It was vividly real. He was standing just a mere couple of feet away from me, sputtering his illogical rhetoric, pausing only long enough to take a breath. That's when I got a word in edge wise.
His pompous ego has never allowed him to accept any kind of advice from anyone, though in the past, he's always claimed to have the bestest and the bigliest people on hand to provide him with the greatest guidance. Today, we all know this to be bullshit, as well.
This, however, was a dream. I know it was a dream, because for one, I awoke from this bizarre scenario about ten minutes ago, but the situation that took place, as I've stated, seemed so vividly real. A second clue would be how strange the event, if you can describe it as such, was. It involved mowing a lawn. Personally, I don't care to mow my lawn, but do so out of necessity. I'm allergic to grass, so each endeavour is met with a lot of sneezing, wheezing and hacking. In the dream, none of this was happening. Third clue, was that the "Tangerine Tyrant", himself, was mowing his own lawn and mine, as well, as a courtesy. Of what I know, common courtesy is not a trait that this individual possesses. Nonetheless, there he was. Wearing his trademark dark suit and overly long red tie, pushing a small lawn mower across a field of matted gold-coloured grass, leaving a swath barely touched behind him. On this day, I met the acting "president" of the United States, Mr. Donald John Trump.
The lawn was thick and matted, gold in colour, rather than a lush green like most well-kept lawns are known to be. It was a terrible mess, the underbrush pulling it close to the earth, not allowing the decrepit mechanical device that Trump was attempting to use, to cut it. The trail of which his machine left behind, was barely noticeable, but the look of accomplishment on his face was second to none.
Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, the billionaire began his legacy with a mere $14 million dollar loan from his father, Frederick Trump. (On a side note, I just learned this... Fred Trump's middle name was Christ. How f*cking pompous is that? Oh the ego that f*cker must have had.) However, being spoiled and rich his whole life, I doubt Donald J. Trump has ever known an honest day's work in his entire life. Chalk that up as another hint that this was a bizarre dream concocted in my own head.
The lawn, as described, was golden yellow in colour. It was thick and seemed to be growing back on itself. It was reminiscent of Donald's hair. Well coiffed, but wild in it's nature. The mower that Trump was sweating over, was a standard manual push reel mower that was barely making a dent. His efforts rivaling the ineffectual nature of his presidency. To my left, I had a newer gas mower, primed and running, but I could still overhear Trump's vexing exasperating grunts in the distance as he disappeared around a small building. I took it upon myself to tackle the lawn with my modernized machine, successfully removing several inches of tangled lawn, in the process.
Hearing the roar of my gas-powered lawn mower as it cut a deep trench through the patch that he'd already "mowed", Mr. Trump came storming around the corner. No one has seen him move with such urgency since he was going for a second piece of chocolate cake at his Mar-a-Lago resort in Florida. Apparently the chocolaty treat is quite rich and delicious. (Much like Trump fancies himself.*)
The man was quite adamant, viciously attacking me, arguing that his method was the correct way to tackle the situation, despite the side-by-side comparison existing before us. It was only when he paused to inhale, powering up for another relentless barrage of insults to fling at me, that I was able to explain that the RPMs on the gas mower, far exceeded that of the manual reel mower that he was struggling with.
I explained to the huffing and puffing Donald Trump how Revolutions Per Minute working in conjunction with mowing a lawn. Wiping the white spittle that had formed in the corner of his mouth, Trump paused to learn a lesson in basic physics, learning that the over 3000-plus rpm's of my machine far exceeded the maybe 800 to 1000 rpm's that he was fighting to get out of his dulled archaic gadget.
As the realization warmed over his face, the mad man began to smile, as if he'd just discovered the wheel. Now he was boasting to a small crowd that was forming, how he'd discovered this new futuristic implement that can be used to mow one's lawn.
Yeah. That sounds like a real Trump-ism. Take credit for shit that already exists. On that note, Trump flung his old reel mower, like a three year old having a tantrum, and walked off, leaving me alone in a field of yellowed grass. Thank goodness, this is when I woke up, because as I said in the third paragraph, I hate mowing the lawn. Even if it's in a dream.
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*Trump fancies himself to be like his favourite pastries. Rich and delicious.
Why else would he turn himself into a human-sized marshmallow? 😆
Why else would he turn himself into a human-sized marshmallow? 😆
