Trout Fisting In America #2 – Donald John Trump

Because as my good friend Kathy Acker likes to say, ‘When they go low, we…(smiles)..we shove our fist up a defenseless Trout’s asshole.’

What a sad fat fucking sack of pus.

I’m not here to make fun of him—his hair, his skin, his hands, his narcissism, his endless bumbling stupidity. It’s all mockable, and it deserves to be mocked, but I find myself lately trying to imagine what Donald John Trump is like as an actual person and how he got to be this way. Those several seconds a day when he’s off camera.

And Jesus was a sad guy he must be. I pity him. And I hope his imminent death will bring him a satisfaction he’s been unable to obtain in his pathetic life. It’s the kind of life that, experienced by someone less stupid and cruel, would cause an onlooker to weep.

His personal history is a recipe for psychological nightmares: an abusive, emotionally distant dad. Sent off to a military academy as a child—and I ask you to consider what it means that the prep schools that train our elites are, in reality, dens of pederasty and emotional/physical violence. How many senators, how many CEOs, how many presidents, got sent away by their parents to be raped by their teachers?

We’re governed by a bunch of sexual abuse survivors who never talk about it. There’s a saying in therapy: we’re only as sick as our secrets. No wonder we’re so fucked up as a society.

So I imagine Donald as a young boy living in his barracks—little Donald who only ever wanted his father’s approval, who at a tender age was told that he needed to be tough, that he needed to be a winner. How many nights did little Donald cry himself to sleep?

He was never good enough for daddy, and now nothing is good enough for him. He has the self-esteem of an abused potato left on the sidewalk to rot. You’d be a syphilitic drug fiend too if you’d spend your whole life frantically trying to never feel bad—to never reflect, or contemplate, or self-examine—ever, ever again.

The sins of the fathers are visited upon their sons, and the abused becomes the abuser. His whole life is a history of inflicting violence on others; it’s the only language he speaks fluently. He (allegedly) forced his cock into his wife’s mouth and ripped her hair out when his baldness operation went bad. He (allegedly) slapped his son for wearing a Yankees jersey to go to a Yankees game instead of a suit. He grabs women by the pussy—not alleged, this one’s actually a point of pride. He’s a sick, sad man whose inner life is either non-existent or horrifically ugly.

I mean his mentor in life, his fucking father figure, was Roy Cohn—as big a sack of human garbage who has ever lived. Cohn was the kind of guy who, back in the 1950’s, convinced President Eisenhower to ban homosexuals from working for the federal govt. b/c the Soviet Union would blackmail them for information. Cohn, of course, spent his life as a closeted homosexual and died of AIDS in 1986, insisting publicly that he had ‘liver cancer.’

Say what you want to about death, it’s the only thing on this planet that even remotely resembles justice.

And sometimes it seems like there’s no louder announcement of one’s homosexuality than hating homosexuals and being a political conservative. Let’s see. What else? He led the McCarthy inquisition, badgered a witness into providing the (likely false) testimony that got Julius & Ethel Rosenberg executed, was a member of the John Birch Society. He went into a comatose client’s hospital room and forged his signature on a will that left everything to the client’s granddaughter—and Roy Cohn. This last one got him disbarred.

And oh yeah, back in the early 1970’s he took a young Donald John Trump under his wing and guided him through the formative part of his career (DJT broke w/Cohn after his mentor got AIDS—hearts of fucking gold these two). One can only hope that DJT learned his lessons so well that he too will be fired from his job on account of being a complete and utter shitbag crook and then promptly die a horrific and embarrassing death.

I will give Donald John Trump credit for one thing. His election is probably the greatest revenge story ever played out in real life. To go from being mocked by the president in front of all of Washington to replacing that president and undoing all of his possibilities. And to do it as someone with no experience in politics at all, that’s just the most hardcore revenge shit I’ve ever heard.

And he’s still not satisfied. Is that all there is? sings the voice that Donald John Trump has tried all his life to silence—through money, through gold, through sex, through winning. The sick greedy american id thrust front & center, to define the terms by which we will be governed.

And so everything around us becomes chaos and madness. We are subject to his delusional realities, ensnared by his projections, persecuted by his hallucinations, and quite possibly, before this is all over, we will eventually all be destroyed by his phantoms.

About ScottCreney

Scott Creney lives in Athens, Georgia. He is the author of "Dear Al-Qaeda: Letters to the World’s Most Notorious Terror Organiztion".
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