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“Keeping Up With The Trumps” Was The Plan All Along

At this point in Trump’s presidency, as we barely survive the end of another hellish year, it’s safe to say that we are all embodying our assigned roles in a reality TV show that we auditioned for during the 2016 elections, when we tragically underestimated the explosive mess that is Donald J.Trump.

The former mastermind behind The Apprentice proved his never-ending appetite for stardom — and basically used that time in the spotlight to expose viewers to a shrewd businessman, who believes the falsehood of his unlimited power and influence in a culture — that was already making the necessary accommodations for the current climate of social engagement with the blistering elements of toxicity.

When Trump threw his hat in the ring and declared his run for the presidency, there was the instant recognition of exactly what that meant, and how impactful it was to have a privileged White male, with more money than God, and the pompousness to match — competing for the highest office in the land — simply because he could afford it.

His running mate was a highly qualified candidate, who had dedicated all her life to serving a country that was about to turn on her in the worst way.

If there was anything at all to take away from the blatant hostility and disgracefully brutal shit show of the 2016 elections, it was the fact that we were more than ready to be entertained by an overpaid showman, who was up to the task of providing scorchingly graphic episodes to propel the steady decline of humanity.

Trump’s flawless performance was irresistible from the start, with every detail catered to the “unreal” reality of how the dramatic descent from the escalator was the metaphor for the bottomless pit of pure filth — and unsanctioned chaos that had already permeated the non-stop coverage of a shitty businessman — with the disposition of a reckless mafioso who Michael Corleone would permanently silence quicker than you could say “Fredo.”

“Keeping Up With The Trumps” is the show that was meant to be a ratings bonanza, and its meteoric rise was the genius of mainstream media and how the messaging around The Donald demanded a religious adherence to his deliciously controversial template.

How else can you explain the infamous extended live shot of the “Trump jet,” parked on the tarmac merely days after the New York-bred candidate won the primary, and was now the GOP’s “Great White Hype.” How else can you make sense of the summoned theatrics that are endorsed by willing enablers — who assemble for hearty laughs at the expense of a man-baby — who has the ability to end civilization with a typo-riddled tweet or hidden button.

President Trump brilliantly entitled himself the “maestro” of our existence by seamlessly invading the bubble that had to burst and spill us out into the festering heap of ceremonious disorder — that steadily infected all the corridors of government — both at home and abroad.

The plan was always to turn The White House into a ragged rodeo show — featuring main characters that keep the props well displayed and intact, as the star of our discontent maintains the momentum by any means necessary.

At first “Keeping Up With The Trumps” presented the bipolar tendencies that challenged and tormented, as the aftermath of the storm left embedded debris that couldn’t be swept away by tears of disbelief.

The increasing breakdown of engagement on social media platforms has unleashed the condoned facade that gives users permission to institutionalize personalized rules — that overrule anything resembling the truth with the tools of mental photoshopping.

When nothing makes sense anymore, and the quest for any evidence of realism disappears into the jaws of hyper-reality — there’s a symbiotic trance that overtakes the landscape — that instinctually develops the fluidity for effortlessly managing the consequences of mismanagement.

This is demonstratively accurate when you survey the ruins of the media, and how the obsession with the “Greatest Show On Earth,” dictates the news cycle, with supreme domination, as the pending items that deserve exposure — perish from blinded abandonment with the curse of road kill.

That’s how Donald Trump likes it, and the past year and a half contains the capsule of events that precisely follow the blueprint of operation, as the nation beckons to the erratic temps that keep us righteously fascinated.

But as we’ve adapted to the formation of a diseased maniac who resurrects flailing TV shows, and goes on a world tour that ends with America’s allegiance to callous dictators — there’s a deeper betrayal that arrests our efforts to “Keep Up” with an era that historians will blame us for with spreadsheets of errors for ammunition.

The ascension of the man who would rather be locked in an extended embrace with Kim Jong Un than any of the world leaders who have discreetly withdrawn the bond of allyship — is the punishment for the celebrity culture, and the groping for endorsements that are more valued from strange hearts than the ones that know us best.

The bullish character of a loud-mouthed renegade, who spent his recent appearance on CBS’s 60 Minutes, exhibiting the offensive bravado that has become the damning trademark that makes the seriousness of his powered presence palatable for ignorant bigots — and White women who dangerously love White men — will most likely get him employed for a second term.

The outlandish language and casual deposition of bombs that erupt as the president of the United States defiantly defends his acute lack of knowledge as it pertains to climate change — and the urgency to not wait until the earth scorches itself with humans as flames — or the passionate buddy system with Putin — isn’t acceptable or even forgivable.

Neither are the unsightly rallies that hoist the badges of White supremacy with the indulgence of a privileged brute, who enjoys mocking the fragility of women that step out of line when they venture into territory that is marked for their betrayal.

The sea of White followers and strategically strewn people of color are hooked on the language of foulness and the practiced mannerisms that echo the wildness of being — and how much more fun it is to be furiously deplorable, when the terminal status of an ailing nation demands the destructive themes of its last days.

The stakes are getting higher, as the latest tragedy involving missing and presumably dead journalist Jamal Khashoggi, reveals the layered corruption of a poisonous administration, that’s driven by the mood swings of a leader who is finally “comfortable” enough in the role he’s distorted.

President Trump would rather defend the murderous tendencies of the Saudis by hyping up the citizenship of the victim as a way to avoid implementing the required protocol.

The Trumps and The Kushners are transparently guilty bedfellows, who’ve accumulated wealth through nefarious channels, that are never too narrow or too criminal to contemplate and execute. The ongoing relationship with the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia is the prized arrangement that’s worth the life of a slain hero — whose murder will be relegated to the mystery of how “rogue killers” performed the unfathomable for reasons that don’t exist.

As we continue to “Keep Up With The Trumps” and merge the desperation of how comedic interludes starring the best of the business in caricature poses only exaggerate the normalcy of an unreal existence — with the glaring realization that the stars of this horror flick are only getting more durable in their purpose — the future is dimming in the haze of sorrowful surrender.

Reality shows are harmless, due to the staged components that enhance the factors that make regular viewing a guiltless pleasure.

This particular hit is enjoying a successful run based on the potency of ingredients that are concocted by a White man with enough authority to warrant ample attention from well-positioned foes — who are shamelessly richer from the double life that involves eating your cake and having it too — under the holed shroud of disingenuousness.

The reality show that’s almost to real to endure on an empty stomach, is a vomit-inducing national crisis and global emergency that’s readily expanding the cast of characters, as the illustrious columns of history and beautified infamy — buckle under the strain of paralleled filters that glaze the eyes with shattered goggles.

We are in 3-D mode, and the Commander-in-Chief is assembling the stuntmen who will cushion the blows that won’t dent his undeterred ambition to a fatal legacy.

White men in America will never be conquered, even by their own, and that tradition will dominate lives and create robots that are rooted in that weaponry.

And when you think about it, that was Trump’s plan along.

Written by

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say!

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