THE DONALD CULT
Ever tried to convince a Creationist that dinosaurs roamed the Earth for 150 million+ years? If so, you'll know well how difficult it is to convince Trump Cultists that their hero is a complete fraud.
Hypersensitive about their hero any deprogrammers are going to have a hard time persuading them that the object of their adulation is a fraud. The Donald Cult is far more cohesive and sticky than even those such as Scientology. At least Scientology cultists do leave their pseudo-religion once in a while. With The Donald they seem to be stuck like superglue to their chosen con-artist cult leader. L. Ron Hubbard, the science-fiction writing founder of Scientology would have been rattled and extremely envious.
It is a curious affliction in this age of the internet that even when so much information is available by a few keystrokes that seem easier to be taken in by obvious lies or else immediately spot and forgive them, if they emerge from The Great Leader himself. Donald Trump is about as economical with the truth as it gets yet his adoring acolytes don’t find this trait in the least disconcerting. The Lord acts in mysterious ways they say and Lord Trump is well known for playing 4D chess so it MUST be okay... in some way.
In recent years movies featuring zombies have been extremely popular and zombies and cultists have much in common. Maybe someone will feature Trump’s MAGA base in a remake of ‘The Village of the Damned’ where they are all locked together in a hive-mind, move in unison and show no human emotion The glowing eyes can be arranged later through CGI special effects. The fixed minds of Donald’s Demons are perfect for the thousand yard stare of complete emotional detachment from reality. Trump’s twisted logic will never wake them from their dream state. They are truly hooked.
Only a thermonuclear bomb exploding in the atmosphere not a hundred klicks from them would stand a chance of waking such people. It seems it would take such an act of insanity from their Idol of Perfection to ring any alarm bell in their frozen brains. A few hundred dying here or there, or even a few thousand wouldn’t give them pause for thought it seems. If it was Donnie that did it they’d find some way to rationalize that there must have been a very good reason to liquidate ‘em. Nothing The Great Master does or says should be questioned. It’s all good. He’s draining the swamp. (Not noticing that the swamp is continuing to do just fine.)
Did you hear the latest news from Dearest Donnie? Not only has the White House a brand new ballroom, the whole building is being re-baptized. It will henceforth be known as ‘The Church of the Modern Day Donald’. All cultists, devotees, zealots and supplicants who pay their annual fees will be made very welcome. Above the classy, plastic faux-gold doors a sign is to be hoisted proclaiming a kind of product warning, ‘Abandon your mind, all ye who enter here.’
In conclusion here is a poem about a dysfunctional manchild named Donald composed by Google AI:
In a hall of gold and velvet, where the mirrors drink the light,
A man named Donald rose to power in the middle of the night.
He didn’t start with armies, or with titles, or with gold,
But with a whispered promise that the “truth” was being sold.
-$-
He gathered up the restless, those with hunger in their eyes,
And built a temple founded on a thousand clever lies.
“I am the only answer,” was the mantra that he spun,
Until a thousand desperate hearts were beating now as one.
-$$-
The cult became a movement, then a tide that hit the shore,
Until he stood behind the desk and walked through power’s door.
The President of everything, the Master of the State,
Who turned the levers of the world to satisfy his hate.
-$$$-
But lies are fragile anchors when the stormy winds begin,
And soon the walls of fabric started wearing very thin.
To hide the cracks of failure and to keep the crown in place,
He pointed toward a distant shore and showed a “traitor’s” face.
--
One lie became a mountain, and a mountain became fire,
As he fed the engine’s furnace with his ever-growing ire.
He called for the battalions, for the missiles, and the fleet,
To make the world a mirror for his vanity’s conceit.
-$-
The sirens screamed a warning as the sky began to glow,
The harvest of the seeds of doubt he’d started long ago.
The globe became a cinder for the sake of one man’s name,
And the world ended in a whisper, a lie, and then a flame.
THE DONALD CULT
Perhaps it is more than a ballroom. This lady has a plausible theory and some evidence:
https://thedreydossier.substack.com/p/trump-isnt-building-a-ballroom