I’m a Flying Baby in the 101st Airborne Division, trained for “air assault opera-tions”; our Commanding Officer, Colonel John “The Baby-Dropper” Ham, calls me and my brothers in arms his “Little Angels Without Wings”—among the stuff we’re issued, there aren’t any parachutes, only teething toys, a rattle, an extra pair of diapers, some Gerbers, formula, and a blanket for Nap Time—the Colonel re-minding us, “If you’re good boys and girls, you won’t ask questions,” in case we should ever learn to speak.
“Now, look alive.”
The first thing people on Capitol Hill, in DC, want to know—when word gets back to them that Syria’s just been bombed!—is “How many died?” and “Were there any women and children?” because if there weren’t, the POTUS “couldn’t care less”; the unofficial statement, which only Mattis, the Head of the DOD, ’s seen, is “Trump doesn’t get out of bed for anything less than ‘the most beautiful piece of chocolate cake that you’ve ever seen!’ However, sources close to the man swear, ‘He’ll put off Hitting the Links and hurry back to his war room, at the Mar-a-Lago, if you tell him you’ve got pictures’ (“so yuge, Chief, you won’t believe!”) ‘of all the mothers, sons and daughters killed in the attack’: staged or not, the Donald, our POTUS, can’t help eat that sort of thing up.”
Trump’s approval ratings are down. CNN, MSNBC—all the News Networks are saying, “The people want a president who’ll put his money where his mouth is.”
Bannon, who because of some infighting between him and Kushner, the son-in-law of Trump, is falling (“more and more”), some’re saying, out of favor with our POTUS, tells Mattis, “I may’ve been removed from the National Security Council’s principals committee, but,” the man shaking a finger at Mattis, “I’m not out the door just yet.” Then, crossly: “Ivanka, Jared—they can say what they want,” his forehead slick with sweat. Now, Mattis to Bannon, regarding Syria: “S’pose you got a plan?”
On the Campaign Trail, Trump promised a lot of things to a lot of Ameri-cans, but what really got people going, clapping, cheering, was when he looked them dead in the eye and swore he’d bomb the shit out of anyone who smells like a “bad dude”!
Give the people what they want.
“I mean, if it worked for Bush.”
“His numbers were down, too.”
“That was before Iraq, though.”
“But do we need another war?”
“Have you seen the economy?”
“It’s a-actually not all that bad.”
“The Donald’ll thank us later.”
“Say you’ve got the pictures?”
“I’m having them developed.”
“Need ’em to look good now.”
“Got to give ’im cause, right.”
Just as the bomb bay doors are about to open, the Colonel says to us, “Ask not what your president can do for you; ask what you can do for your president,” which, as I fall out of the sky and am about to hit the already scorched ground, seems more and more