At the drop of a hat

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I sacrificed a lot for Trump. Decades-long friendships (I don’t really have true friends). Because all the time he was under relentless and unjust attack by the low-life corrupt bureaucrats, deranged TDS, it seemed worth standing for. The alternative was the horror of “going back to the USSR”.

But Trump doesn’t truly believe in anything. In his surroundings there is no God but only worship of Trump. He is the culmination of the “God is dead” century. And he will drop the friendships, wives, even children at the drop of a hat when expedient. And this savage, barbarian image backed by the decades centuries of the American industrial superiority puts people in awe. Let me say this again to Israel, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, you, Trump can’t be your friend like some people don’t have an ear for music and that’s it.

Arabs think to neutralize Trump, you need to flatter him and to bribe him. They are good at that. What else besides slaughter they have experience in? All the so-called “Arab inventions” are by Greeks, Jews, and Persians that have been assimilated/conquered by the Arabs and Turks. It is clear as 1,2,3… Even religion they stole from the Jews, like the Christians.

Jews? Maybe at the moment of weakness, Trump will remember his Jewish friends from NY? Here is one of them, Howard Lutnick. He is from Long Island. His mother was a painter, his father taught at Queens College. During Lutnick's junior year at Jericho High School, his mother Jane died of lymphoma. In his first week of classes at Haverford College, his father Solomon died of a chemotherapy drug overdose, having suffered colon cancer that had metastasized to his lungs. All those Long Island cancers? His 658 colleagues at Cantor Fitzgerald and his brother perished on 9/11.

Howard said his children grew up seeing him cry every day. I noticed that in all the multiple Trump photo ops, Howard smiles a lot. Possibly except one below.

I feel a sting in my heart. I just remembered when my father had his first heart attack (the second heart attack killed him) a doctor visited that morning (in the USSR doctors visited you at home). It was only “cold or something,” he said…

I think the punishment of being older is that every ache immediately grows to death in imagination. But occasionally, it comes true. There is always death. But before death comes the relentless disappointment.