Oink Oink Bhaaa Mooo

The future is bright.

From now on, life will be a cakewalk infused with Crisco and bacon drippings and chocolate sauce running down the sides. You will swim in it, and your eyes, ears, noses, and mouths will be plugged up by it. Your brains will be in beautiful harmony with your surroundings – fat. Nothing else will matter.

And to think that all of it is the doing of glorious golden-haired Donald Trump. How lucky are you?!

It is as if the gold dust that spread from his remarkable hair and sparkled so divinely in the wake of his 2016 Presidential campaign – like the tail of some sort of fiery celestial body – has settled all over this blessed land symbolizing the beginning of something new.

The Golden Age.

The age when fat rules. When Orwell’s works become a manifesto. The age when Feudalism, Socialism, Communism, Capitalism, and everything else will be eclipsed by a new social system – Fatism.

Fatism will be easily rendered into fascism by applying heat. In fact, Fatism will be turned into countless other convenient forms with little effort. The proverbial pigs – the bringers of fat – will gain power. At last, Donald Trump will achieve his dream of re-making the world in his image.

”Sean Hannitys” of this new world, notably, will be the master renderers. They will render the fat into whatever pleases their ruler – (p)Resident (t)Rump.

”Whatever is or isn’t – isn’t or is and vice versa.”


And so, the enablers of Fatism are already hard at work gelatinizing the minds of their base in preparation for the brave new processing-plant future. The future where the renderers – if they kiss Rump’s ass – are spared and may even gain pigglier social status. The future where the renderers stand to profit.

For now, they are enshrining themselves as delicious morsels in the clear jiggly substances inside their subjects’ heads like pork in aspic – Fox News. The stakes are high. The only crime, as far as they are concerned, is missing the gravy train. In the land of opportunism, they see selfish abuse of ignorance as par for the course.

”If we are telling you that we are going to jump off a cliff and not fall down then you are going to jump off a cliff.”

Squealer – Mike Pompeo – was reportedly chosen because of his resemblance to Orwell’s character that grandpa Trump told young Donald Trump about many times at bedtime. William Barr and all the rest of them are one way or another embodying various Orwellian figures. Donald Trump is using every bit of his genius to implement the new social order as literally as he can.

When getting rid of useless pigs, Rump will even be able to fry them into crispy bacon. This will be in stark contrast to the current ”you are fired” disposal tactic.

The unthinkable is happening right before our very eyes. When many believed Trump couldn’t win, he did. Many thought the midterm election would flip it – didn’t happen. Many hope 2020 will change it – far from a sure thing. Many might assume pigs won’t fly – guess what?…

The White House is proving everybody wrong. Horribly wrong.

A ”demented libtard” commented on how (?)OTUS, being a moron in addition to a fascist, wouldn’t even get the significance of the parallels between some of his rhetoric and that of the villains in Orwell’s 1984, having, probably, never read it. To that, enraged Rump said:

”The libs are trying to detract from my eminence by sullying my good name. They even portray me as a nincompoop. So SAD. Don’t worry, we will gelatinize them. By the way, I could recite 1984 by heart. I practically wrote it. Gave it away to Orwell. My idea to make bacon out of useless pigs isn’t even in the book. But that’s ok. In fact, we had a great meeting with him the other day. Really nice man. Me, Squealer, and the rest of the good pigs around here will be working very closely with Orwell on implementing my wonderful ideas in his 1984 manifesto. It’s required reading in my administration. Make America great again!”

That Squealer was from Animal Farm and not 1984 seems to have evaded Napoleon’s – excuse me, Resident Rump’s – intellect.

And that’s how the Farm leaped off the pages of the book and appropriated its maker. Life is beginning to imitate art, as it were, in a terrifying way.

”Oink. Bhaaa. Mooo.”

Too bad, the animals are prepared to run off a cliff and take us all down with them.

”…come hell or high water…”

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