and America: Doggy-style…

She bent over, albeit half-reluctantly, slid her moistened unmentionables to one side, and let Donald Trump enter her once hallowed halls. He had awakened some sadomasochistic fetish that lay dormant deep within America’s southern and mid-western regions. Her brain was telling her “no” but her body, perhaps feeling long ignored, kept repeating “he’s going to drain my swamp.”

She was vulnerable and he knew exactly what to say. Donald Trump told America that she was a worthless piece of shit and that he could make her great again. He told her he could protect her from the caravans of big bad brown men and their giant unwashed penises that encamped just beyond the borders of her unguarded boudoir. The Don wore her favorite colors and whistled her favorite tune. He bragged about his bank account and most of all, bad-mouthed her ex, a tall, dark, handsome, Harvard educated fellow.

It was a difficult breakup. They were together for eight years. He was not perfect but he was a hell of a catch by any standard; exuding class, intelligence, and dignity and treating her like the Lady she was; with respect, admiration, and loyalty. And by all accounts, he had a huge cock as well. But they had to end it and she was rebounding. Caught in the clutches of a pimp and a panderer. He had a spray-on tan and a freshly inked four-year contract with an option to extend. Donald Trump and America became a couple.


Donald Trump and America: The Honeymoon is over…

Its been two years. She’s not the same cool chick she used to be. You know the type; Ph.D. in Latin American studies, volunteers at the local children’s home, drinks Hoegaardens on weekends while playing Xbox, and rolls the fattest blunts. That used to be her. She kept an eclectic clique. Then she started partying with the highfalutin crowd, taking shots of Stolichnaya, learning to speak Russian, and hanging with “very fine people.”

She threw away the Bob Marley box-set her ex gave her on their first date and started listening to conservative talk radio. Open carries an AR-15 and a Colt 1911. Claims everyone is out to get her. She hit it big on Wall Street. Got a bootylicious tax break. Bought a crib on the Black Sea. She ain’t giving back. She doesn’t even come round the old neighborhood anymore. Donald Trump and America are always together.

We try to reach out sometimes, those of us who knew and loved her back in the day. We try to remind her of how kind, beautiful, and sophisticated she was. But she doesn’t return our DMs. Tells us to mind our own business. Says its fake news and we don’t understand. America insists Donald Trump is a good man. She wants us to give him a chance. America swears she can change him. But its been 2 years and he’s not changing. Donald Trump is changing America.


Donald Trump and America: What the fuck happened…

What the fuck happened to America? She used to be the baddest bitch on the block, ice-cold-brick-house-foxy-lady! Her milkshake used to bring all the boys to the yard. She lost her virginity to Washington, dated Lincoln and Roosevelt in college and Kennedy in grad school, had some Cohibas with Clinton, and moved in with Obama for eight years.

They all made America better; helped her gain independence from her tyrannical father, freed her from herself, showed her the world, took her to the moon, made her a lot of money, and forced her to face-down her folks when she brought a black man home to the White House. How could America fall for such flagrant douchebaggery?

Deep down south and in the middle of America lay a latent festering self-deprecating desire to return to what she used to be. Somewhere after Washington but definitely before Lincoln. She thought she was losing herself and becoming unrecognizable. America believed she was being groomed and manipulated by nefarious socialist transgender vegan entities hell-bent on taking her guns, teaching her Spanish, and making her wear a burqa.

Her reds and blues were contaminating her whites. The good ol’ boys were shouting and the trolls were tweeting with Russian accents and IP addresses. And America listened, believed, and retweeted. She succumbed to her baser nature. This is who America was deep down. Donald Trump just brought out the freak in her.


Donald Trump and America: The Midterm Doghouse…

Its time we accept it. Donald Trump is fucking America and she loves it. We’ve been living in denial for two years. Weeping like some spurned teenage lover desperately clinging to the hope that things could go back to the way they were. We could play Halo, listen to Jay-Z, and smoke blunts together again like we used to do. We’ve tortured ourselves observing the depraved things she allows him to do to her, things she never allowed another lover to do.

We watched and whimpered while she let him drill her in places that were previously forbidden. Then she smiled back at us, cruelly. It turns her on, our heartache. She could call the lawyers and file the papers anytime. He’s conspired and colluded, paid off porn-stars and playmates, and evaded taxes and baby-mamas. She had her chance to tell him that enough was enough, that she wasn’t going to put up with his bullshit anymore, that she was always great, and she didn’t need him to feel good about herself.

She finally kicked a bunch of his lowlife friends out the house, but his boys in the Senate are in the backyard tapping kegs with Kavanaugh, throwing up three-finger signs, and doing the same old two-step. He’s not going anywhere. Not without a fight.


Donald Trump and America: Bobby’s receipts…

America’s got hope in a Marine named Bobby Mueller. He loves America. Fought for her back in Vietnam and he’s going to fight for her again. He got all the receipts. He’s tracking down pissy mattresses and offshore accounts like an Appalachian coon-hound. He’s flipping confidantes and co-conspirators like a short-order cook in a southern roadside diner. Bob’s got sealed indictments, FISA warrants, wire-taps, and perjury traps. He might be able to do what no one else couldn’t, make her finally see the plain truth.

We’ll be rooting for her. We hope she gets better, but part of us thinks it might be too late. We’ve moved on. That Adele song “Hello” keeps playing in our ears. Maybe she will call one day and tell us how she misses the rainy days when we used to curl up together under the blanket, rolling joints and making love. She’ll tell us that she’s sorry. That she fucked up. She’s in town and wants to meet and catch up. See if we can work things out. Maybe, we’ll have coffee with her. Maybe America, it will be “too late to apologize, too late…


If you liked this piece, please check out my articles on the history of Pekiti-Tirsia Kali, the myths and realities of Martial Arts, the life and legacy of Stan Lee, and the history of Reggae music! Check back weekly for new pieces, and don’t forget to “like” “share” and “follow us” on social media!

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Author: Guerilla Mike

Warrior. Poet. Traveler. Unraveler.

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