Who’s In Charge Here?

Image result for trump putin meeting images

  Сначала я хотел бы, чтобы ты ползал на своем животе, как рептилия.

For a number of years, the Texas State Fair came to our little city once a year. And, try as I might, there are some aural recollections from it that I can’t shake. All day long, regardless of where you were on the fairgrounds, you heard a recording—grating, garish, merciless. Eventually, and, I hope I remember correctly, only the first time we went to the fair, we broke down and went to do what this recording TOLD us to do. Then, and, alas, only then, did you recognize the recording as a clever design to subvert the natural defenses of previously rational humans. And then, really really then, you had almost exactly the sort of sickened feeling that cotton candy, twirling tea-cups, popcorn, one roller coaster and three coca-colas gave you.

I thought of that disgusting recording for the first time in years today when I heard about the expectations for the Helsinki meeting (call it what you will) between two of the most powerful individuals on the planet. It’s no surprise that expectations have been lowered for any substantive benefit to the people of our country, their country, or any country in the world, from this “conversation.”  Something about that word LOW prompted me to take liberties with the gender of the original recording promoting that ghastly side-show, and hear it like this:

HEEEE WALKS…

HEEEE TALKS…

HE CRAWLS ON HIS BELLY LIKE A REPTILE

AND HE’S ALIVE

ALIVE

ALIVE

ALIVE

(Then the accursed loop repeats.)

HEEEE WALKS…

I think if Putin told the Unpresidented One to crawl on his belly like a reptile, he would do it. (He might even salute first.) Because right now? Putin is in charge here.

There is, though, an outcome from the base-camp-no-longer-a-summit exercise that would cause me to change my mind about all this: the 12 indicted Russians pile onto Air Force One and come with, back to the U.S. to face trial.

It might begin to cure the sick feeling that comes from this recognition: the Unpresidented One is yet another effectively marketed carnival attraction, one from which our country might never recover.