‘Tis the Krampusnacht time again, when Krampus, the hornèd, horny Xmas devil of rich medieval Alpine folklore and cheap Hollywood horror movies, roams the earth, wreaking hornèd, horny havoc upon the “naughty.”
Krampus is the dark side of jolly old Saint Nick. He also looks a lot like Pan, the ancient Greek, half-human/half-goat “God of the Wild” who lends his horns, hooves, long tongue and tail to the Christian “Satan” and his name to the Latin classification for bonobos, Pan paniscus.
But Krampus is a bad Pan, to say the least. While sweet Santa Claus brings joy and gifts to “nice” boys and girls, Krampus kidnaps, frightens, whips and spanks “naughty” children of all ages during the punishing yuletide lead-up to the big Xmas gift-gasm.
Dark Santa, bad Pan, Big Foot and Freddy Krueger all converge into an amusingly grotesque figure that the faithful called “The Krampus.” Quite popular in the late 19th and early 20 century, adults often sent each other’s children postcards featuring monstrous, child-beating Krampuses, accompanied by cheerful warnings that they’d better behave… or else the Krampus would get them.
Following World War II, the Krampus character went through a makeover, developing more of an interest in sexy ladies, rather than kids. That’s the Kinky Krampus I prefer. Not that it’s up to me. Over the years, Krampuses of all kinds have come and gone in reality and fantasy.
To this day, young people of Alpine villages from Bavaria to Slovakia dress in Krampus “cosplay” and bang on drums to mock-terrorize the populace. Somewhat ironically, but in keeping with Krampusnacht tradition, it’s considered good luck and great fun to be terrorized by a Krampus.
Perhaps not surprisingly, the old Popes and the Nazis both expressly forbade Krampus depictions under penalty of Krampus-like punishments and, of course, much worse.
Apparently, they didn’t appreciate the Krampus mocking their serious cruelty.
Krampus as Trumpus
The current incarnation of the Krampus haunting and tormenting the populace, the one who has kidnapped our psyches with his grabby little hands and poisonous serpentine tongue, is, of course, that demonic Swamp-Thing-in-Chief, the Orange Tyrannosaurus Rich, the anti-Santa, aka, The Trumpus.
Through his bloated body and bombastic mind, the medieval Krampus folklore has sprung back to life in the modern Trumpus. While Krampus has long represented the dark foil to Santa that scares and punishes the naughty during the Xmas season, the Trumpus is a real-life holiday horror (and popular meme) in more ways than there are verses in The Twelve Days of Christmas.
Most disturbingly, whereas the Krampus is a fairy tale, the Trumpus really does kidnap, cage and punish children!
As Salon’s Andrew O’Hehir puts it, the Trumpus is “a ghoulish and unpredictable trickster. His gifts are never quite as they appear… Although he is an insignificant demon (in his home universe) he has the power to convince all of us, those who worship him and those who would cast him out, of his immense importance.”
Indeed. Like the ancient supernatural Krampus, mere mortals can’t outrun the Trumpus, at least not on the Internet where his ghoulish presence is everywhere, sucking up every molecule of air in the room, torturing us all… though some of us actually enjoy it (that’s one type of Post-Trump Sex Disorder).
While other Krampus incarnations around the world and over time have been worse, the Trumpus is the one who tortures us now, so his powers seem infinite, but they are not at all.
The Xmas “present” of the Trumpus is his presence, a Pandora’s Box for our times, a gaudy mirrored disco ball with a thousand reflections that show us how greedy, tacky, selfish, sexist, racist, ignorant, narcissistic and nasty we all can be.
Unlike Venus springing forth fully formed from the sea, the Trumpus has been spawned and nurtured by both Repugnicans and Democraps. The Repugs are decidedly the worst of the two proverbial evils, especially under the tiny thumb of the cancerous Trumpus, but we should not lose sight of the two American parties being, as Noam Chomsky put it, just two factions of one “business party,” which Gore Vidal similarly dubbed the “property party”… both of which showed their true, very bi-partisan colors by voting, with greed and perhaps a touch of sadism as their guide, to expand the range of the Trumpus’ terror with a Space Force (yes indeed, there’s no money for Bernie’s Medicare for All, but plenty of cash for a Space Force)!
So now it’s up to those of us who don’t have our heads fully up the Trumpus’ foul butthole to do what we can to rid the body politic of the devil, the disease and the devastation of the terrible Trumpus.
Unfortunately, there aren’t many options for doing that.
Therefore, we’re going with the least violent: In the immortal words of Congresswoman Rashida Tlaib: Let’s Impeach the MF!
I really wish that Nancy Pelosi had had the cajones to impeach that other, arguably worse MF, George W. Pussy-Bush, along with his abidingly evil consigliere Dick-tator Cheney, for war crimes based on a pile of lies (some of which are *just* coming out) that murdered a million people and put us on the dreadful course of a Perma War that is good for nothing and no one except the top players in fossil fuels and the Military Industrial-Complex.
Well, at least, folksy Pelosi is finding it in her “heart full of love” to impeach this MF, and to that I say Amen. And AWOMEN. Go Bonobos for Nancy, swatting away “hate” like a boss with her manicured finger wag, white suit and black pearls. Impeach the MF!
Of course, the Senate is so far up the Trumpus arse, it’s unlikely they’ll convict the MF.
Speaking of which—trigger warning!—some of you might want to skip this paragraph because the Trumpus Rumpus seems to be as packed with rotting filth as old Krampus’ ghastly green 1000-year-old intestines. Yes, Brothers and Sisters, our precious Presidunce’s poops are so nasty, they take 10-15 flushes to go down and, “the chosen one” that he is, he felt the urge (ahem) to call a press conference about this.
From “locker room talk” to toilet training, it’s a slippery slope.
I’m a sex therapist, so it doesn’t bother me to hear about the Commander’s coprophilia fetish (well, not much). What’s disturbing, however, is that he’s presenting his feces fixation as evidence that more environment-friendly technology is dirty and useless, so we all might as well just eat hamberders, guzzle gas, burn coal, drop out of the Paris Accords, drop bombs and pollute our air and water in a massive deregulation orgy—which is a lot worse for climate change than ordinary orgies.
How does he get away with this? As stated, there are a lot of people—from U.S. Senators to ammosexual armies of “deplorables”—in addition to overcooked junk food, currently up the Trumpus ass. So, it’s no wonder he flushes his toilet more frequently than anyone in the world.
Unless he’s trying to shove his Depends down there.
Obviously, those people now kissing and virtually living in the Trumpus’ stinky ass, are likely to depend upon and defend their man, aka their asshole, no matter what either one say or do.
After all, even though that asshole stinks—I mean, really stinks—at least it’s warmer than being ejected into the frigid, unaffiliated waters of the toilet—not to mention subject to those punishing 10-15 flushes. Talk about water torture!
So it’s “crystal clear” that no matter what kind of shit comes down on them, those Trumpsters will stick with—or in—their asshole.
Impeachment may even strengthen their stubborn resolve and, horror of Trumpusian horrors, sweep the flushing fiend into a potentially catastrophic second term, and then there are his adorable “jokes” about never leaving office.
Nevertheless, with a Krampus like the Trumpus, impeachment is the right thing to do.
Even if we just narrow our focus to the Dems’ two measly little articles of Impeachment (and even though this puts me in agreement with the loathsome likes of Thomas Friedman), it’s clear that our Trumpus was trying his Trumpiest to get himself a bit of baksheesh, a golden bauble, a little quid pro quo, a personal bribe, an “errand,” a political favor in exchange for the release of U.S. aid, which is as impeachable as it gets. Of course, this is nowhere near the worst crime the terrible Trumpus has committed by far—not even close to caging migrant children, Trump Crime Family nepotism, emoluments, keeping America entangled in our perma wars, signing SESTA/FOSTA, inciting violence from the craziest of his crazed cult of Trumpsters, stoking racism, embodying sexism, denying Climate Change, lying every day, often many times a day, and the list goes on.
But his Personal Gain in Ukraine scam is pitch-perfect impeachable, not to mention bite-sized like those peach slices soaked in syrup, just made to go down easy.
Fresh, canned or infused into booze, I love me some juicy fruit.
Not that most members of the Cult of the Trumpus will swallow it.
But that doesn’t mean the rest of us shouldn’t serve up tasty Impeachment banquets anyway. Maybe we can entice a few vestigial taste buds to this delectable, potentially healing, sweet-to-eat, high fiber antidote to the draining and debilitating Trumpus virus afflicting the body politic.
Peaches are much easier on the toilet than all those hammy hamberders. Just two flushes max!