November 7, 2016, in the wee hours of the morning with apologies to the late Terry Pratchett:
“The first interesting thing about angels, [Mr. Trump], is that sometimes, very rarely, at a point in a man’s career where he has made such a foul and tangled mess of his life that death appears to be the only sensible option, an angel appears to him, or, 1 should say, unto him, and offers him a chance to go back to the moment when it all went wrong, and this time do it right. Mr. Lipwig, I should like you to think of me as … an angel.”- all Terry Pratchett in Going Postal, save for the insertion.
Come on, tell me you haven’t thought of it. The conman who gets one last chance. The man who takes a dying institution and tries to turn it around (I think in this analogy Paul Ryan is Stanley. I wonder who puts sulfur in his socks?) The man who gets told it’s impossible and takes it one step higher. And the golden…. erm…. hat.
We were right to distrust him. Everything in his past would lead us to distrust him. Hell, I still distrust him, and every time he pulls his grand show man routine, I hold my breath, and I think “Is this the time he reverts to his roots?”
So, far… so far he hasn’t. But you know that’s the danger, right, that he’ll go back to his ways. And it’s hair-raising never to be sure what part of this is Trump, and what part is showmanship.
And every time he’s told something is impossible he compulsively raises the stakes. “I will ride to Genoa before a clacks gets there.”
Are we to the “post office gets burned to the ground” o’clock, yet? At what point does he get his temptation? Is it now? Will he succumb?
Did he get an angel just before the election? And in this case I can’t even imagine who the angel would be. (No, Putin doesn’t actually want the US to be more prosperous or stronger, guys. Get a grip. That’s a lie so stupid only intellectuals would believe it.) Perhaps his own inner self, someone he’d almost forgotten. Did it say “I have a job for you.”
And will he remember that job?
It is only because I know the secret service aren’t likely to be Pratchett fans that I’m not sending him a gift basket of pineapples.