Triggered by an oblique reference comparing Donald Trump to King Lear in yesterday's post, a song parody, I let my mind wander over the famous scene in Shakespeare's play, where the distracted, betrayed king, accompanied by his Fool, wanders onto the lonely heath, convulsed by a thunderstorm. This is a drastic revision of Act III, Scene 2. As Karl Marx truly said, what begins as tragedy ends as farce.
The heath, stormy. Enter King (Donald Trump) and his Fool (Sean Spicer).
Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow!
See, I can handle this. It's so tremendous!
And so I make America great again
By being here, by my executive orders,
Which I sign and then display to cameras.
I smite flat the thick rotundity
Of the law, of presidential norms I defy.
Oh, nuncle, this is no place for a winner like you. No crowds to cheer you, to buoy you up and shout, to expand by many thousands in retrospect. Here's a night pities neither wise men nor fools. The dishonest media wouldn't be caught dead in it, though we can only wish.
I tax you not, elements, with unkindness.
Indeed, I have for long opposed most taxes
And paid as little as I could. You owe
Me nothing, clear? So go ahead. I'll take
What you have to dish out. It's not so bad
As what the Democrats and media have done.
I told them all last week: The president means to say just what he's already said. Full stop.
The codpiece justifies
The notions of the head.
All questions of small size
Are better left unsaid.
What he will do in time
Is just what he will do;
The only sense is rhyme
And that's a mystery too.
Let Alec Baldwin and Melissa McCarthy make mouths in a glass.
Enter STEVE BANNON, disguised as JERRY FALWELL Jr.
Alas, sir, are you here? This scary night
Resembles the Apocalypse to come,
May be the real thing, that end-times thing:
My dad predicted this if God's eternal reign
Were not prepared by great American rulers,
If white makes right were compromised
By dread mongrelization's triumph.
Am I the last trump, then, of prophecy?
Now will the gods, who shun the CGI
Effects of Hollywood, which scorns me,
Find out their enemies and mine?
Believe me, I'm a man more sinned against
Sir, no doubt you got that right.
So keep me close. Beware the son-in-law
And let the daughter mind her product line.
You are white Christians' friend, we have your back.
Hard by here is a hovel (not your brand).
No matter there. I'm flexible and tough.
So come, your hovel. I pray it does not leak.
I've had so much of leaking lately, friend,
My wits begin to turn. But where's my fool?
Here, nuncle. Now I feel a song coming on, as cryptic as my daily briefings.
He that had but little wit
When to high office he ascended
Must grow new trouble bit by bit
Till both the storm and he are ended.