Anxious rhythm beat,
I paint and write to no end,
Peace and a still breath.
Anxious rhythm beat,
I paint and write to no end,
Peace and a still breath.
Three beats and silent,
Sit on top of the world,
Watch the mountain grow.
A 50 ounce beer,
Rest in Peace my long lost pal,
So many miss you.
Donnie dropped the comb into the gold plated bathroom sink again for what felt like the billionth time.
“FUCK!” Donnie screamed in frustration. Donnie hated how the stubby fingers on his tiny hands could never get a firm grip on anything they tried to hold. He fished the comb out of the sink bowl and resumed quaffing his hair in what had become his iconic way.
“Goddamn bald patch.” He groaned that his over priced hair plugs were so tedious to maintain. What was even more frustrating to Donnie was that despite all his money, this was something he had to do for himself, lest some big mouth stylist reveal to the world that he was indeed supposed to be bald. So Donnie grudged through styling his own hair in the mornings, he could hire anyone to do anything else for him, except this.
Eventually he was satisfied with what he saw in the mirror. Donnie did not have much to be satisfied with, but that did not stop him from loving what he saw every time he looked into the mirror. He thought his overly fake tanned skin made him look like George Hamilton, and not like a walking Cheeto like it actually did. He thought his quaffed hair plugs were the envy of every man in the country. He thought his bloated cheeks made him look like a young Brando, instead of a chipmunk with hair plugs which it actually did.
Donnie was on top of the world as he walked out of his solid gold bathroom into his solid gold living room in his NYC penthouse designed to look like Versailles. He stood for a moment to enjoy his 10 foot Christmas tree covered in solid gold ornaments before doing his power walking to the other side of the pent house. Donnie always got a little bit of exercise in the long walk from one room to another until he reached his solid gold dining room. There he found his eastern European model of a wife and his ten year old snot of a son playing on his iPhone with one hand and shoveling Fruit Loops into his mouth with another. Donnie didn’t like his son eating that garbage, but he was eating out of a solid gold bowl, so Donnie let him enjoy his cereal.
Donnie noticed a slight fold of flesh on his wife’s belly through her skin tight, size 3 dress. It was that normal little bubble all humans get when they sit down, Donnie knew this, but he still could not feel grossed out, and that even this wife was starting to lose her luster like the other two had. That was why Donnie didn’t feel bad when he was having fun when she wasn’t around. He never “Cheated” on this wife, like he had with the others, at least not yet. But he did enjoy occasionally pinching someones cunt or playing around on the street with ladies he thought were 10s.
Donnie then sat down briefly, talking to his wife and son briefly while drinking his coffee. When the cup brought to him was too hot and burned his tongue he threw it into his maid’s face, sure she might have been scalded, “But these damn illegals need to learn there place,” Donnie thought as she brought him new coffee. Donnie liked how cheap his illegals would work, but he did not like how many of them there were.
“Maybe I can get rid of a few of them,” he thought, “I am president now after all.”
Soon Donnie’s coffee took effect so he excused himself from the table, kissing his wife on the top of her head as he walked out, and quickly suggested to her, “Maybe hit the gym today sweetheart.” She looked hurt, she tries as hard as she can to keep him happy, she even kept her baby weight down when she was pregnant, and he would still suggest she hit the gym. Neither one of them could not remember the last time Donnie used the workout room himself, but it didn’t matter, she would follow his suggestion no matter what.
Donnie returned to the bathroom, locking the door and lowering his pants to sit on his solid gold toilet.
As his personal offense graced the room with his scent, he reached for the lysol spray and spritzed the air. Donnie knew he would be there for a while, so he whipped out his phone and checked twitter. Donnie was a hardcore twitter addict, he loved all the retweets and love he got from his followers, angry though they were, he loved how much they loved him.
Donnie saw that SNL had skewered him again, they loved to skewer Donnie since he had become president. This time in the sketch the actor impersonating Donnie got married in Las Vegas to Vladimir Putin. Donnie was furious as he let out a loud, shitty fart into his gold toilet, those liberal jerks would never let up on Donnie. “That show is so unfair,” Donnie thought, “I only hosted ONCE!”
So Donnie let the show and the actors feel his wrath on twitter, of course within seconds he had thousands of retweets. Then Donnie saw that a bunch of hipster nerds were quoting his tweet and making fun of it. Apparently all the comedians, and even some Japanese guy from Star Trek were scrutinizing every one of his tweets.
Donnie was about to release the hounds that were his followers until he heard a voice. He always heard this voice in the back of his mind, but ever since he had “won” the presidency it had been as silent as it had ever been. But all of a sudden Donnie was hearing it again, and he wasn’t just hearing it in his head anymore, he heard it in the bathroom, as loud and real as when he was speaking to his wife.
“Goddamn it Donnie, 70 years old and you are still a fucking loser.” The voice was indeed real this time, it had not been real years, but it was real again. Donnie looked up from his phone, then dropped it in shock, its fall being broken by the pile of pants and underwear on top of his feet.
Donnie was looking at the face of his long dead, always disappointed daddy, Fred.
“Dad?” Donnie stammered out, meek and timid for the first time in years.
“No Shit Mr. Sherlock.” Fred replied, angry and gruff as ever. Death had not humbled him in anyway.
“What…What are you doing here?” Donnie stammered again as he tried to pull his pants up enough to cover his shame, but he had to keep his cheeks open since he was still doing his morning deed, and the sight of his dead father was now streamlining the process more than the coffee had.
“Well it’s Christmas time, so I thought this was the right time to see you since after all…” he paused for effect. “Imma, G-g-g-g-g-g-g-GHOST!” Fred playfully and sadistically burst out, laughing when he saw how much it made his son squirm. But his laughter soon ended and his speech took on a stern tone.
“So, this is him. My son, Mr. Tough Guy, Mr. President Number 45.” Fred said as he crossed his arms, just like he did when scolded Donnie as a boy.
Donnie was speechless, he just nodded at the aberration before him.
Fred just shook his head. “I suppose this is the part where you want me to tell you I’m finally proud of you?”
Donnie could not help but smile a little, it was actually all he ever wanted to hear. His whole life Donnie was told he was a loser by his father, that he would never be as smart and successful as Fred. Every day, “You’re a loser Donnie.” Or, “You’re pathetic Donnie.” Or “You will always be a loser Donnie.” For a second Donnie thought his dad was here to make peace, after all he had finally won, it was Christmas time, after all those law suits and failed businesses, he was president now.
But that smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, because all Fred did was shake his head, and get angrier that Donnie could not read his sarcasm.
“Goddamn it Donnie!” Fred said shaking his head. “You make me sick, Donnie you really do.”
Donnie was crushed, he already heard this in his head all the time, he did not need to hear it out loud anymore.
“No…” was all Donnie said helplessly.
Fred just chuckled to himself and shook his head again.
“You were always a loser Donnie, I remember when you were a boy, you lost all your sports games, you lost all your girlfriends to guys with stronger hands and bigger dicks. ” Donnie didn’t like remembering that, the only people who knew about that was his mom, who he had confided in when he did in fact lose his loves. Fred would overhear and all he did was get mad that his son was not a real man.
Fred saw the pain in Donnie’s face, he smiled, and continued. “I remember how you always got sued to, how you squandered that million I gave you. How bankruptcy laws were the only thing that ever saved you.” Fred shook his head once again. “Our family built a name, a fortune, and you just couldn’t keep that together.”
“But Dad,” Donnie pleaded as his bowels released again, burning and painfully so, making his father laugh before he could continue again. “But dad, I’m president now, our name is now up there with Roosevelt, Clinton, or Bush…”
Fred slapped Donnie as hard as he could, just like when he was alive. Donnie hit his back on the top of the toilet, it was quite panful, but Donnie was not finished evacuating, so he just sat and rubbed the spot with the hand that wasn’t holding his pants over his groin.
“Yeah, our name will forever be know for the first presidency who won by losing.” Fred walked up to Donnie , standing over him as he was squatted on the toilet. Fred used to stand over Donnie like this when he was 7, now he was doing it again even though Donnie was 70.
“But Dad,” Donnie pleaded, again like he was 7, “I won and…”
Fred slapped him again. “You won by a fluke in the electoral college and with the help of Russia. You lost by 3 million votes, to a WOMAN I might add. I mean Jesus Donnie, you, a man, a man who bares my family name, you lost to a woman AND you are in debt to a fucking Russian! What is all of this I hear about some former KGB agent helping you win?” He said with his arms crossed.
Donnie was speechless, he just looked down, like he did when he was 7.
Fred slapped him again when he didn’t answer.
“Well,” another slap, “How about it?”
Donnie was still speechless, he just rubbed his cheek, and tried to be a tough guy and not cry, like he did when he was 7.
Fred just shook his head and turned his back to his son. “My son, in cahoots with a commie.” Fred just shook his head. “Goddamn it Donnie, even when you win you lose.”
Donnie was about to cry. “No,” he thought, “no don’t say it dad, please.” He had not heard it said by Fred ever since he died. Winning the presidency was the only thing that made it get out of his head, it was the only closure he had. “If he says it, this was all for nothing.”
“You’re a loser Donnie. You were a loser when you were a boy, and you are loser now.”
Donnie could not hold back the tears. “NO!” He screamed, “NO NO NO NO!”
But before he could plead his case, like steam being blown away a strong wind, his father vanished from his feet to the top of his head into nothing. Now Donnie was looking at nothing in front of him but the gold platted bathroom wall decor.
Finally his bowels were empty. So he pulled his pants up and himself together. When he opened the door and walked out he saw his wife and son walking up to the bathroom door.
“Donnie?” His wife said in her heavy accent. “You okay? I thought I heard a yell.”
“I’m fine. I just dropped the comb again.” He said, somewhat irritated with her for some reason as he shoved the two of them aside to get passed. He demanded security get him into his motorcade immediately, he wanted to get to his rally as fast as he could.
He stewed angrily in the car the whole ride over. “Loser, huh? I’ll show you.” He muttered to himself, making his whole security team VERY uncomfortable the entire ride.
He arrived and marched onto the stage, soaking in the roaring cheers of his crowd as he approached his podium.
He talked about being “tough on ISIS,” and how he was going to make everyone in the crowd all “winners” just like him. The crowd loved it. They started chanting his family name like they always did.
“Look at them. Chanting our name. Still think I’m a loser Dad!?” he thought to himself.
Then, loud and clear as ever, he heard that voice say, “Yes Donnie. You are still a loser.”
Donnie could not tell if the voice was in his head or real this time, but he heard it. He heard it louder than the crowds chanting his last name. It was right in his ear, a spine chilling whisper that Donnie could hear perfectly.
“You’re a loser Donnie, you’re a goddamn loser, and you will always will be.”
It was the loudest that voice it had been in years, and Donnie would hear it every moment of everyday for the rest of his life now. As plain as the chants of his crowds or the laughter of those who mocked him, he heard his father Fred say it loud and clear.
“You’re a loser Donnie.”
“You’re a loser.”
“You’re a loser Donnie…”
“You’re a goddamn, pathetic, loser.”
is a cruel truth to hear.
We are all guilty.
Flash, back to “simple
times” and a lie of self.
Add here, nostalgia.
We have been lied to.
Medicine neds to feel good.
Money is evil.