PEOPLE’S SONGS OF PROTEST

PEOPLE’S SONGS OF PROTEST

KIss My Butt, Donaldo!

Okay, if you’re wondering why I’m taking sides, I’m not. Believe me, if Hillary had gotten in and pulled the stunts this media-whoring pigheaded creep is pulling, I’d be right on her case, just as heavily, you have my word on that.

Donald Trump is walking all over the Constitution. Hey, I’m not permitted to interfere with local politics here on Earth, and I don’t.

That’s not why I’m writing People’s Songs of Protest, not at all. Donald Trump is just another cog in the wheel that is Washington, and he’s now discovering the painful truth, that unless he invites Russian troops in, he has no real power.

I couldn’t care less if we DO live through a “Red Dawn” scenario. I have bigger fish to fry.

In point of fact, you probably haven’t a clue why I’m really doing it, and couldn’t care less, if you’re in the mainstream with most humankind, but I have a very high and celestial reason to do what I’m doing, and I’ll be only too happy to explain just why:

Donald Trump is not the center of the universe, but right now, he’s making himself pretty much the center of attention, worldwide. People are absolutely terrified, quite rightly, that he might go off the deep end any moment now, and press the nuclear button, or worse.

What could be worse than all-out multi-nation nuclear war?

Okay, I have a list of things that the government has at its disposal that could be a whole lot worse even than 35,000 Megaton Yield Warheads.

The Russians, North Koreans and the Mainland Chinese have even worse than that, which they haven’t used yet, only because it could backfire on them — there’s no other reason.

The Chinese would have blown us out of the water ages ago, and so would the Russians, the Libyans, the North Koreans, the French and most of Africa and Asia if they had the weapons to do it, but they didn’t, only because they’re afraid of the fallout on themselves, and they’re quite right.

Biological Weapons can’t yet be reliably DNA targeted, but as soon as they can be, you can expect an attack on that level — it’s that kind of fucking planet.

Humans are treacherous — that’s what they warn you, when you first arrive on Earth.

They mean, of course, “Earth Humans”, because no other high-technology species in any galaxy anywhere, is as wild and violent and thoroughly predictable, as they are.

So why am I after Donald Trump?

First of all, because he is SUCH a comedy character. Nobody who ever was in the White House — and I knew most of them personally — ever gave in to the chaotic interior of their sick minds to the degree that this man has and does, every single day.

He provides more comedy material in one day than some entire 8-year administrations have done in all eight years in the White House.

Nobody has ever gotten more attention from the press, nobody, not ever.

The reason is simple: he holds nuclear war over the heads of every person on Earth. He’s holding YOU hostage, and you probably don’t know it, don’t realize it except only dimly, that he has you by the short hairs and he won’t let go.

When you have me by the short hairs, you have my complete attention, and that’s what Donald Trump has now, although I paid him NO attention until two weeks into what is laughingly called his “administration”.

I can’t imagine how he could make money in business. He’s so damn bad at it. However, I understand that he’s in and out of tremendous debt all the time, and using my Remote Viewing powers, I can easily pick up a paper trail that leads directly to Russia.

Eventually, he’ll trip up, or leave some loose ends, and he’ll get caught, and even the Republicans won’t protect him once his Russian Connection is revealed. I’m not guessing, I’m speaking from the 37th century history textbooks, and they don’t lie.

After a few hundred years, even the deepest governmental secrets are revealed. There’s nobody left to care anymore.

Actually, Donald Trump is just a name to me — a character out of a cheap, sleazy 21st century novel about cheap, sleazy people, like the Kardashians.

Did you expect that the White House was going to become a Reality Show?

Apparently, there are plans for Oprah to host it on her private network. She hopes to become his Head of State someday. She’s the head of something, all right.

“Trumpism” is a word back home in the 37th century, and I never really understood why it’s said in such a clipped tone, until now.

Okay by me. Again, I could care less. I have no axe to grind on this planetary sphere, nothing to gain, nothing to lose. I’m here to see a bomber, meaning that I’m here to collect my bet, plus I’m stuck doing this Term Paper on the 21st century, and THAT’s why I’m writing Songs of Protest.

It could be about anyone, but Trump just happened along at the same time I was getting ready to write some protest songs, in order to illustrate for my class on Social Dynamics exactly how they’re constructed and how they work in the political arena.

I don’t expect my songs to get out there very far.

It’s not my intention to change the world. I know all to well that I could if I wanted to, but I have a LOT of restraint, although I must say the “No More Water, Next Time The Fire” camp back home where we programmed this historical simulation are probably right.

They want nuclear war for sound and sufficient reasons. I’ll explain.

In a nuclear war, there’s always something left, even if it’s highly vitrified, meaning that stone or rocks or sand have been turned into glass by some incredibly powerful heat, such as a nuclear airburst, the kind that happened over Mohenjo-Daro.

Things stay pretty much organized for the archaeologists who come along later. Right now, it’s humans, but we’ve had reptilian archaeologists, ant-man archaeologists and of course the greys who have their own peculiar agenda far outside human comprehension, but not beyond yours, if you’re a member of Soul Group L3-15(a) — that’s how it’s properly written.

The object of the songs is Donald Trump. The whole damn point of writing biting satire is that you HAVE TO HAVE A COMEDY TARGET, and boy, does Donald Trump fit the bill.

My history records and textbooks from the 37th century record that he was dragged offstage, kicking and screaming obscenities and filth when he finally popped his lid and went over the top crazy. I could be wrong, don’t forget I failed history, which is why I’m here in the first place, to do my Term Paper directly inside the History Lab Sim back home.

Donald Trump is SO insane, SO out of control, SO angry and SO hurt and insulted by humor, such a poor sport and so easily offended, so much so that he calls comedian Rosie O’Donnell a “pig face” — has he looked in a mirror recently?

Trump calls women he doesn’t like either a “pig” or a “dog”, suggesting some form of projection, wouldn’t you say?

Sort of like calling everyone else a liar, a cheat and a thief. After a while of that, doesn’t it make you wonder? His focus is entirely on himself, so his most basic assumption is that everyone around him is exactly like himself.

In order to reinforce that, he surrounds himself with people like himself, a sort of political ghetto that insures ignorance and mistakes galore, some of which could end up as full-blown planetary catastrophes.

Gosh, with that stupid a comedy target, even if I didn’t have a reason to write a song of protest, I would learn how to do it, and I’d do it, even on my busy schedule.

So why no more floods?

You can get on the SuperBeacon horn and ask the Council of Nine or the Federation of Planets why no more floods, but they’ll have no more clue than you.

It’s actually built into the software, the .exe “execute” program that projects this as-if three-dimensional universe onto the central sphere, where we always put the holographic matrix you so amusingly regard as “infinite and eternal”.

I could turn it off and on again and you’d never know it.

That’s why I’m writing those songs of protest. You really need to come out of your shell, come out of hiding, long before you’re stripped of your human form and consciousness, and learn some of the secret teachings of the ages.

Oh, you’re probably still wondering why no more floods, why the Holy Council of Nine have decided to go with the nuclear war. See, a flood wipes out all trace of a civilization, except for the megalithic buildings, the things built of huge million-pound blocks of granite.

Well, shit, nobody builds like that, anymore, and there was nothing I could do to coax builders today to start thinking megalithic, so don’t blame the nuclear conflagration on me.

THIS time, it wasn’t my fault.

I hear ya. Last time, it WAS my fault. Okay, okay, I take full blame for what happened back then, back then, back then…but how was I to know that all the table-salt on the planet had been secretly weaponized?

Don’t ask me the details, I never keep track. The only defense I have is that I didn’t know the salt was loaded.

Anyhow, floods are a mess.

Mess. That, in a word, is why no more floods. Too messy, leave too much mud and debris behind. Nuclear war is clean, and leaves no trace after a few years. Even the background radiation quickly returns to “normal”, whatever that might mean to you.

To the dinosaurs, it meant a lot. There was a lot more radiation everywhere at that time, because the Carbon-14 stuff hadn’t happened for very long, which means the breakdown of the atomic stuff inside the carbon material, like charcoal or fired ceramic, hadn’t gotten very far at that early date.

Fossil records have been found. Most of the better fossil records date back to the time of the 45 RPM singles.

The very best single ever issued was “Mbube”, now known as “Wimoweh”, written and recorded by Solomon Linda with the Evening Birds, for the South African Gallo Record Company in 1939.

It generated the Second Best Fossil Record ever released, “Wimoweh” by the Tokens, the most covered song in modern musical history, with tens of thousands of variations all over the world, but I digress.

Why no floods, you continue to ask?

You may as well ask, “Why no earthquakes?”. I’m all for earthquakes, asteroid impact, eruption of the Yellowstone Volcanic Caldera, which would cause a 99% extinction planetwide.

At least, that’s what it did before.

Then there’s the shift in the Earth’s axis back over 17 degrees to where it was before. That often creates a little havoc in the crystal, china and mirror shops along the boulevard.

Anyhow, it won’t be YOU that’ll be riding the waves in the New Ark. Forget the waves. You’ll need a bomb shelter capable of sustaining life for a minimum of 1,000 years and you won’t be around to see the open sky, not ever again.

Grim prospect?

Not at all. A far grimmer prospect is that you remain unprepared for Eternity until the last minute. That will never do.

Even a good heart and a pure mind is not sufficient to evade the bite of the werewolf when the moon is full.

You need to carry a large, elaborate crucifix. That’s the only thing that will save you from the werewolf’s bite.

However, in the case of a Jewish werewolf, the crucifix won’t help.

Another reason I’m writing the songs about Donald Trump is that you never run out of material.

White Christians against everyone else. Men against Women. Americans versus the World. Muslims against Christians, Christians against Muslims, Rich against Poor.

That’s the most obvious division, rich against poor. Donald Trump and his rich friends, including his rich Russian friends, against the poor.

Fortunately for Donald, the poor are so ignorant, they don’t realize when they’re being swizzled, like buying one of those “Oh, My God!” Tanzanite rings on the satellite sales channel.

PUSH SOME BUTTONS

It’s easy for someone with no integrity and no conscience to manipulate the press, manipulate people and manipulate the lawmakers into doing things they’ll later regret in retrospect.

Trump holds all the cards, and that’s not a cheap Contract Bridge joke, either. He does hold all the cards, has all the money, all the power, all the influence, all the lawyers and law-makers on his side, in his camp, under his domination and control, and sooner or later, YOU are going to feel the ass-end of that stick.

When you do, you have NO WEAPONS with which to defend yourself or fight against the oppression, and you DON’T NEED WEAPONS!!!

You have something much more powerful than any weapon on Earth.

RIDICULE

A Narcissistic Personality Disorder case is totally predictable. Any psychiatrist or psychologist or psych teacher or author would immediately recognize the signs and symptoms of the incurable disorder, “NPD”.

So ridicule would get right under his skin. He couldn’t take it, not a bit of it, not even from the weakest source. He has to get rid of ALL who hold him up for ridicule, one of whom is me.

It satisfies me to be just another face in the crowd.

It’s like what happened to one of Trump’s former employees, who had signed a non-disclosure agreement with him in order to escape his despotic control. She had been released from her employment and waited for a taxi to arrive.

Trump shook his head and snarled at her,

“I bet you can’t wait to spit on my grave.”

The young lady shook his head, and said, “No, Donald, when I got out of your service, I swore I’d never stand in line for anything, ever again.”

There IS a long line, of people waiting for him, and there will be a much longer line in the Afterlife, because he’ll have a LOT to answer to when he gets there, before the Judge.

Every President must face the challenge of sending military and secret agents to their death, but usually, the President CARES. An NPD can WATCH YOU DIE and not give a shit.

That’s material for humor, for comedy, for satire, for parody, and that’s what I wanted, was a subject for my WORKSHOP on COMEDY, so I started writing protest folk songs.

I also intend to show how to use ridicule in theater, dance, puppetry and ventriloquism, as well as painting, sculpture and more. There are a thousand peaceful weapons at your disposal, if you just know how to look for them. Folk singing is a powerful weapon, much more so than any instrument of war.

When you walk through a carnival or a circus, you’ll find a large area called “The Midway”, which gets its name from its obvious position relative to the rest of the fairgrounds.

Okay, so somewhere in that Midway, you’ll see some idiot in a clown suit, sitting on a board suspended above a tank of ice cold water, and you won’t be able to resist.

You’ll buy three balls and try to hit the bulls-eye to see if you can dump him.

If you fail, you can buy three more. Keep up the pressure. He’s trying to ignore it, wait it out. Maybe we will all go away???

See You At The Top!!!

gorby

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