Sweeney Trump

Every morning when I wake up I check my email.  Most of my business communication revolves around this process. It is the "self employed" way of checking in with the office now-a-days.  That in itself would not be a problem.  I actually like addressing business issues in my bath robe, but this enjoyment has been grossly interrupted by something called "push notices" on my computer.  Like most of us I get headlines for stories of the day in this manner.  They just pop up. Before I have had time to even think about the news of the day, they require that I see them if only to dismiss them. This has proved to be a terrible distraction to my creativity.  

The headlines for the last 110 days have mostly been about the incredible ineptitude of the current government.  I get pissed off and that sour feeling seems to cramp any humor that might be ready to come out later in the day.  I end up writing, not some new show or routine, but a missive tainted by my utter disbelief and anger.  I really thought by now the distraction would settle down, but it hasn't.  Every Presidential tweet, that is reported, inflames my senses.  Each time I see one of those tweets I realize, instead of addressing the Nations needs, the Korean threat, the war in Syria, the war in the Ukraine, the extreme division in the country, filling governmental appointment jobs or just doing the job of the President, Donald Trump is ignoring those duties to craft some 4th grade 140 character snipe. 

Saturday my routine was altered.  I got up early to go participate in the reading of a new play directed by a friend of mine. I didn't have time to even check my emails that morning. No push notices to know what was going on. I didn't turn on any news. By one o'clock I was so energized with the creativity I participated in that my whole day felt, enlightened.  The Muse of art resurfaced and briefly held the "anger demons" at bay.  Suddenly a song became an ear worm and would not go away until I wrote it down.  This is the result of that worm.  I share it with you giving apologies to Steven Sondheim and in homage to Randy Rainbow:

 

Donald Trump – the Demon in charge of the Whitehouse 

(To the tune of "Sweeney Todd – the Demon Barber of Fleet Street" opening song.)

Attend the tale of Donald Trump

He can’t distinguish his head from his rump

He wanted America great again

But now it’s clear he’ll never begin,

That’s Donald…. Donald Trump.

The dodo in charge of the Whitehouse.

His hair is long and his temper short

He has no income that he’ll report.

He changes his mind in the blink of a eye,

It doesn’t matter, it’s always a lie,

That’s Donald … Donald Trump.

The one that’s ruining the Whitehouse

Bridge:

Swing you golf club high, Donald

Tweet to make them cry, Donald.

If you get into a bind, bomb Syria.

Donald’s bitch is that Putin Red

The ones who know are currently dead.

He only wants to be admired,

Disagree and your suddenly fired,

That’s Donald…. That’s Donald Trump. 

The asshat in charge of the Whitehouse. 

It’s off to Mar-a-Lago again.

He’s there to work, on his Cheeto tan.

He surrounds himself with billionaires,

And Congress tells us that nobody cares, 

That’s Donald… Donald Trump

The Cheeto that lives in the Whitehouse. 

Donald can’t keep his story straight,

He should be studying Watergate.

Everyone knows the reason why,

You never should piss on the FBI

That’s Donald… that’s Donald Trump

The con-man in charge of the Whitehouse.

What will we do with this piece of shit?

We’re all just waiting for the fan to hit.

How will America ever survive,

If he does manage to stay alive,

That’s Donald… That’s Donald Trump.

The looser in charge of the Whitehouse. 

Before he even ties his shoes

He tweets out hatred for all of the news.

At this job he certainly sucks

But he’s just in it for all of the bucks,

That’s Donald Trump

The demon in charge of the Whitehouse. 

As you were,

Jay