I felt bad for the president whose dream of having a big parade in his honor down Pennsylvania Avenue on Veterans Day (November 11, 2018) was shot down by penny-pinching bureaucrats, first the mayor of Swamp City (Washington), then by the bean counters at the Pentagon, cheered on by those traitors, the enemies of the people, fake news media.
What are we, anyway—ingrates? After all he had done for us in making America Great Again in only 585 days!
Knowing my president, I’m sure he also would have been grateful for the greatest parade ever, after the reading of the Inaugural Address (January 2017) to go with the greatest crowd ever for an Inaugural Day, according to his count.
Everybody loves a parade, and the president is no exception.
He considers it a perk of office, like being able to create a “national emergency” whenever a president wants for whatever reason, even when the emergency is self-created. It’s some country when a president can’t utilize the outrageous abuse of powers doctrine as a WMD (weapon of mass distraction), just because he wants to!
I tell you, this president is the Rodney Dangerfield of presidents. Gets no respect. So sad.
The parade thing came up again when the president was taking a victory lap for avoiding another shutdown over the southern border crisis. The newspapers were saying the president was relaxing from the rigors of the war against Fifth Columnists Laura Ingram, Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, and that Coulter woman by thinking about the glory of the military parade he originally saw in Paris, with the Fourth Republic’s troops marching down the Champs-Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe.
True, we don’t have a Champs-Élysées or an Arc de Triomphe (but we may someday have an Arc de Trump, if Nancy, the Wicked Witch of the West, would loosen the purse strings and use some food stamp money to build one in the president’s honor).
Some also say this president couldn’t find Paris on a map, no less pronounce Champs-Élysées better than a fifth-grade student who is not taking French as a foreign language.
I’ll leave it to the psychobabblists to analyze fully the president’s fixation on military displays of power. He may suffer from parade deprivation, a condition associated with collecting toy soldiers growing up. Or it could be the chief executive has discovered a full general’s outfit with the fruit salad on the chest, left over by the West Wing costume department, and is hankering to wear it one day while waving at his military, the strongest in the world, since he has taken over as commander in chief and made it great again.
In our country, parade etiquette suggests parades are held for something important, like winning the Super Bowl or the World Series.
They also mark winning wars. We haven’t had one of those since beating Grenada in 1980. But we did have one for the return of a war hero, General Douglas MacArthur. Not after he was said to have missed the Bataan Death March, leaving Corregidor in a launch with his family and household help, or when he crossed the Yalu against the orders of President Truman, and caused the massive bug out enshrined in the truce with the North Koreans at the DMZ since 1953.29
If everybody wasn’t against treating the president with the respect he deserves, there would be a parade down Pennsylvania Avenue for the hero of the Second Mexican- American War of 2015–2019. The wall that someday will be securing the nation from being inundated by rapists, murders, drug lords, and criminals, not to mention leaf blowers, kitchen helpers, fruit and vegetable pickers, and others willing to do the jobs real Americans don’t want to do anymore and that would never have been discussed without the best president we have.
The wall is a symbol like the Alamo, and the president will be a legend like Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie, William B. Travis, and John Wayne, if it ever gets built.
I bet his friends the Russians would give him a parade worthy of his achievements in the field of Russo-American friendship. Not even Joe Stalin or Alger Hiss could have shut down a great capitalist state for thirty-five days, like Comrade President Agent Orange, whatever he is called in Cyrillic.
Those Russkies really know how to do military parades. In the old days, parade fans would see the same troops, tanks, rocket launchers, and missiles, as they turned around the far corner of Red Square and marched back, a strategy that inflated the ego instead of the cost. The North Koreans probably do the same thing.
My guess is The Big Orange will have to wait for the opening of the new one-billion-dollar one-hundred-story Trumpskaya Towerski in Moscow that the gang that couldn’t loot straight is handling for such a suitable honor. It would be testimony to his contributions to world peace.
Maybe not. With the Russian hoax thing still going on, the most the best president we have can expect is an orange-faced balloon the size of a blimp in future Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parades.