At approximately 8:30am on Monday morning I awoke in a cold sweat. My alarm was not set to go off until 1:30pm. What had disturbed my sleep? Something felt wrong, like an unseen force of evil was spreading its insidious influence across the land. I was confused, nauseous. Waves of anxiety were crashing against the shores of my usual stoic calm. I sat up in bed, straightened my man bun and resolved to find the source of this malevolent aura. I grabbed my phone from my bedside table and opened the Twitter app. Almost immediately, my eyes were drawn towards a news article, the headline of which made me almost vomit into my mouth: ‘Donald Trump has landed in the UK’.
Of course. I had known he was arriving this week, but I guess my Cognitive Behavioral Therapy sessions had trained my subconscious too well in the art of distracting my mind from distressing thoughts. So much so in fact, I had forgotten the Arrival of the Dark Lord was imminent. Looking at the #TrumpNotWelcome hashtag revealed he had already insulted our London mayor and I could feel my anger rising. A spokesperson for Sadiq Khan said Trump’s comments were ‘much more serious than childish insults’ which ‘should be beneath the President of the United States.’ I’m glad Khan gave the go-ahead for us to fly a big cartoon balloon effigy of Trump as a baby while he’s visiting because that will prove to the orange-faced shreddie-head just how childish and infantile he is!
Trump is a tyrannical despot, a fascist, the very epitome of evil. Hitler incarnate. Just knowing he is walking around on the same landmass as me makes me literally shake. Unfortunately, I’d already booked in to get my Che Guevara wearing an LGBT rainbow beret tattoo tomorrow, or I would be down in London protesting like nobody’s business. However, as I scrolled down the #OrangeManBad hashtag, I began to feel a little more cheered. The amount of sanctimoniously righteous hatred directed towards the President of the United States by my fellow UK activists was a tonic. I started to feel confident that even without me, tomorrow’s protests will be devastatingly effective.
Many people are planning to travel to the capital from all over the UK, just so they can turn their backs when Trump walks by, so he knows just how much they don’t care about him. Jeremy Corbyn, the leader of the opposition, has refused to meet with Trump due to him being so at odds with Trump’s deeply problematic policies. Corbyn is a man of admirable integrity and for all the haters out there; he only referred to members of Hamas and Hezbollah as his ‘friends’ that one time and has since then admitted it was a mistake (he probably mistook them for his chums in the IRA or something).
Then there is of course the Trump Baby blimp. The symbol of the Resistance. An icon for the #NeverTrump generation. A helium powered cartoon likeness of Donald Trump wearing a nappy. Hysterically funny. I was amazed to learn it’s 20 feet high! Imagine that! I’ve heard tell that it can be seen from space. Honestly, when Trump sees that averagely sized inflatable version of himself floating a good ten feet high over a crowd of angry Sociology lecturers and woke hipsters, he is FINISHED. How will he be able to recover from such an insult? Hopefully he will impeach himself the moment he returns to his own soil, and good riddance.
If only we’d had a moderately large Hitler Baby balloon back in 1939. Hindsight is a cruel mistress.
