Communique 10-20-2020 "And I'm Tired of Pretending That It Isn't"
By Philip Drucker
“And I’m Tired of Pretending That It Isn’t”
This might be an odd way to start an essay, but do you ever wonder what a serial killer sees when it’s lunchtime, he or she reaches for a can of alphabet soup and upon reading the directions find a ‘hidden message” instructing them to do whatever the little letter shaped noodles tell them to do, usually in justification for one or more of their insane, violent and malicious acts of deadly consequence with a side of depravity for the day?
While finding a command from above in one’s soup would be a bit unusual, there are plenty of examples and stories of deranged person’s hearing voices in their heads, often mistaken for the words of no less than the almighty above, or in some instances, the devil below. Son of Sam had his dog. Woof! Woof! Kill your neighbor and get me a milk bone while you’re at it, worm boy!
My point being, isn’t it about time we seriously asked ourselves if Trump is hearing voices from “beyond”? He certainly hears his own voice, but that is not what I am talking about. To be clear and without judgment, it is well established by the scientific community that schizophrenics will hear voices in their head and in many cases that end up driving their captive audience of one insane.
When thinking about Trump and after swallowing an extra strength aspirin or two to get rid of the headache, I am drawn to the ancient but apparently still terribly relevant and insightful classic Grecian phrase, Quos Deus vult perdere, prius dementat or, “Those whom God wishes to destroy, he first deprives of reason.” FTR I’m also partial to the scene in Joker in which the main character, Arthur/Joker admits to no less than Trumpticus critic Robert De Niro playing a talk show host he finds killing three people on a subway train funny and then chillingly stating “I’m tired of pretending it’s not.”
For someone who is said to have no sense of humor, Trumpus sure does seem to find quite a bit of his antics at the very least distracting, if not downright amusing. I’ll bet in his most guarded moments he laughs out loud every time he sees Rudy Giuliani on Fox.
It would explain quite a bit of the ever-deepening madness engulfing Trumpius and his now merry as in outwardly nutso band of insufferable Cult45 followers who still hinge or unhinge on his every utterance, and I posit, the crazier the better.
So, let’s assume since Trump doesn’t have a dog, he’s not like Son of Sam. And although the fake ever changing unhealthiest looking of all times burnt orange or maybe more like a tangelo, tan with the goggle outline around the eyes and equally outrageous hair is close, Trumpticus hasn’t (yet) gone into a full on, get up in the morning, and put on your clown face so nobody can see you cry paradigm, well, you get the picture, he’s nowhere near as funny as the Joker and that is quite frankly not very funny much less reassuring at all. So, if we are playing name that homicidal psychopath, who is Trumpica like? My choice? Elizabeth Tracy Mae “Bethe” Wettlaufer.
On top of debunking the oft-stated but incorrect theory there are no female bi-sexual Canadian serial killers, dubbed by the press as the “Angel of Death” Bethe was a well-respected religious nurse who over a period of eight years killed eight and attempted to kill six more (14 total) of her elderly and helpless patients because, you guessed it, a celestial voice in her head, told her to. FTR Lizzy injected her victims with overdoses of insulin producing a slow and painful death.
After voluntarily turning herself into the authorities, in 2016 the killer nurse was tried and sentenced to life in prison for her crimes where she remains today. Either that or she is the Canadian Prime Minister, not sure. Hey! If Lump of Trump can be President, just saying. When she confessed, the act in and of itself meant to remain “close” to God, Liz explained her actions as a message from God.
"It was like a voice said inside me, 'I'll use you, don't worry about it'” And then, according to her testimony, God laughed.
"When I would do it afterwards I would hear a laughter in my head."
You must admit, she does look and sound like your typical MAGA end of the world is near and out of touch monster who thinks it’s a good idea to kidnap and murder the Governor of Michigan.
Playing God never ends well, does it? Using God as a justification for anything from heinous “mercy” crimes to poorly thought out photo ops in a Church with an upside-down Bible are similarly to be avoided if possible. Except some just can’t refuse, can they?
Here, I stop to take a moment to consider I think this essay is somewhat funny, and I’m not going to pretend it’s not. You might give yourself a second or two of inner reflection as well. Me? I’m good with it. You’re not going to take my calls anymore, are you?
As she continued her confession, one described as more religious in nature than related to criminal activity, Lizbeth was also a drug attic, I mean addict (having fun today, I am!). It would appear easy access to prescription medicines is a big plus in her line of work, as an Angel of Death, that is.
As her confession continued, it became pure text book psycho killer. She tried justifying her actions, claiming the male patients “groped” her (moved on her like a bitch?) and were therefore guilty of sin and ripe for retribution. At the times of her murders, she claimed to experience what she called a “red surge” of what sounds like uncontrolled God sponsored and approved anger to justify her life as an avenging angel.
In the end, it could be concluded her actions might be the result of sublimated anger, mostly toward men, but also highly possible, perhaps even more so, Beth enjoyed the killing and was doing it, “for the fun of it.”
Does Trumpisstucus hear voices? I don’t know. Perhaps and as he claims, he just trusts his instincts that are apparently always wrong. Maybe he just doesn’t care. We already know Melania doesn’t and that she hates Christmas to boot so anything is possible. I will end on this note. When Andy Warhol looked at a soup can he saw art. Bethe saw an insulin syringe and turned it into retribution. What if someday, we find out it was Colonel Sanders or Ronald McDonald (Mayor McCheese being a second distinct possibility) who at his darkest moments, told Trump what he needed to do, after lunch. I think that’s funny. Bye now.