DONALD AT THE PODIUM

(or, “Casey at the Bat” with brain worms and indictments)

As told by the late George Carlin, furious, fed up, and flat-out done with the stupid.

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the MAGA team that day;

 The polls were down, the donors dry, the walls began to sway.

 And when Trump Jr. pled the Fifth, and Rudy guzzled gin,

 A hush fell hard upon the crowd—was this the final spin?

A few got up to storm the stage, a few began to boo,

 But still remained a loyal bunch with Fox News-flavored glue.

 They’d come to see their orange king, their spray-tanned, bloated brat,

 They needed just a glimpse of him—a whiff of fascist scat.

Then from the crowd and cameras rose a sympathetic cheer:

 It rumbled through the country clubs and echoed in one ear.

 It found its way to Mar-a-Lago, slathered thick in gold—

 They said, “Trump still can save us!” (While his brain was growing mold.)

Now Donnie strode out confidently, his gut a heaving sack,

 He pointed toward the teleprompter, then forgot to read it back.

 And from the base, adoring roars—he raised his arms to gloat,

 Then blamed the woke, the deep state, and some migrant on a boat.

Ten thousand eyes were watching him, and all of them were red,

 Ten thousand hats were blazing bright, like warnings left unsaid.

 Then while the crowd went wild with rage at drag queens, books, and facts,

 He flung his ketchup at a wall and called for more attacks.

And now the tiny hands appeared, now rose his jowled head—

 And now he spewed a screed of lies the Constitution dread.

 And as the spittle hit the mic, and stains adorned his tie,

 The crowd held in a rancid breath, then screamed, “Let liberals die!”

“Oh, you fake news, you snowflake scum!” his voice was full of bile.

 “And critical race theory's a crime—like Fauci’s creepy smile!”

 And now the final pitch came near, indictments on the rise,

 But Donnie missed, and scratched his neck, then pointed to the skies.

“LOCK HER UP!” the red crowd shrieked, “ELECTION FRAUD WAS REAL!”

 (Though five of them were voting twice and screaming for repeal.)

 And yet again the pitch was thrown—direct, and clear, and fast—

 And Trump, he took another swing—and fell right on his ass.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,

 The courts are full, the laws still stand, and truth still wins the fight.

 And somewhere there’s a justice bench, and somewhere heads are flat—

 But there is no joy in MAGAville—Donaldo dropped the bat.