Donald’s Excellent and Really Big Parade

It was such a grand idea, but with misplaced focus.  Luckily, the reality of cost intervened and put the extravaganza on hold.  Now it can be revamped to proper direction and what might have been a $90 million parade will cost taxpayers practically nothing.

It was to have been a military parade, something to showcase American strength.  Oh please, as if that be really necessary!  We’re at war right now; our military is already on display.  You can see it every day all around the world.  Who needs pomp when there’s already circumstance?  It’s overkill.  Did FDR need a parade in the middle of WWII?  So why then push it?  What would it really be for?  It wouldn’t be about honoring our military veterans; it wouldn’t really about the military at all. It’s about something else entirely and you can hear it in his talk.  Our president has an issue with size; it’s all about the size.  His speech is laced with it: “so big”, “huge”, “immense”, “the largest”, “like the world has never seen”.  You can probably guess the basis for it; it’s presidential fixation on that little feller down under (no, not the kangaroo).  How else to explain the silly need for a parade in the midst of what seems to be perpetual war?  It’s a peter party: some kind of misplaced gratification in hauling out the big guns.  Sure, maybe it would kind of feel good to pull the old missile out of the silo (in a nice safe setting); but come on now, we’re at war already!  Can we just put the guns back in the holsters and save them for the real thing?  Besides all that, it’s just a big extravagant waste of taxpayer money.

So let’s do right by our president and have a really big parade, but one that’s relevant.  It will showcase Trump’s strength and feature plenty of size.  It will be a grand parade, really huge, with immense crowds on both sides of Pennsylvania Avenue.  It will be big and long; far longer than anything seen back when Obama was in town.  The parade will be held on a sunny day (even if it’s raining), and one that’s cool enough to avoid thoughts of global warming.  It will properly honor our president as it showcases some of the little people that have striven so hard to help him make America great again.  As to that $90 million estimate for the first one? Just forget it. This one will be practically free; corporate sponsors will foot the bill, and who knows; maybe the Russians will even chip in.

It’s begun.  Leading the parade is someone that looks a lot like Hillary, dressed in demure light blue sackcloth. She has to be first; Hillary’s always on his mind, even now, two years after. Besides, everybody hates her these days: the left for losing, the right for winning, and those in between because everybody else does.  She’s bent over, with three lap-tops draped around her neck, struggling to maintain balance.  Behind her, in black pajamas, is Sebastian Gorka with a hickory cane, avidly administering lashes.  If it seems a little Sharia like: lighten up; it’s a celebration!  There’s cheering (Lock Her Up!), and thunderous applause coming from both sides of the avenue.  Off to one side and keeping pace, husband Bill appears to be shaking hands and mingling with the crowd.  Up in his box, the president stands with arms crossed, his head bobbing; grinning from ear to ear.

Coming next, in starched white shirts, crisp khakis, and appropriate ties, march the urban professional flank of the quite white, Alt-Right movement. Stephen Miller high steps alongside (not quite in, not quite out).  They’re closely followed by the everyday blue collar, street fighting contingency.  Together, they march in practiced step, chanting “Blood and soil, blood and soil; Jews will not replace us!” (Stephen chants too, but with difficulty). All give the proper salute as they pass the presidential overlook. With a wry little smile, the president nod’s slightly in response.  It’s a really big group: hundreds, if not thousands; way more than twenty four.

The Evangelicals (in Sunday apparel) are next, each carrying a Bible and/or Pro Life banners. They too, number in the thousands and have a chant of their own: “He works in mysterious ways, yes! He works in mysterious ways!”  It’s very loud and would almost drown out the “Blood and Soil” chant, if the two were not synchronized. It’s a friendly, coordinated kind of competition and continues all the way down the avenue: “Blood and soil, blood and soil; Jews will not replace us!”; “He works in mysterious ways, yes! He works in mysterious ways!”  The president can’t stop smiling.

A fairly large group of Catholics follow – not so many as the Evangelicals, but they’re better dressed. Pope Francis has arranged for previous commitments and is not among them.  Sadly, there’s hardly any Church hierarchy present at all (It seems they’re all busy addressing another “mysterious ways” epidemic that broke out somewhere in Pennsylvania). The Holy See though, was kind enough to lend the “Popemobile” to Mike Pence for the occasion.  He strategically rides between the two Christian groups, beatifically beaming upon the crowd (as only he can do).  He offers the papal hand gesture blessing, but does so carefully, so as not to confuse it with the Alt-Right salute.  The president continues to beam, while turning to ask an aid “Are they out there?  Are the two Corinthians with them?”

Hey! It’s the NFL! Here comes Roger Goodell toting a large American flag and leading what must be at least a couple dozen uniformed football players.  Each respectfully cradles a helmet in left arm, and with right hand over heart, gaze misty eyed at Roger’s flag. The president reciprocates, groping frantically for his heart.

The NRA is next.  First among them march the youth flank, safely armed with small caliber, single shot rifles.  They’re followed and supervised by thousands of responsible adults who carry more functional and formidable weapons.  Directly behind them are representatives of the arms merchants: Daniel Defense, Mossberg, Winchester, Henry Repeating Arms, Smith & Wesson, Gaston, and I.O. Inc.  They reach into bags and generously throw bullets to the crowd.  There’s a bit of a melee, as both kids and adults clamor to either catch or pick them up.  The president smiles and gives that little “thumb up and forefinger out” gesture that kids use when playing cowboys or mass-murderers.

Overhead float some dirigibles.  They’re huge; all three are really long, way bigger than the Hindenburg, and yes, rather phallic like.  Each has flashing words on both sides.  The first, in large capital letters says “TRUMP: MAKE AMERICA GREATAGAIN”. The second blimp is similar, but reads “TRUMP: MAKE AMERICA HUGEAGAIN”. Then we see the last one and get it; it’s all a brilliant ad campaign to help defray costs!  The third says “PFIZER: MAKE AMERICA HARD AGAIN”, and from the gondola underneath, Flesh Gordon tosses Viagra samples to the crowd below.  It’s cheers and near pandemonium on the street.  The president is ecstatic; aides return from the crowded avenue and hand him small packages.

You can’t have a great parade without it: time for some machinery.  The president likes trucks; big trucks! The president likes mining; big mining!  So bring on those huge dump trucks; maybe a half dozen made in America, Cat 797’s.  They rev the engines and blast air-horns as they slowly rumble by.  The president is as awed as a four year old seeing his first hook & ladder fire truck.  He gives the familiar “pull air-horn” gesture that all little boys learned at that age.

Back to the people: the ICE Capades.  They’re marching about four abreast down the avenue’s center, all dressed in dark blue with gleaming badges.  It’s a wedge of sorts; on one side are scores of confused looking children, hobbling along, and on the other, some crying mothers and a few fathers, twirling and looking about, as if searching for something (don’t worry, it’s not real; it’s just actors).  They purposely overdo it in a vaudeville kind of way; it’s just for Yuk’s, and the crowd adores it.  They says things like “Oh, they’re so cute!”, and “They look so real!”  It’s kind of faint now, but from far ahead you can still hear the fading chant “He works in mysterious ways, yes! He works in mysterious ways!”  The president maintains a regally stern, but necessary countenance.

At least a couple hundred aging HOG riders slowly roar by; black leather with a touch of grey (“kind of suits them anyway“). It costs absolutely nothing!  (They’ll ride practically anywhere to slap on some leather and be in a parade.)  Behind, walk dozens of Harley Davidson workers with signs that say “HARLEY WORKERS FOR TRUMP”.  A couple marchers seem to have had spelling issues and were carted off to a side street; their signs erroneously read “HARDLY WORKING FOR TRUMP”.

Is that Steve Bannon and his new “Citizens of the American Republic”?  Wow, there must be hundreds!  They’re all decked out in those rugged brown field jackets (they do help hide the leisure life, don’t they?) and he’s got them all choreographed ala Meghan Trainor, to her catchy tune and they’re even singing along with it: “I’m all about that base, ’bout that base, no trouble” or something like it.  Amazing!  I had no idea he could wiggle like that!  “Hey, be careful Steve: you got the twerkin workin, but those old hips and that front porch?  Come on, you have to think about how you’ll feel tomorrow!”  The crowds love it anyway, and even Trump can’t stop nodding his head and twerkin a little himself.

High up, above the dirigibles, a couple of vintage, WWI era biplanes circle the parade with streaming banner ads.  One says: “TRUMP INTERNATIONAL: BOOK NOW: JUST $379”.  The other simply reads: TRUMP PLAZA $$$.

Some more machinery: Dozens of tractors pulling fracking rigs.  The earth itself seems to shake as cleverly placed jets of natural gas are ignited and shoot high into the air.  (Careful, now; remember the Hindenburg!)  The crowd enthusiastically shouts “Opa!” over and over as they pass by, and the president suddenly wonders if it’s about time for dinner.

Actually it is about dinner time, but there’s one more group marching up the avenue.  It’s Congress!  All the Republican members of the House and Senate are marching in step.  Mitch and Paul have really had them practicing! (and here we thought it was all just time out).  Incredibly, it appears they’re all facing one way but marching in the other – and doing it with eyes closed!  It’s surreal (reminiscent of a Lorie Andersen lyric): in what appears to be a state of hypnosis, they resolutely march backwards; backwards into the future.  The president looks confused.  Are they coming or going?  Is it the beginning, or the end?  Where are my Corinthians?

Well, it is about the end, it’s over.  Oh wait, hold on.  There’re two more diminutive figures approaching.  What?  Is that a rabbit?  It is!  It looks like the Easter Bunny!  Why it must be Sean Spicer, and right there, skipping by his side is Sarah Huckabee Sanders with a pretty Easter basket.  It’s a really odd sight and doesn’t seem to fit in with the parade, but there they are; hopping and skipping along, trying their best to catch up.  It doesn’t seem to make much sense at all, but hey, that’s Sarah next to the rabbit.  I bet she can explain it. Go down and ask her; she can explain anything.

So that was Donald’s really excellent parade, way more awesome than anything Obama ever did, and it didn’t cost a damn thing. Our president went home feeling happy and validated and slept through the whole night, with nary a tweet.


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