A Special Place In Hell

We woke up Sunday morning to learn that Donald John Trump was still alive.

214,280 other Americans were dead from the virus he has ignored and belittled, but not him. Yet.

We check this number daily, Americans dead from Covid-19. We know this number is only attributed cases, that the real number is likely much higher, but the odometer is bad enough.

It was bad enough at the end of March, fewer than four thousand Americans lost, when we publicly wished that Donald John Trump would die.

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AMERICA!’s curse, the SATANIC! CUR! Donald Trump admitted to Washington Post editor Bob Woodward that he knowingly and strategically lied to AMERICA! to minimize the deadly threat to life that would menace and kill AMERICA!ns while misguiding them with assurance that CV-19 was no more threatening than the seasonal flu.

Before this is all over, hundreds of thousands of AMERICA!ns will be dead, stacked like cord wood in funeral pyres, their survivors wailing at the senseless carnage and howling for the execution of the monstrous genocidist Donald Trump who sent their families and friends to gruesome deaths for the sake of expediency and an edge on the 2020 elections.

Most all of them would be able to trace their infections to super-spreader events that transpired sometime during and after the period in which criminally insane murderer Donald Trump knowingly misled AMERICA!ns on the deadly consequences of exposing themselves to CV-19, planning orgies of hate (rallies), that would pack his crazed, soon dead and dying, adherents into stadiums and, in Tulsa, removed placards encouraging social distancing from stadium seats before the event.

Trump might has well have just machine gunned 180,000 Americans to death. Maybe he will yet.

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That’s how many names are inscribed on the Vietnam memorial. The first name is recorded under 1959. The last, 1975.

58,276 names. Sixteen years.

The first diagnosed U.S. death from the coronavirus is now dated to February 6. Since then, 54,171 have followed.

54,172 deaths. Eighty days.

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We want him to die.

And not a peaceful death, either. Something ravenous, like vultures in the desert, peeling his flesh bit by bit, leaving some for later, inflicting great pain, unendurable pain, pain that lasts forever, pain that even death cannot relieve, because death is always near but never final.

Something like that. Something with style.

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Post-Unpeachment, it is clear that the RULE! OF! LAW! is a an antiquated relic that has no business in AMERICA!, the land where raw power and access to capital matters and principles that can’t pay for themselves walk and take a ticket and wait to be raped, murdered and eaten alive like all the rest of the losers.

HA! HAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! STUPID! FUCKING! CUNTS! Did you really think you had what it takes to stay the MARCH! OF THE EVIL ONE! from ULTIMATE TRIUMPH! over your precious, irrelevant and fantastic little ideals? America, the beautiful! And Justice for all. HA! HAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

SUCK! SATAN!’S COCK!, AMERICA! You’re just another nation of random perfidy like everyone else! HA! HAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

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The world should be reacting in horror.

It is not.

Not all of it.

And that’s the problem.

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Here is what we know: While in high school, Brett Kavanaugh, who is now 53, got into trouble.

He was at a party in Maryland. He pushed a young woman into a bedroom. He was joined by another young man. They locked the door from the inside. They cranked up the stereo so her screams could not be heard.

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