Donald Tries to Convince Kamala of String Theory

Whatever you think I am, be sure; I am the ghost of a church mouse. This manifestation allows me to squeek through space and time, lightly. On little mouse feet. The striped snake with its tail in its mouth, the one that lives between the frames of time, was giving me a ride. It was luck, really, that allowed me to see the thread of an event that will either happen soon, or has happened recently: the American presidential debate of 2024.


The snake has some NASTY parasites, so I was compelled to avoid one, and dove into a plush velvet curtain fold, somewhere backstage.


The two participants were in some clandestine meeting. I heard the tail end of the arrangements being made by their assistants. There had been some pleading and an exchange of cash. Shhhhh, here they are now!


“Donald, we’re not married,” Kamala said sternly.


“Yeah but you don’t understand, if there are an infinite number of universes, then somewhere, we are,” Donald pleaded.


“Donald, we are not married, you are married to Melania,” Kamala said, this time more softly.


“Yeah I know, but you see what I’m saying about the married thing, right? Will you please just think about it?”


“Donald, I love Doug. I will never leave him, unless he, you know, does something big, which I’m not expecting,” as she turned to walk away, she kissed him with a megawatt smile and hooked a thumb out toward the waiting stage behind the curtain, “I will see you soon, honey.”


“It’s string theory. It’s science,” Donald attempted meekly as Kamala walked away. “Good luck, tonight!” he wished after her, that smile always got him. He smiled crookedly, too.


Go get her, tiger! To love the unattainable! Who knew he had it in him?







Please find the inter dimensional love story above read by my digital valentine below! You can go meet her at 11Elevenlabs! I hope the theory of love is a bit more solid than the theory of strings. The words are always my own!

 

Popular posts from this blog

A Triumvirate of Furies

O ur crow-eyed Illusionist hero has been stung by the glamour Image of Hottie before, and as a counter, casts a glamour of his own, Image of Impoverished Chimneysweep . Little does he know he is mistaken, and the woman is not a brigand in disguise. (You dope! It is the rain in your eyes!) As the woman leaned over the opened owner’s manual in the rain, she held her phone to illuminate the pages that she shielded once again. She heard steps from afar. Turning from the disabled car, she saw a man approach.  “There seems to be some voodoo afoot, but it looks like you know what you are doing!” The curious man wore a coat full of soot, and he passed her without looking. She angrily looked down at the manual once more, as his footsteps clapped to Echo, and she tattled on him down the lane.  Now, Dear Reader, spoiled destiny demonstrates a characteristic of this hero's mechanics! All illusions have at least some blur , most obvious in the recollection of their memory . This il...
Read more

The Trump Lump

I think of support for Trump as an artificial thing. A big bag of gas, a nation sized bag. When fully inflated by the attention economy, superfluous issues, such as those affecting superheroes, seem to outweigh the legitimate operation of government. But as it deflates, it becomes merely a lump. The Trump Lump. People make up the Trump Lump. And although they can check out anytime they like, some will never leave. Those folks I think of as End Lump. Some good people will be trapped in there, just as certainly as there are among the gentle ancient people who, to this day, declare fealty to the Austrian Painter, in their dementia. Early Lumpers are Americans who come to their senses early in the cycle. There is no prize for leaving the Trump Lump at any given time. However, if you leave the Trump Lump, you may always point and laugh at the Lump. That might feel great, but it does the unborn children of the United States no good. Everything that we do, good or evil, now affects...
Read more

Truesight

“S hhhhh! You fool, that is no nun! Close your eyes, and think upon the memory of your last vision of it, er her!” the small old man whispered fiercely. “I see her,” his companion said, “in my mind’s eye.” And then, “The face and one arm is smeary.” “The blur , now look at the nun’s face again, and look away and remember, is it still blurred ?” The young man poked his head around the corner and looked at the nun, he then retreated and covered his eyes with one hand . A sharp inhalation of breath, “By goodness, IT IS!” “The cantrip of Truesight : think and remember, blurs indicate illusions from memories where the immediate sense seems perfect in every way, at first blush.” “I will remember,” Viscotti replied quietly.         Please find the footnote above, read by me below!  The words are always my own!
Read more