But What Is He
Building in There?
Psychopaths believe in a world of order, hierarchy, chains of command. They sit atop; everybody else is food. They’re not above a compliment if it comes from those who share similar obsession for rituals and lethal games. But despise sympathy from those they consider prey.
Donald Trump is not a psychopath. He’s a dangerous buffoon, but short of his bounty, won’t last a minute among beasts. Minions at his disposal make him high, but as a predator, he’s like a hyena: rather than mastering the a killing hunt, he’d hide and steal the lion’s catch.
Unsavory creatures crave attention but shun the spotlight. While the orange clown works the crowd, an army of crafty shadows pick pockets. Let a raging fool bark, and his unhinged white noise will provide cover to hungry wolves, sinking fangs on flesh and bones.
Germans once picked a psychopathic mass murderer to lead them out of chaos; Nero slaughtered his way to the Roman throne. But neither soaked their hands in blood alone. Amoral commanders love medals and insignias, but worse monsters dwell in gallows, wearing no uniforms, or titles.
Naked rulers are always troubling; but watch out for those who lurk in the background. Many an once proud nation fell under the spell of mad kings and deranged dictators. But it was their enablers who carried out the wreckage of millions of lives left on their wake.
Spoiled child or a wretched demon, worse than Trump is the nutty platoon behind him, holding the launching buttons of U.S. nukes. Statistically, every outfit has a psychopath or two in its midst. But unlike TV series about serial killer, (more)
* Worse Than Thou
* Faulty Towers
we may not know it until it’s too late.
Now, aren’t you nostalgic about those menacing clowns who popped up all over last year? Maybe they were omens. Or comets, which the ancient regarded harbingers of doom, and may’ve sowed destruction of great empires. Maybe there’s a purpose behind all that. Maybe we should put a positive spin on his tale.
Then again, maybe not. A group of foxes just took over the hen house. And while most have a clear, even if no good, intent, about others no one is sure. You know they’re there, out of sign but next to the pulsating heart of the crushing machine. Keep an eye out and let us know if they send in the clowns.