A Harebrained Wonderland

The tumble into my new life happened last November when I opened my eyes from sleep and realized I was in another universe, ruled by an orange-faced crazy hare.

It seems I fell into an alternate world peppered with curious mind-twisting explanations for bizarre ideas, actions, and utterances—all from the Holy Book of Trumpery.

This Harebrained Wonderland was created by the slight-of-hand of a wild hare, known as, The Mad Hare. His utterances, more like rantings, are explained to me in a nonsensical, circular manner, by a blonde, longhaired Cheshire cat, who skillfully flits from topic to topic in a stream-of-consciousness, mind-altering drone that paralyzes my thought processes.

She dizzies me.

He scares me.

He’s a magician. He’s a showman. He pulls things out of his rabid mind. I watch his performance on stage, along with an auditorium filled with his followers and parasites, as well as his three adult offspring, all of them perch in the first row.

“You want your jobs saved,” says the wily Hare “see the jobs that were going overseas or to Mexico? Well, watch me now.” He takes off his top hat, reaches in and comes out with a handful of glitter and blows it into the air and says, “abracadabra! Look behind the black curtain. No, wait, don’t look for yourself, I’ll tell you what’s there: Ta Da! It’s the jobs you would have lost.”

Applause.

The Mad Hare bows.

A sign in the back row pops up: “The company was paid off to keep those jobs here.” The message is

grabbed and smashed by angry followers. The sign holder is pushed out a door.

I squeeze my eyes, tight. I can’t stand to watch this. I can’t deal. Where can I hide?

The Mad Hare smiles, points his baton at the audience, shaking it like an angry finger and says, “Fake news, fake news, you can’t trust the media.” He takes a breath. “And protesters are paid big bucks. Bad hombres! Maybe they’re brought in from Mexico, who knows? Could be China. Could be from anywhere”

Stage-left: a bank-sized safe is rolled out. The furtive rabbit rubs his finger together and dials the combination that cracks open the door.

The crowd oohs and ahs as never-ending bags of Wonderland currency are pulled out by his helpers.

The intense Mad Hare asks the crowd, “Aren’t you tired of handing over your money to those who’d squander it on things of…” he scratches his head, barely disturbing his flaxen glued fur. “of…I don’t what, but it’s bad, really, really bad. Shame! Shameful!”

The crowd chants: “Shameful. Shameful. Shameful. “

“We can do better.” The Mad Hare gestures the crowd to stop the chant. “We can make your Wonderland wonderfully wonderful, again. You’ll be rich, like me. You’ll get everything you dreamed of.”

A small voice from the crowd squeaks out, “Things were going fine until you emerged from your dark hole.”

I’m somewhat comforted, realizing there are others who fell into this world, too. I’m glad they’re showing up and trying to set things right. I’m counting on them speaking out.

“Get him out of here!” says the irritated hare and he signals the critters in brown uniforms and points to the exits. “I was summoned here, fair and square–though it was a rigged.” He furrows his brow, “I got more votes than any other leader ever received in all the history of whatever and whenever.” His face is flashing red, like a cob car bubble light.

Another voice of opposition is detected from the crowd. I watch as she’s escorted out of the theatre. Dare I have any confidence in those who resist? Will they get me back home to my world?

The Mad Hare smirks and says, “thank you, thank you,” and then goes back to his bags of money and opens one. He scoops up a fistful of coins and tosses them out into the crowd.

As his followers scramble from their seats to gathered the strewn money, tripping over each other. Handful after handful, he tosses coins into the air until the sack is empty. The delight in his face would make a devil proud. While the crowd is distracted, his aides hand out bags of cash to his parasites and kids.

What’s next, I wonder. I’m slouched in my seat, holding my heart inside my body and covering my Hillary T-shirt. I could be thrown out next, to where, I don’t know. I’m certain it’s frightening out there.

The eye-glowing Hare soft-shoes his way over to a table on which two fish bowls have been placed, one has more paper ballots slips than the other. The one with more papers is labeled, “Crooked Her”; the almost empty bowl is labeled: “The Mad Hare”

The Hare scowls and taps his lips with a finger, befuddled, “Oh my, oh my,” he tilts his head reviewing the bowls. “This is all wrong,”something is fishy here, he says in a singsong voice, then cackles as he gestures to the fish bowls. But his internal emotional state busts through his seemingly calm facade. “We can’t have illegal aliens, trader ballot-stuffers, bad guys doing bad things to our land.” His eyes squint and his lips curls up on the sides. His smile drops and he bellows: “Fraud, lots of fraud. Fraud like you’ve never, ever, ever seen before! As I said earlier in my campaign, if I didn’t win, it would be because of fraud. What’d I tell you! I know things.” His words now fly out in a torrent. “I’m smart, smarter than any other creature around, and smarter than any creature there ever was, or ever will be. I promise.” He stops his runaway barrage. Takes a breath and calmly states, “No matter, no matter, I’ll take care of this as I did the other.”

He signals an aide who hands him a black, folded, large cloth. He shakes it out and billows it over the table.

The crowd is hushed.

He yells out, “abracadabra,” and then snaps the cloth back, exposing the two fish bowls. It takes the crowd a moment to realize that, now, the Mad Hare’s fish bowl is the one stuffed with ballots, and just a few votes are left in Crooked Hers.

“See, this is the real results of my election.” Delight spreads across the Mad Hare’s face. His kids and his parasites, in the first row, smile nervously, but need not have worried as cheers belch out from the crowd and are followed by a rousing applause.

I figure that this is my time to head for the exit, and not be noticed. I can’t take it any longer. Sitting here and hoping to be saved from this horror show isn’t making it happen. And it’s causing me to feel despondent and guilty for wanting others to save me.

So I sneak out and join the Resistance.

 

 

 

And I feel better. A lot better!

 

(For more of my adventures, scroll down.)