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Radical Sabbatical Therapy: What I Did on My Trumper Vacation [1]
['This Content Is Not Subject To Review Daily Kos Staff Prior To Publication.']
Date: 2025-06-18
Unbeknownst to millions of people, I have not posted any political satire since May 21. (Cancer Cover-Up? Malignorant Trumphoma maga-tastasizing across U.S. since 2016)
Turns out I was suffering from a severe strain of Trump Derangement Syndrome that requires deranged anti-Trump satirists like me to go cold turkey and refrain from writing about the president’s surrealistic treason-fest for at least 28 days.
I even tried writing about Little Donnie Trump’s Big Boy G.I. Joe Birthday Parade, but all I could come up with was this lame photoshop image of him having a Mike Dukakis moment on steroids.
Since I also suffer from Post-Trump-matic Stress Disorder, I needed a 72-hour cleanse/detox to get some of that corrosive Soylent Orange out of my system. That shit can really bury itself deep into your hair follicles.
So the missus and I loaded up the motorcar and departed our saltwater-tinged Sovereign Nation of Rivermede for freshwater Shangri-La at our friends’ place at Frye Island, Sebago Lake, Maine.
Within 7.3 minutes of our arrival, we were kickin’ back in Adirondacks with our toes in the sand. Souls soothed by the gentle ripples of great Sebago.
Oh look, around the bend. Here comes a mama duck with eight babies trailing 4 feet behind. Suddenly the alpha baby hits turbo, blasting ahead of the pack to catch up to Mama D. I’m mesmerized watching the other seven surge forward to catch mommy like a fluffy split-second mini tsunami.
Oh look, quarter-mile across the water. A mama deer and her little one foraging for berries along the bushy shore line. Aaaaaah. The way life should be. (This subliminal message brought to you by the State of Maine Travel and Tourism people.)
Oh look. Here I am flowing my black ink onto a pocket-sized notebook, writing on paper rather than the rigid high-tech rectangle that is forever by my side. Hey, there goes a hummingbird.
And guess what. Turns out my Radical Sebago Sabbatical Therapy worked!
It provided essential respite from the existential anti-American horror show that is best encapsulated by the word “trump.” And, it restored my sometimes shaky ability to process our current circumstances the only way I know how — through satire.
Anyway, stay tuned because I’ve got a classic piece in the works for tomorrow.
After that … much like America … all bets are off.
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