Vitamin Q. Quaaludes. You cannot get them anymore, but as a recreational outlet, the pills were quite popular in the late 70s. And it seems the world could use a dose right now. It was a barbiturate, a downer, something to get you relaxed and ready.

I have no idea what Qanon is, but it seems a bit ironic that it borrows from Alcoholics Anonymous in name only. Like a RINO. Cults are a big draw lately. Surrender your critical thinking and disbelief to a higher power…of what. We seem to take comfort in sheep’s clothing, waiting for the wolf to devour us. How being eaten alive has become a fantasy worth pursuing is beyond my capacity for imagining.

We need to expand the diagnostic manual of psychiatric disease to include zombie affect. I am not a zombie expert, but I think the goal is to eat the brain of a living host, thereby extending their zombie existence while creating more converts. Close enough. Well after all isn’t that the goal of a cult: Eat out your brain while creating a convert.

The country of “don’t tread on me”, has been transformed into the country of “who moved my cheese”. A nation of foxes and hens, everyone is divided into two groups.

While I would not presume to underestimate the talents of DJT, I do not think he rises to the task of cult leader. Too self absorbed. But, and this is critical, he is malleable enough to twist in the wind of any suggestions that serve to spotlight his presence. And those behind the scenes with laser focused agendas are content to give dear leader all the credit. So when he applauds militia types targeting peaceful protesters, he’s really and truly merely thinking, “they like me. They really like me.” And in the back of that half eaten brain of his, he may be wondering if they like him enough to keep him safe and sound inside the White House, election be damned.

United States Privatized Mail Service

But we are also in an era of chronic premenstrual syndrome. Dear leader, in touch with his feminine side, is at once irritable, mean, bloated and bitchy. Those are the good days. He has freely admitted to being “in love” with North Korea’s leader, Kim. He fawns after Vladimir Putin like a high school girl with a crush. PMS.

I believe we all have a bit of a love/hate relationship with our post office. There is definitely some PMS at work, from the surly attempts at customer service, to the mail carrier who insists on delivering my mail on the ledge of my now insecure mail box. We might agree that some tidying and tightening are clearly in order. Let’s not be so stupid as to assume that dear leader is interested in streamlining the postal service at this moment in time merely to make it run more efficiently. A manager Trump is not. Remember, it takes a special kind of stupid to bankrupt a casino.

So the plot is now as thick as the burly rope around the hyoid. President for life or life in jail. Even us average Americans would have to agree jail is a bad deal.

As further proof that DJT is the messiah, he walks on quicksand. Talk about compartmentalizing multiple personalities…yikes Scooby. His endless drivel has become our waking nightmare. And everyday I walk into work at a casino in Las Vegas, I am reminded how stupid we all really are. “Ma’am I need you to put on your mask.” “Fuck you.”

Thank you for playing.