The trumpet call

With apologies to Alison Balsom, OBE, who probably never wished to get involved in Yankee politics, I love a fine Baroque C-trumpet. And that is a service Mister Trump has been providing, over here in the trans-pelagic realm. By this I don’t mean that he plays the instrument (quite wonderfully, like that Balsom lady), but that he IS one.

Given an extremely rough ride by the (“fake news”) meejah through four years, and appalling treatment by fake intellectuals and genuine grunge, he is still triumphantly, trumpistically, delivering his prize solos, with their distinctive phrasings, tone colourings, and delightful shifts of key. I would compare his music to Purcell’s, but can’t quite get there because I first gag.

What a waste that he became President, one might think, when he was capable of so much more. But no, I disagree. He became the trumpet of beleaguered Merican Liberty in office, and will continue to Trump-thump as he steps away.

My own conversion happened the night of the 2016 election. I had started out “Never Trump,” but Hillary Clinton was able to convince me that he was worth a try. It was when I found myself shouting at a laptop: “Call Michigan! Call Michigan for gawdsake!” I realized that I was now on his side.

Soon I found that his “enemy list” was exquisite. The élan with which he’d tweet back, caught them by surprise. Abortionists would call him a baby-killer; euthanasiacs would say he kills grannies. Pornographers would call him vulgar. Rioting thugs would condemn his violence. Democrats would start impeachment proceedings, due to rumours that he’d put ketchup on a steak, while those accusing him of hate crimes would froth at the mouth. He was compared to Hitler, Göring, Eichmann, &c — as they had done with Bush. But Bush was able to win a second term, by just ignoring them.

Whereas, Trump’s vote improved in all quarters in the election of 2020, except among the non-existent, and in Dominion counting machines. His efforts to get the court system to do anything about that, predictably failed. Merican elections are notoriously sloppy, and the judicial system is parti pris; it was hardly the first election Democrats had stolen — although it set some sort of record for audacity.

I have, incidentally, never thought that violence is the worst thing that can happen. No, losing the war is much worse.

But things are looking up. The Anti-Trump candidate, a senile political lifer named Biden, now becomes the weakest president since before even Carter; the smerfball for his disputatious allies. The Republicans, who unexpectedly held the Senate, and nearly took the House, even after any news unfavourable to their opponents had been “covered, with a pillow,” in the usual meejah way, will have an easy job revenging themselves, as the Democrats try to refill the foetid Potomac swamp. It will be fun to watch their humiliations, from a “conservative” point-of-view, as they are eaten by their own pet alligators.

To this day, I find it hard to believe that Merica could vote for such an idiot as Biden, and am relieved that they really did not. Kamala Biden & Co should inspire a thrilling swing in the next polls, assisted by technology, as the Republicans master the vote-harvesting art, and the many other skills for cheating.

Gentle reader will know that I am no fan of democracy; nor of the corruption that democracy engenders. I think it would have been more honest, had Trump done a Franco, and simply called in the troops. But as we may be saddled with a democratic farce for a few years more, let us hope for the next best thing.

“What goes around comes around,” according to some political maestro, and from what I can see, things will be coming around pretty hard.

“Blow up the trumpet in Zion,” I say.