Trump Sucks Eggs.
I say this and more, with no apologies. After the insults that Trump delivered to our national sports heroes this weekend, all bets are off, and I’m doubling down Presidential Style, on my claim that Trump is totally insane, with no holds barred on that accusation, and I can prove it, and will heretoforth lay down the particulars:
Never mind my association with the Gestalt Movement. Forget my background. Just on the basis of simple observation and logic, I can tell you in a nutshell — pun intended — what’s wrong with Donald J. Trump.
Sure, he’s an NPD, a Narcissistic Personality Disorder, a classic textbook case, but there’s a reason why, and I’m prepared to tell you what it’s all about, deep inside what passes for a mind in the case of Donald J. Trump.
Donald had a deep trauma, which formed the root of his difficulty. He needs — craves as in “addiction” type craving — attention of any kind, all the time, never-endingly, constantly, continually.
He picks fights with absolutely everyone, or have you not noticed this odd trait??? Even those with whom he is supposedly allied, he picks fights.
He taunts, teases, threatens, cajoles and rages at absolutely everyone including countries he’s never even heard of before, like “Nambia” and “North Korea” and “Mexico”.
He smashes alliances, destroys pacts, negates treaties and in every possible way ambushes himself, hamstrings his friends, and builds up his enemies, none of whom had any thought of being enemies until he attacked them on Twister.
I’m an author, proofreader, editor and publisher. You think I can’t figure out that it’s “Twitter”???
Trump Sucks Rotten Eggs.
So okay, what happened then?
At a very early age, probably actually around the first month or two, Donald discovered that the only way he could get attention from his father, which he craved more than anything else in the world, simply because he didn’t typically get any — was to upset his dad.
When he was around five, he was able to make his father so furious that he would rage uncontrollably and scream at the television set, just as Donald does today, in imitation of his distant and unresponsive father.
He nagged. He screamed. He rolled around on the floor. He banged his fists into his pillow and cried, and cried and cried.
That’s why he’s so sensitive about being called “a baby”.
He’s also very ego-sensitive, and regards the “One Knee” protest to be a direct insult to him, personally. He has no idea that anyone suffers from racial injustices in Amerika.
He has no idea, period.
The man is not a man. He is a creature. He needs to be locked up, as he so loudly demanded of Hillary. Note, please, that he projects everything that’s inside himself outside himself.
It’s very easy to see, and hard to digest while watching.
So, yeah, that’s right. By the time that little monster — those are his Dad’s words for him, not the words of the “bitch” who spawned him — found out that the only way he could get his father’s attention was by causing him grief.
Yes, you guessed it. Donald once again projects, having called the football players “Sons of Bitches”, which is a misogynistic phrase uttered only by your average pussy-snatchers.
That means he’s calling their Moms “bitches”, which in my opinion, deserves a punch in the face from the offended parties.
That’s the idea.
Someone wants to punch him in the face, see? That’s his payoff, in a nutshell, to use the phrase once again to describe his psycho-logical condition and, yes, once again, I made an editorial joke by hyphenating the word “psycho-logical”, not a typo.
Okay, Donald’s father and grandfather were “Old Dixie” kinda guys, the ones who regret having to sell their slaves, and Donald certainly inherited much if not all of their prejudices and racial discomforts.
I say “discomforts” because that’s what xenophobia is really all about. You don’t know the people you’re afraid of, so you don’t know what they’re likely to do or how they react, so you start flailing about with arms akimbo, like a paramecium’s survival mechanism gone out of control.
Paramecium Out of Control. That, in a phrase, is Donald Trump’s general state, and his mental condition is far further out than that. He is wild with fear, lip-snarling, grimacing, tooth-baringly fearful.
Why, dying alone — we know this about him from many sources. Well, no problem. If you can torment the North Korean idiot into nuclear war, you can also torment the leadership of Iran and Pakistan, so you can really piss people off.
That’s exactly what Hitler and Mussolini and Genghis Khan and Napoleon did, and it worked for them. They were despised and eventually they were buried in the dust of history, except for their general reputations for cruelty and social mischief.
Donald J. Trump is a sociopath, a pathological liar and a thief. He has stolen money from the Amerikan people, and he has stolen money from his real estate backers, and he has stolen money from me, personally, and I CAN PROVE IT.
I have all the documents.
Not that I care, but I could have wiped his ass across the legal floor long ago. I chose not to act, because I’m not an animal, and I don’t lash out at animals for being animals.
It’s not a complaint I’m posting here, it’s an observation that might help you understand the motivation and impulses behind Donald’s impulsive outbursts.
Not that it will do you a Hell of a lot of good. We’re gonna get blown up and then radiated and then frozen and then starved out of existence, as a direct result of his actions.
So what? Big deal.
The Magic Keyword Mantra “Chocolate” serves as the trigger to re-integrate one’s scattered Essence, to re-center and re-energize, to once again remember who you are, why you are here, what you are doing on Planet Earth, what your mission or quest is here, and where you are in your path.
In short, it’s a message to yourself to get yourself together.
This assumes a lot, such as, you have a “self” to get together. The action relies upon your work done in the areas of self-observation, self-study, self-awareness and transcendence.
The action triggered by the Keyword “Chocolate” depends largely on the work you’ve done on yourself.
This work includes the PLS course, to get a larger footprint than a single lifetime, plus the daily practices recommended for the Bodhisattva Path.
Bodhsattvas-in-training, take note.
In short, if you haven’t a clue how to BE, this information is just so much doggie-doo, so I’ll take a moment to deliver a short exposition on what will turn out, I predict, to be one of the most explosive and important spiritual practices in human history.
Sounds sort of expostulative, doesn’t it? Well, I’m prepared to prove it.
Here’s the rundown on the Great Chocolate Mantra:
You have what laughingly passes for a “stream of consciousness” although, without powerful awareness along with high attention and zero identification, it might not be obvious to you.
Listen, this is the straight bullshit that certain organizations would just as soon you never find out, and I’m gonna deliver it straight, no chaser.
Not at all coincidentally, that happens to be the name of one of my favorite barbershop quartets, but I seem to have drifted slowly and unaccountably away from subject, which is chocolate, so having realized that I have, so to speak, “Fallen Out Of The Tree”, I heartily invoke my self-spirit with the Magic Mantra, “Chocolate”.
Upon utterance, I instantly re-achieve my state of Presence, Will and Attention.
If I’ve done my life-work correctly, I will have assembled that state from many different practices and methodologies.
I Am Here.
“I Am Here” is not a sloppy sort of general awareness that you’re sitting, standing or lying down somewhere or other.
It’s not a weak echo of the reality, it IS the reality, and if you haven’t done your inner work this lifetime, you’ll have no sense of the wholeness of your Being.
“I Am Here” implies a whole SET of conditions, one of which is a total re-balance of the entirety of the spirit and the Being’s interactions with the current state of the SIM.
Also, I would hope, the state would include a profound awareness that this is a SIM, and that you are an “Outsider” a “Visitor” visiting the SIM, not a Resident.
Well, gosh, how can you tell if you’re a SIM Visitor or a Resident?
Residents never ask.
I am a registered Visitor, a friend of Valiant Thor, and a licensed representative of the Council of Nine, for whom I occasionally speak.
“Chocolate” Is The New “God”.
Actually, truth be known, it’s “Goddess”, but hey, I’ve never genderized myself, nor should you. Yeah, that’s the truth. Want to know for sure? Simple experiment:
- Set up a high backless kitchen stool in the center of an otherwise empty room.
- Fix an Intense-Light spot from the ceiling onto the top of the stool
- Drape the stool with a small round brocaded or velvet cloaking cloth.
- Place a 6-7 ounce square chocolate powder tin atop the cloaking cloth.
- Assemble a set of chairs, pillows or ottomans around the rim of the chamber.
Now take your seats.
- Regard the box of Chocolate on the Altar.
- See that Box of Chocolate Powder as the Center of the Universe.
- Hold that thought.
- Consider all that must be and happen in order for that Box of Chocolate to exist.
- Hold that thought as you begin the discussion.
- Discuss how to move the Children of the Goddess — similar boxes — outward.
- Report on successes, help others to find their way.
It’s not JUST about Realization. It’s not JUST about God. It’s not JUST about the pain and misery of the organic world. It’s really about selling chocolate.
Sounds absurd, disconnected and trite, doesn’t it? But when you start into this practice, which surrounds “selling chocolate”, you’ll soon see the value and experience the rewards both spiritual and economic.
Get yourself out of the dumps and do some good at the same time! Bring this substance into the world and help create a Web of Healing & Enlightenment.
Hey, what about Trump?
Okay, sure. I’ll tell you the rest of it. You may find a psycho-logical rundown on Donald J. Trump somewhat vital in your future plans, if you still have any. This implies that you will survive the First Strike, Second Strike, Nuclear Winter and the Great Flood, followed by my own salvo of:
- Small meteorite strikes in an unusual place on Earth.
- Asteroidal mass comes in at a weird flat angle, causes tidal damage more than the impact damage.
- Cometary mass strikes dead-on, on a date which I have revealed elsewhere.
I could be off on the strike date of the cometary mass by as much as a couple of weeks, but like I said so many times before, I failed math.
Sure, I designed the universe. True enough, but I had help.
Help From Above.
So what’s the inside deep-down scoop on Donald Trump’s bizarre mental illness?? That seems to be the subject of today’s blog, although it isn’t at all — it’s really about Chocolate.
Those Initiates “in-the-know” have a good idea what I’m talking about here, in relation to the Secret Method using the mantra “Chocolate!”, and those who are not initiated in this deeply profound spiritual exercise will be quite lost.
Never fear. You can easily find out more about the “Chocolate” Mantra. You have but to ask. Ask whom? Why, anyone around here including me, of course. Always glad to answer a serious question about the Work.
About personal relationships I know nothing. You can’t depend on my answers for anything like that.
What about Donald?
So, okay, Donald became what we gamers call a “Griefer”, someone who delights in making people upset with them, angering them to rage and violence. If you’re a long-time gamer, you’ve seen plenty of this, it’s not that rare — nor is Donald’s illness.
So what happens is that a Griefer learns many ways to create Grief.
One of those ways is to call people names. Another is to attack their religion, their race, their freedoms and their very lives, by threatening to take away their healthcare, their children, their homes.
Another sure-fire way to cause grief is to grab someone’s crotch. They don’t want to insult you or hurt you, but they’ve just been violated. You crossed boundaries that nice people don’t cross.
It’s a form of rape, but Trump is a kind of maniac who doesn’t see the woman’s point of view, just as he fails to grasp the points of view of Jews, Arabs, Muslims — there is a distinction, in case you’re too stupid to grasp it — Mexicans, Iranians, Koreans, Japanese, Chinese — God Almighty, is there anyone Trump actually likes?
The answer is no. There isn’t.
He hates everyone, but he hates himself the most. He does not like what he is, the monster he has become. He is suicidal and hopes to take as many people with him as he can.
With any luck, I’ll get to see the whole show before we have to leave the planet. I’m hoping to get an “A+” for my Term Report by virtue of the fact that I will be bringing with me lots of snappers, mostly selfies, from my trip.
I love the SIM — it’s so much better than television, and it makes doing homework and term papers so much easier, eh???
Anyhow, Trump is demon-strably a First-Class Maniac with Delusions of Grandeur. He derives no benefit other than notoriety from his position as Leader of the Once-Free World.
Hey, who but a maniac could send kids raised in Amerika “back home” to a country they haven’t seen since they were infants? That’s not their home, Amerika is.
What kind of criminal would incite racists to violence?
Donald is not unaware that he has unleashed a monster that will grow and grow, a veritable Pandora’s Box of hate and evil?
I’m unworried about Trump ever reading this and deciding to have me taken away or fired or whatever they do to football, baseball and basketball players when they appear to possibly disrespect the President?
Trump would have had Will Rogers fired or shot at dawn, as he demanded of several accused black men who turned out to be innocent. Like I said, Trump is insane, thoroughly insane — insane enough to double down on dozens of wild conspiracy claims that turned out to be just so much bullshit, chickenshit and horseshit, but that’s Trump’s stock in trade, various kinds of shit.
Trump is treacherous, completely untrustworthy. Gosh, how do you suppose that affects his relationships with others? Well, he can’t take advice, and PREDICTABLY goes against any advice given him by close associates and family, because, believe it or not, Trump has trust issues.
Because he himself is a treacherous bastard who will throw his brother, sister, mother or best friend under the bus just to create a disturbance, just because he’s bored and needs more attention.
You’ll note that I left out his father. He wants his father’s approval, his father’s attention, but with his father safely tucked away six feet under, the closest father he has lives in Moscow.
Keep in mind that far from wanting positive publicity and praise, Donald wants anger, rage, resentment, screaming, yelling, even rough-and-tumble fist-fights, like the kinds of psychotic interludes that Donald grew to depend upon for his father’s limited and unkind attention, such as it was.
Of course, praise is always welcome, but it’s the rage he most savors and cultivates in his mindless zombie followers — the ones who chant their rage over and over again, like the Ramayana Monkey-Chant, which it sounds remarkably like.
Well, they mean to scare you. That’s what bullies like Trump and his bully supporters do — they use violence and the threat of violence to control others.
Unfortunately, there’s always a wacko like me who sees that as a clear opportunity to try out a new invocation, haw, haw!!! I love a good game, and the wilder it gets, the more I like it, so bring it on.
I’m a gamer at heart. It’s basically all we ever do up here.
His own treacherous nature is the root-cause of Donald’s demand for loyalty, combined with a condition of more or less continual treachery, as he throws one “loyal friend” after another under the bus.
Trump lies, cheats, steals and like all psychopathic serial narcissists, he can’t imagine any else being different . In his mind, such as it is, everyone should be a mirror of him, albeit a poor imitation, a zombie performing slave, of THE Donald, Donald J. Trump who in the end turns out to be, as his father predicted, a loser.
Haw, haw, I couldn’t resist making fun of that BUM’S stupid tweets.
I’m not on Twitter, nor am I on Facebook. I’m also not on InstaGram or any other social media that’s out there to suck you into the massive maw of social-ism.
God, there’s no way that joke could pass the smell test of McCarthyism.
There isn’t any sense in making people mad at you, at aggressing and causing fear and rage everywhere you go, with heads of state and entire government agencies and fundamental societal platforms shaking their fists at you, unless you’re Donald J. Trump — new spelling of which is: donald trump, according to the lights of history.
He will soon be forgotten as a person, as a man, but long-remembered as a social disease, with a lot in common with the other social diseases with which we are already familiar, like syphilis and gonorrhea.
I Have No Bully Pulpit.
Nor do I want one. I really don’t care a whit what happens inside the SIM — when Professor Stevens pushes the “RESET” button on the side of the SIM, it all goes back to zero anyway.
Nothing remains of this pass through the game, except the lingering remnants, the vestigial memories of this lifetime.
What does burn in are the LESSONS LEARNED and spiritual skills acquired in this lifetime, even though nothing survives of the game itself except the map and NPC figures, plus of course the zombies and other monsters.
If you happen to be a local, and what’s worse, you’re a Dungeon Monster of one sort or another, ignore everything I’ve said and am about to say.
If you happen to be Donald J. Trump and you’re reading this, and you somehow get past the multi-syllabled phraseology that was intended to defeat your weak intellect, let me take an opportunity to do as my Dear Brother & Friend Stevie Wonder did, and drop to both knees in prayer for relief from your misery, relief for this world, and its billions of suffering citizens, almost all of whom wish you would just go away.
There is no need for poverty. No need for hunger. No need for injustices of any kind. There’s room enough for all, food enough for all, prosperity enough for all, provided human beings learn to get along, to cooperate, to work as a team, not as competitors.
Haw, haw, haw. Like I said, I don’t believe I’ll lose my dollar bet against the survival of the species.
All human miseries can be cleared away, except for the blockage put there by those who wish to inflict pain, those with money and power. They paid good money to put Trump into power, and he betrayed them, as he eventually does everyone.
Donald Trump is a BUM.
Yes, Donald, I know how insulting that is, and it falls far below the mark for my taste. I know that you’re very sensitive to ridicule, but it’s impossible to stop myself — have you taken a good look in a mirror lately?
I would have gone a lot easier on you, Donald, but I’ve also been reading the almost interminable list of “Donald Trump Twitter Insults”, and those are far worse than anything that’s ever been used against you, so before you curse me out, let me take the opportunity to say, “Screw you, too”.
Note, please, I have refrained from using the “F” word here. Not even once, and I’m raging plenty at the injustice and clear racism that Trump has exhibited without shame and without pity.
It was tempting to use the “F” word, and in fact, I did begin the rant with a word that rhymes with “truck”, but I decided against it, and used other words instead. I don’t think that shock value has any place in this dissertation.
Haw, haw, on the other hand, in relation to Donald J. Trump, it’s impossible to come up with a description that doesn’t include the “F” word, and you can quote me on that.
Very soon now, he’ll have his way, and grief will be all over the planet, and I will collect my bet from the Council, and we’ll all be on our way to a much less violent and dangerous place, L(3)15a, if you get with the program.
If not, we’ll see you around.
See You At The Top!!!