Donald Trump has been a wildly dysfunctional metaphor machine for the past four years.
A cash-generating, greenback-delivering, drama-device for the U.S. press and media industry.
The man they have loved to hate careened into the political life of the USA in 2016 like a dysfunctional, out of control roller-coaster carriage and wrecking ball, a radical element dripping acid, corroding a hole right through Washington’s political normality.
And he may be about to careen back out of that milieu leaving those still in it dazed and confused by the experience and the media that gorged itself on his outrageously aggressive mania for controversy will be left the poorer for it.
Trump and the drama he created has been a cash cow for the viewspapers and maiden aunt TV channels who chattered and tut-tutted, scowled and threw hands to mouths in shock over the past few years.
The supposedly hardened politicos of CNN, MSNBC and their peers were as sheltered virgins or self-secluded nuns being confronted by the full-frontal nudity of a rampant and frighteningly erect greaseball street flasher, unable to keep their eyes off his crazily flailing “forbidden fruits”.
Like those victims of kidnap, torture and sexual abuse who start perversely to fall in love with their captor they are mesmerized by his unholy power to generate fascination for others and unlimited big bucks for them.
They will miss him when he has gone. Their speech balloons will deflate into wrinkled old age with the relative tedium of reporting the balding, skeletal carcass of Joe Biden. They will limpingly attempt to generate enthusiasm for the walking dead and display some demanded liberal relief that political normality has resumed. Income will plunge off a cliff as they race over its edge pleading with the retiring form of the Trump golden goose as it squawks screeching back to its crap-laden nest below.
He’s the shock-jock host to end them all. The amoral monster of a Disney anti-feelgood horror movie. The biggest most manure-laden, wild-eyed rampaging bull in the tiniest, most delicate china shop the world has ever seen. He has been a nuclear bomb in constant chain-reaction devastation and mushroom-cloud-obscuring, unpredictable, mirage-making nonsense generator for every second of the last four years.
He’s Anarchy-in-Chief, Commander of Chaos, Nutball Coordinator and Right-Wing Extremist Regulator. A swinging fist aimed at all perversely grinning attackers who constantly attempt to smack him back while seeing ever more dollars for them in each thrust of his wild, off-target, mentally-deranged, upper-cut punches.
He has been the love-hate anti-hero in his own self-created snuff movie. His bloody horns have gouged all the enemies he imagines surrounding him as he is now led to the slaughter house for the final coup de gras, his time in the baking hot sun of the media bullring ended.
The mad king is dead. Long live the king in memory and the books of faux-historians. May his body feed the bank accounts for years as his corpse is endlessly dissected and the meaning of his entrails and that of his victim, the American political system, are explored ad nauseam.
The master of a vastly deluded psychopathic universe is about to be given the bum’s rush.
The wonky machine that has been blowing gaskets for all these years is set to blow itself to pieces in one last gigantic eruption of blisteringly hot steam, cataclysmic, cacophonic rendering of randomly-flying screws, nuts, bolts and molten debris.
Trump, the marvelous metaphor machine will finally lie morose, quiet at last, drained of the oil of resistance to the media engineers who kept him going and supplied with all his fuel for four long years.
Now come the days of vulture-sucking on what remains of its rusting parts, fed into and chewed over by the machine that mirrored his own and made itself sparkling and shiny by contrast with his, the now gargantuan, cyclopean media machine.
Goodbye Donald J. Trump, man-machine metaphor-maker, political drama-monster. You will not rust in peace.
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