The Exorcism Of Donald Trump - Convinced That He Is Evil, The Left Resorts To Sorcery

'The houngan can raise the dead', said Antonine Fougere, Director of the Bureau of Land Development in Port-au-Prince. 

Voodoo is the religion of Haiti, derived from the pagan ceremonies of Dahomey and imported to the New World by slave traders, and the houngan - the ceremonial priest -was known for his recalling spirits from the dead, returning zombies, the living dead, back to their graves, and for inspiring ordinary people to fits of orgasmic revelation. 

 

The houngan can also cast spells on people. Best known are the macabre dolls into which pins are driven to blind, maim, or render insane the distant victim.  'I put a spell on you', sang Screamin' Jay Hawkins black artist, descendant of slaves and inheritor of African mysticism, more distant from the black magic of Dahomey than his Haitian brothers, but a believer nonetheless. 

The Salem witch trials were said to have been inspired by a possessed Haitian woman who had unearthly powers and the ability to cast out devils. The witch trials, it was said, were as close to African tribalism as could be imagined, strange and ironic in the white, Puritan world of 17th century Massachusetts but hysterically wild and untamed nevertheless. 

The Evil Eye is common throughout much of the world.  Old Italians still talk of 'malocchio', Indian mothers dress their infant sons as girls to fool the evil spirits, and modern Turks hang a talisman in their homes to prevent the evil eye. 

Children are convinced that monsters lie under their beds, fantasies dismissed by parents but reminiscent of a deep-seated, ancient human fear of evil. 

The Devil is at the heart of Christianity. Evil cannot possibly be incidental, the Church proclaims.  Milton's Paradise Lost is all about the existential fight between good and evil, Jesus and the Devil. Most fundamental Christians believe that the devil is among us, and is responsible for the evil in the world. 

It is not surprising therefore that progressives have assumed that Donald Trump is not only possessed by evil, but is evil incarnate - the ultimate, final stage of devilish inhabitance. It can only be so, there is no other explanation, no possible reason why the man has so deliberately begun to destroy all the good that they have accomplished.  It is one thing to embark on unholy plans, but another entirely to wantonly destroy good, an act which is the very definition of evil.

'Immanence' is the word that progressives now use for this incarnation, preferring to avoid using religious terms, given their anti-catechetical sentiments. However they know that the man is evil, possessed by the Devil, and a threat not only to America but all humanity. 

The problem, however, is this.  The Left has run on the premise that Trump is evil, and so if by some mysterious, tribal, ancestral means that evil were exorcised, Trump and his government would observe the rule of law, the Constitution, and traditional means of governance. The Left would have no shibboleth, no demon, no unholy figure to hate. Better to leave well enough alone, some advisors said, rather than remove the principle issue of the Democratic party. 

On the other hand, if by some unusual intervention, the man were suddenly cleared and cleansed of evil, they would be given credit. 

'Stop it', said Billings Harper, chief advisor to the Democrat Party, political strategist, and principle operative for the 2028 presidential campaign. 'Imminent disaster', he warned, veering into uncharted dangerous territory. 'We have branded the man with enough secular intimations of evil, that we don't need to be the party of exorcism'. 

Yet one member of the Congressional inner circle, Alphonse Baillergeau, Haitian, long-standing patriotic American, Democratic loyalist and trusted advisor to authority, felt there was something to the initiative. He was a true believer in Voodoo, and although he publicly professed Christianity he never strayed far from its roots.

As far as he knew, there were indeed evil spirits abroad,  and only with the power of Africa's tribal mysteries could they be chased away. Unofficially he would travel to Port-au-Prince and contact those who knew far more than he about the black arts, and would report back in a week. 

'What you wanna do, fada?' asked the wizened, black as the ace of spades, grizzled old man sitting on the porch of his mud and wattle home in Les Cayes. 'Hex da man? I got me some mighty potions for that kind o' trouble.’

'Watch what happens to dat white man sittin' over dere under the palm tree'. 

The white man scratched his arm, then his leg, then got up a did a St. Vitus' dance, a whirling dervish, whooping and hollering like a crazy man.  'You see dere', said the houngan. 'He ain't got no bugs on him but my bugs', and no sooner had the man started jumping up and down that he stopped, looked at his arms and legs, and sat down. 

'I gots lots more where dat come from'. 

'Incantations is what I got for big men.  Chants you know, spells and like', and with that he gave the Washington aide a palm leaf with Creole writing.  'Dis will do da trick, fada, but you got be careful dis mighty almighty magic', and with that he swallowed the last of his palm wine and disappeared. 

'How'd it go?', asked the minority chair of the House Ways and Means committee. 'Fine' said Alphonse and set about planning a trial run.  The President was going to speak to the press tomorrow, fueled up and and as angry as a hive full of bees over tariffs, and perhaps he could be 'encouraged' to say a few kind words for the loyal opposition which would soon be responsible for the shift in tariff policy necessitated by the Supreme Court ruling. A small gesture, but in the scope of voodoo things, significant to say the least. 

It worked, and the President paid homage. 

'I want mine', wrote the houngan in a handwritten message delivered to Alphonse. The aide had not expected payment due.  It was a matter between Haitian brothers after all but there it was, his nose wide open, blackmail a short flight away.  If consorting with tribal barbarism ever got out...

Now of course all this was just fol-de-rol and an example of just how far progressive hysteria and Trump hatred can go.  The 'homage' was nothing more than national realpolitik.  Under the new court ruling, the President would have to work with Congress, marshal a few votes from the other side of the aisle not difficult for a man for all his bombast had some of LBJ's arm-twisting genes. 

The amazing thing was not that Alphonse went deep dark magic, but that senior Democrat leaders listened. They actually, even if momentarily, believed that the President was actually possessed. 

'Nutcases' said one Republican who had gotten wind of the aborted scheme, but took it in stride as just one more bald, idiotic attempt to bring their man down. Unsuccessful, of course, as all the lawfare, lies, and innuendoes had been; but this was, wow! quite a show.  

Alphonse believed that the spell had worked, that the bug crawling affair was but one example of voodoo's dark powers, and so he returned to Haiti, gave up his suit and tie, and was last seen as naked as a Hindu sadhu walking the streets of Petionville. 

'I wish it had worked', said Trump when told of the affair. 'I could use some of that'. 

'Come Hither' - A Woman's Seductive Allure Lost In An Uppity Age

Lucretia Billings had always known that she was destined for something important, not just aprons and frilly dresses like her mother.  No, she would make something of herself, a name, a reputation, a place in history.  The old days of Kinder, Kirche, Kuchen were long gone and those of feminist arousal, championship, and destiny were upon her.  

Of course, daughter of a most appealing, seductive femme for a mother, she had her work cut out for her.  Lucretia had been properly schooled in the arts of subtle feminine persuasion - the arts of Cleopatra, Mata Hari, and millennia of women who, gifted with natural beauty and sexual appeal, learned how to use them. 

Mrs. Billings, Lucretia's mother could have had any of the young, wealthy, attractive suitors who came calling at Hastings Court, her ancestral home; but waited patiently until she had the prize caught in her carefully-woven web.  Cabot Potter Lodge had always been in her sights - scion of one of America's finest families, Harvard graduate, and junior partner at Locke, Burnham & Fiske - and she wasted no time in seducing her prey. 

Securing money, position, influence, and social status with no more than a voluptuous figure, sensuality, and a breathless come-hither allure was far easier than punching a Wall Street clock, or fighting little nasty Jews for prime New York real estate. 

And so it was that the upbringing of young Lucretia was consistent with this moral philosophy - women have something that men want and will fight for, so why dawdle?  'Men are darlings, but they are fools', Mrs. Billings told her daughter, 'and the sooner you realize this, the better'. 

But life, society, mores, and ambitions never remain the same, and Lucretia's generation valued other things like work, professional success, adulation, and power.  Women have for far too long labored under a male yoke, she was told, and revolution was at hand. Grasp the reins of power while you can. 

So the young, nubile, ineluctably seductive and alluring Lucretia became an uppity woman - a bitch, a cunt, a harridan in search of her rightful place atop society's ladder.  Her classmates at Columbia dressed her, directed her, and made her into a New Age woman, ready to do battle. 

At first Lucretia felt disoriented.  Her heritage and her upbringing could not so easily be dismissed.  More importantly she knew that feminine wiles, that limned and poetically endorsed trait of the most endowed women, were far easier weapons with which to storm the battlements than the screeching creeds of feminist cant. 

Yet her sisters insisted that she lose the eyeliner, the blush, and the décolleté and fold into the fare of the militant Left.   Confronting misogyny and the racism and homophobia it spawned required frontal attack not the backdoor, insidious, and outmoded tricks of a pre-feminist era. 

So, Lucretia marched with her feminist sisters, banging up against age-old prejudices and assumptions, howling and screeching to no effect.  Men in power did not want legions of bull-dykey looking women bustling up to their redoubts.  Women were a pain the ass to begin with, and now with all this feminist curiosity, were intolerable. 

One encounter with a Republican operative, on the sly in the basement apartment of a Dupont Circle duplex, was enough to convince her that her and her mother's way was right.  A little pussy aimed in the right direction could do wonders 

Congressman X of District Y was an easy mark, a pushover, a john in need.  Lucretia could have her way with him, this desperately lonely striver with a cunt for a wife. 

The old ways are the best ways, Lucretia knew. Why waste energy, resources, and time in proposing, postulating, and demonstrating when the key to influence was in the bedroom?

The Congressman didn't exactly change his vote, but his colleagues were nonetheless surprised at his conciliatory gestures to the right.  Pillow talk was indeed the operative vehicle in official Washington, and Lucretia was a master. 

A woman with sexual allure and political savvy can go places in Washington, and before long Lucretia was known - not as a courtesan but a woman of intellect and influence. She had seduced the Congressman's mind as well as his body - the easiest thing in the world for a savvy, confident woman to achieve, 

The War Between the Sexes is a misnomer, because men have laid down their arms before women conquerors since time immemorial.  Rosalind, Viola, and Portia of Shakespeare's Comedies, women who run rings around their besotted suitors, are eternal woman - a naturally powerful, controlling interest in sexual politics. Physical strength and socially endowed privilege? Nonsense.  Men can be outbid, outperformed, outclassed by women at every turn - not by the force of will but by sheer, irresistible desire. 

 

Why would a woman of Lucretia Billings’ caliber and pedigree even bother with the likes of Congressman X?  Because she could.  Reminded of the Animal Farm meme, 'Four legs good, two legs bad', she claimed what women always knew - women reign and always will. 

Not only do women have a jump start because hound dog men once getting a whiff cannot back off, but because they control paternity, the hole card of sexual poker, the future is female. 

'What's life like in Washington?', asked Lucretia's Great Aunt Margaret, a woman of the old, old school without a clue of anything after 1938; to which Lucretia responded, 'Fine, Aunt Maggie, just fine' and poured herself another Lustau Reserve sherry.

Lucretia made her way famously in Washington - never a courtesan or paid consort but a woman of natural sexual promise and influence. She flew under the censorious radar of official Washington, was the nouveau Hostess of Georgetown par excellence, sought after by young swells, arrivistes and political insiders alike. 

When it was time to leave Washington - a matter of lines and wrinkles, boredom, and disinterest - she retired happily to her home in Chillicothe and when her bonds matured, to a villa on St Bart's. 

A Bitch, A Hag, And A Dummy - America's Hilarious Electoral Side Show

Just when the American electorate thought that Kamala Harris, defeated Democratic candidate for President, had receded far in the rear view mirror, she unofficially announced her intention to run against Donald Trump in 2028. 

Now, Harris didn't just get beaten.  She got trounced, no surprise to anyone except the most partisan Democrats who never looked past her 'I am a woman of color' campaign meme, ignored her ganglionic, impossibly convoluted, indecipherable speeches, and took her vacuous, presumptuous grasp of policy as kind and compassionate. 

Her Salem Witch Trial accusations of Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanagh, vicious, ad hominem, excoriating charges were far and away beyond the usual lack of decorum and civility of Congressional hearings.  The woman was a harridan, a succubus, without a scintilla of respect, discipline, honor, or grace.  She was a holy terror, a battleax, a wailing, flailing wolverine, a honey badger without decency. 

The palace coup that she engineered to get rid of Joe Biden was again no surprise to anyone of both parties.  She saw that the old fool had lost his marbles, and she was there to shove him under the bus. 'The American people need strong leadership', she said when she assumed the mantle of Presidential candidate, and with Biden out of the way, she went on a tear. 

There was, however, no there, there.  No meat, no substance, no nothing.  From her first speech to her last, she was shown to be an empty bucket - a vain, mindless, ambitious woman with not a glimmer of sense about how to govern. 

And yet she is back?  How could that be? Hadn't the American public had enough of this intellectual fraud? And hadn't her fires been doused by such a decisive electoral defeat and the subsequent dissection of it?  The campaign was nothing more than 'I am a woman of color' and 'Donald Trump is evil', devoid of any policy, program, or initiative that suggested ability, intelligence, and respect for the American voter. 

Liberal American woman have seemingly not had enough caricature and lambasting. They ignore the images of fat, blue-haired, bellowing Karens seen everywhere and are energized by them.  Harris's crafted image of black righteousness and woman power is their icon, and they are lining up behind her.  2028 will be her year - their year - finally, and once and for all as the American republic becomes universally female. 

If Harris wasn't bad enough, Hillary Clinton, another entitled woman who was roundly defeated by Donald Trump and who ran a similarly presumptuous campaign of righteousness, has risen from the political dead and signaled her intentions to try again for the Presidency.  

Had she been elected, instead of ICE mayhem, the bulldozers razing the hallowed bureaucracy, caretake of the poor and disadvantaged, the misogynistic, racist, and homophobic policies, they would have had kindness, inclusivity, and compassion.  It is not too late. 

Hillary Clinton never understood that she was a devilishly unattractive woman - no less of a bitch than Kamala Harris, riding along with her on the lower rungs of likeability.  No one really liked Hillary Clinton. She, like Harris, was just a symbol of 'the time is now' feminism.  Who could like this loud, cackling, pushy arriviste?

It is only a sign of the Democrat bottom that she is even considering another run for the Presidency.  The Party can only come up with a fraud, a bitch, and an old hag and call it victory? 

If Harris and Clinton aren't bad enough, Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez, AOC, a Puerto Rican from the South Bronx slums and claimant to the mantle of 'woman of color' who has added ethnicity to the claim but who has nothing in her intellectual portfolio but identity, is also a pretender to the throne. 

'She is the reason why instructions are put on the shampoo bottle', said Louisiana Senator John Kennedy and nothing the woman has said has proved him wrong.  'Great news!', AOC shouts from a viral cartoon. 'My IQ test came back negative'. 

She aligned perfectly with her constituents.  Of what use was foreign policy to a little Puerto Rican woman from a poor Congressional district whose voters knew little more than rice and beans, hanging out on the stoop in the barrio, and drinking Cuba Libres?  She talked only of La Raza, the great Puerto Rican and Dominican people, and the wave of Latino power surely on the horizon.  

Gone would be the public housing blocks in the South Bronx, white-engineered concentration camps for people of color, and in their place would be elegant, windowed high-rises, even more towering and impressive than anything downtown.  Gone would be the pulperias and tiendas with empty shelves, and in would be Whole Foods and the myriad boutique groceries of the Upper East Side. 

This took no intelligence, no intellect, and certainly no knowledge of economics or economic history; so when tested on Milton Friedman, AOC was befuddled.  Her aides gave her helpful prompts. 'Free to Choose', one hinted, but the Congresswoman looked just as lost in the weeds as ever. 

'Ok, free to choose, but what? A pastrami sandwich?', and with that she slammed her fist on the retro-Fifties Formica counter of her kitchen, and shouted, 'Basta.  I am who I am'. 

'The triumvirate of stupidity', Senator Kennedy has said, referring to Harris-Clinton-AOC as 'a pile of rocks dumber than a stone quarry', and yet there are some liberal woman who would like to see all three ascend to the pinnacle of power.  President, Vice-President, Secretary of State in an all-woman cabinet of people of color.  

Even though forewarned, Kamala Harris can't help herself.  In a recent interview on MSNBC, she said, 'The time is now, for soon the present will be the future, and for those whose past is the present and always has been, the future can ever be'. 

'It's not starting off well', her unofficial campaign aide said to his colleagues in an open-mike aside. 'We need to shore up the dike', to which they all howled with laughter at the double-entendre; but given recent history the woman was not to be shut up. 

Hillary keeps banging on about Trump this and Trump that with not a scintilla of her experience as Secretary of State and Senator showing through.  She is still running on diesel fuel, Trump hatred, and woman power.  She smells AOC sniffing at her hems and Kamala barking away as the lead dog in the race, but can't seem to find the right position, the winning niche. 

Americans can only hope and pray that these woman disappear before they have to suffer more nonsensical abuse.  Down the oubliette, a trap door opened and shut before anyone notices; but that's just whistlin' Dixie.  Once bitten by the political bug, the virus is impossible to cure.