Donald Trump And His Ministry of Love

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Look, I don’t care that Donald Trump is a pussy grabber. I don’t care that he’s a racist – although that is certainly a horrible personality trait. I don’t care if he conspired with the Russkies to steal the election, nor do I care about the plethora of other tools he employed to hedge his bet.

I don’t care that he epitomizes the 1%, that he’s a Sociopath, that he’s a Narcissist. I don’t even care that he’s broken every Conflict of Interest law and every Nepotism law on the books. I don’t care that he wears an angora cat on his head, has a small penis, or is the color of Nacho Cheese. I don’t even care that he has 40% BFI and 3 chins.

I care that he’s a Fascist. I care that he’s going to destroy our way of life. I care that we gave away the store for a handful of blue collar manufacturing jobs. I care that there will be curfews, Black Marias, show trials, Gulags, and death camps.

And you tell me that won’t happen. You’ll have to wait and see, but I can’t afford to. Just remember this. When Winston Smith found himself conscious for the first time, in the “Ministry of Love,” it was his neighbor – a loyal follower of the Party – sitting on the bench next to him.

First, they will come for me, it’s true. But eventually, they will come for you.

About Post Author

David P. Greenberg

An active Food Christian, a fighter and a renegade author, I've worked everywhere and done everything. In 2006 I was diagnosed with type II Diabetes. I created a diet and exercise program, and am now, free of the disease. It is my hope to be able to help others achieve the same.

new30magazine@gmail.com