Midnight Meme Of The Day!

The Deep State Has A Name. Its Name Is Spartacus
by Noah

If this was an alternate Kellyanne Conway kind of universe, one could almost feel some sympathy for President Basket Case. Almost? Well, not really. All of the troubles that the naked orange emperor is facing are of his own making; his hair, his horrid mutant children, his silicon mail order wife, even his orange skin and the weird dead white flesh around his eyes. Most immediate though is his current predicament. Wear it all well Donnie, from that silly extra long red tie, to your once over-sized suit that now appears to shrink every day, right down to your clown shoes. Wear it all well. Maybe that nice long tie can be put to a proper purpose.

Now, it's gotten so bad that even a member of Trumpanzee's inner sanctum is sending out warning messages from the gated asylum; and doing it though the hated New York Times, no less. Comrade Trump, you brought it on yourself. The Op-Ed in the Times is quite a measure of how inept and unfit you are to serve anyone but the adversaries of the United States. When even your own people, your so-called best people, are trying to inhibit the even a small portion of the mayhem your inflict upon America and the world, it should be a wake up call that, once again, you are a complete failure, but, of course you see your mayhem as a success, and, why wouldn't you? All you have to do is pick up your phone and call your handler in Moscow and he will tell you you are.

But now, that Op-Ed has got you even more frantic and unglued than ever before. You've flown into a state of "volcanic rage." Your blood pressure, if you have blood, must be through the roof. Your heart, if you have a heart, must be almost beating out of your chest, protected only by the thick walls of flab. Please, Donnie, order up some big buckets of KFC and chow them down in your angst. Have you ever tried dipping each piece of KFC into multiple jars of mayonnaise? Try it! You'll love it! Better yet, since you're the president, I'm sure you can command the KFC factories to send you jars of rendered fat to wash that chicken down with. Even better, call the CEO of one of the burger chains and get some gallons of nice red meat fat and fry oil delivered to your door. Drink it all! Chug it! Don't bother chewing the chicken. Choke on it! Just Do It, as NIKE would say!

So, what to do about the writer of the Op-Ed? As I write this, Donnie, you have reportedly narrowed your list of suspects down to 12. 20 or more have denied it was them, but you desperately want to know who dun it. Here's a thought or two for your paranoid mind to dwell on Donnie: Maybe it was all of them, maybe your own kids. Here's another thought maybe that Russian Foreign Minister you invited into the oval office left an undetectable cutting edge high tech bug and has been listening in to everything all this time. Maybe he wrote the Op-Ed and the Times is covering for him by saying it's one of your staff. Well, come on, Donnie, isn't that Russian technically one of your staff? I'm sure you see it that way, or, do you see it as you being one of his staff?

Donnie, have you thought about beating your staff for hours at a time? Or, water-boarding your staff? I can see you doing that. Maybe you'll even order up the construction of a Trump Tower Of London replica on the White House grounds and put them all on the rack. How's that sound? You could have Sean Hannity as Lord Executioner, complete with a hood. He likes hoods. But, wait, he's kinda on your staff, too. Maybe it's him. And are FOX & Fiends really your friends. What are you going to do when your mind gets so gone that you start thinking the entire country is part of the Deep State that is out to get you? Will you send out one of your remaining minions, maybe Tucker Carlson of Alex Jones, to quote the guy in the "Spartacus" movie? I can hear it now...

I bring a message from you master, Donald Jackass Trump, Commander-in-Chief of America. By command of his excellency, your lives are to be spared. Slaves you were and slaves you remain. But the terrible penalty of crucifixion has been set aside on the single condition that you identify the body or the living person of the slave who wrote the OP-ED in the failing New York Times.