Reality Adjustments

Trump Explains the Miracle of Birth

Feb 02, 2019

It is I, your father and midwife, Donald J. Trump.

Have you considered the moment your mother and I conceived you in a furnace of passion?

Babies come from outer space.  They arrive in a cosmic jet that only billionaires can charter.  Because when you’re a billionaire you can do anything you want, grab the source of life, be born again through my company’s vestal virgins.  Here the women love to push you out their fallopian tubes.

You arrived swaddled in white soft cloth after my big bang.  You are precious life.  So infinite.  So expansive.  I find it quite scary.  Makes you want to put a wall around it, doesn't it?

Box it up.  Shut you off.  Segregate this tiny fragment of the universe and package it into the form of an infant child, isolated from source, raised to seek wealth in division.

Few people get through this life unscathed, untorn into pieces.  I don’t know a soul who’s unshattered.  Here the mental problems are as infinite as this pile of mirrored shards by my foot.  We are fragments, stroked by my kingly sceptre, loved by your mother until she can’t take the burden of my rule any longer.

Have you considered your father, sweet child?  I shall give you all the wealth in the world.  Just work for me. Work for your father’s organization.  And together we shall live in hotels and spin the wheel of fortune until our casinos run the golf courses dry.

Welcome to the great decimation, my child.  And yet there is potential for it to be wholly yours.  Welcome to the miracle of birth.

See also:

Trump Explains The Fire

Trump Explains The Rain

The Tilted Glass