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If I’m Lying, I’m Dying

It’s a fact, and not even an alternative fact: John McCain is dying. Kelly Sadler told the truth, and coming from White House staff, the rarity deserves accolades (not for the dismissive tone, but for the reminder). John McCain really is dying: but then again, so is Kelly Sadler. So are you and more sadly, so am I. We’re all dying. It’s something to remember as we pass through our days on earth. It’s an especially good reminder for those busy people at the White House (or anyone anywhere) serving under our Pinocchio president: You’re going to die anyway. What do you want in your carry-on when the time comes?

It’s not just the lies (almost 5 a day). You nurture fear and hate, and bask in the shallow adulation it engenders. You berate and mock people from behind a protective shield. You turn your back (or worse) to those in need. It’s loathsome of anyone, let alone an American president. Your bag is overweight. Even with the help of two Corinthians you’ll have trouble stowing it. There’s not that much time left to make amends. Remember Mr. President, you too are going to die. Don’t wait to hear it on Fox News.

As usual, you’re off to the side, in your best “Adoration of the Magi” pose. It doesn’t matter what he’s saying, it can be anything: the latest immigrant rant, homage to Pro Life, NRA allegiance, building walls, threatening wars. It’s all the same to you; your beatific reverence is there giving countenance to all that emanates from his mouth. You think it’s your ticket, but there’s another one waiting. You’re going to die too, Mr. Pence. Are you positioned for that? Have you chosen the right bumper sticker for the carry-on? Is it Pro Life? Is it NRA? Maybe you’ll slap them both on and let final customs ponder it. If you’re pulled aside when an attempt is made at meaning, worry not. An opportunity will finally be yours: you’ll know the feeling of getting close; so close you can see it, only to be stopped at a wall.

It’s been about a year since the first cabinet meeting and the round table groveling that took place. It was embarrassing to even witness: “We thank you for the opportunity and the blessing that you’ve given us to serve your agenda,” and so on around the room. God, it was awful! It had all the charm of truck-stop prostitutes vying for selection to a late night rig. As bad as it looked, it could have been worse: on this occasion you were at least spared voyeuristic demand for the golden shower. The table scene was warning of more indignities to come.  Some of you (nearly 25%) have had the good sense to leave (or the good fortune to be fired); others still play. The requisite humiliation alone is enough to give pause; the daily splashing in the fountainhead’s pool of distortion is another. Is it worth it? How much is enough? Listen to her: You’re going to die anyway. What’s in your carry-on?

There’s a bus out front, engine running, and a careless driver with priors. Kelly Sadler might not always be around to give reminders. Fortunately, there’s another option: WeCroak:  It’s a phone app providing “gentle” reminders of pending mortality: messages like “Don’t forget, you’re going to die” will chime in several times a day. It can assist determination for what’s really important (or not). It would probably cost less than a cruise missile to install on every White House and Congressional phone. The benefits could prove priceless.

There’s another available reminder with more selective purpose. Donald Trump is 72.  Mike Pence is 59. Melania Trump is only 48. Don’t pretend the mental arithmetic hasn’t already taken place (probably several times) by at least two of the above. “He’s dying anyway,” so you might as well get an estimate. The Death Clock provides just that, and is probably as reliable as a White House doctor. Just plug in a few vitals and then decide if it’s worth the wait. Meanwhile, don’t forget, you’re dying too.

And sadly, so am I.

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