John R. Hall
Little Ricky / John R. Hall

One down and 207 to go. Yep, that’s right. There are 208 weeks in a four-year term for the president of the United States of America. I’d bet everything and go all-in that you’re really depressed now (maybe even suicidal). A Nazi-esque Enabling Act aside (possible), or a bunker-esque capitulation aside (praying for), or an impeachment aside (probable), President Trump’s reign has 207 weeks to go. (Stop! Suicide is not an option!)

We’re stuck with him. Unless the camera pans to Rod Serling, standing snickering in the corner of the screen, informing us it was all just a dream . . . or a contemporary episode of The Twilight Zone. Please, Rod, with your deep voice and scathing observations on the human condition, deliver unto us the epilogue. Give us your remarks on society, and let us go. Please, Rod, say: “The tools of conquest do not necessarily come with bombs and explosions and fallout. There are weapons that are simply thoughts, attitudes, prejudices—to be found only in the minds of men. For the record, prejudices can kill—and suspicion can destroy—and a thoughtless frightened search for a scapegoat has a fallout all its own—for the children—and the children yet unborn. And the pity of it is that these things cannot be confined to the Twilight Zone.” Let us go, Rod. For the love of God, Rod, let us go!

Last week, life worldwide truly took on a Twilight Zone–esque quality. From President Trump’s tantrum at CIA headquarters, to the White House postulating alternative crowd size facts when confronted with pictures reflecting actual Inauguration Day attendance, to diplomacy at the highest levels being tweeted between presidents, to journalists being told to keep their mouths shut, to an eighteen-minute joint news conference with the articulate prime minister of England, it’s been one hell of a wild bullshit ride. And I for one want off, for I am dizzy. I am nauseated; I’m going to vomit. I am in pain.

All the politics aside, all the racism aside, all the scapegoating aside, all the muting of government agencies aside, all the isolationist actions aside, all the presidential decrees and executive orders aside, all the loss of the qualities that since our founding as a nation have separated us from the rest of the world aside, there is one thing that has stuck in my craw. It happened on Inauguration Day, and it is a tell.

In poker a tell is a change in a player’s behavior or demeanor that gives clues to assess an opponent’s hand. A magician looks for tells in selecting the right member from the audience to assist. A psychologist and a journalist both look for tells to assess truth. I have a background in poker, magic, journalism, and psychology. I have either played, performed, studied, or practiced all four. I can spot a tell a mile away. On Inauguration Day, President Trump’s tell was on full display for the whole world to see. His tell exposed him once and for all. Exposed that he is, at his core, a male chauvinist pig—a misogynistic bastard through and through. Look at this article’s picture again. On the most consequential day of his and Melania’s life, he left her behind in the president-elect’s vehicle like some discarded condom. He left her to trail behind him like someone he is ashamed to be seen with. The Donald is a shameful man. He does not possess a single redeeming quality. He is a scoundrel, a villain, a rogue, a rascal, a weasel, a snake, a miscreant, a good-for-nothing, a reprobate—a bastard in the truest sense of the word; the world will be better off when it is rid of him. For the record, I am not a fan . . .

Forget for a moment that Melania is your legal wife, Donald, or the mother of your child, or your trophy wife—she is now the First Lady of the United States of America, and We the People demand that you treat her with respect, you fucking tyrant! Have you no shame? “At long last, have you left no sense of decency?”

Melania, our hearts go out to you. You are our First Lady. You are no longer held captive in Trump Tower. You have the world as a stage. Please, Madam First Lady, find your voice and speak. “Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you.” A nation in pain awaits. We need your grace. Forget that the self-serving GOP parasites threw you to the wolves with that speech at the convention. We know that you did not plagiarize that. It was the narcissistic hyenas that did that—not you. America needs you right now.

Remain mute no more, Melania! Assemble your staff and move forward. Nurture our nation as only a mother can. We need to be rocked gently. We need to suckle. We need to be held in Mommy’s embrace and told that the bogeyman won’t hurt us anymore . . .

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Copyright © 2017 – Hunting For Thompson – All Rights Reserved

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John R. Hall is the author of Red, White, and the Blues: A Long and Hard Ride over Treacherous Terrain. He is a James Copley Scholarship for Journalism recipient. John studied journalism, psychology, communications & drama at City College, San Diego, California. John has largely traveled through life as a single and childless rolling stone, collecting little moss. He has been employed in numerous industries: first as a KFC dishwasher, then a Red Lion busboy, followed by soda jerking for Dairy Queen. All of that occurred before Uncle Sam whispered in his ear and he donned the olive drab green as a soldier in the U.S. Army. After that non Yankee Doodle Dandy duty was over, he attempted a career in entertainment, performing comedy and magic. When those opportunities disappeared, John reappeared in the transportation industry as a taxi and truck driver. He's been a barkeep, a hotel manager, a street performer, a professional student, a business manager, a dispatcher, an oil field professional, and an IT/IS professional; He's even been a procurer of substances. John developed and maintains HuntingForThompson.com, RedWhiteandtheBlues.com, and JohnRHall.com. All of this basically makes him an omnipotent . . . (in his own mind, which, as he says: "Is all that counts").