What Now?

You know that slightly glazed look that people get after they have drunk the Kool-Aid. Zombies that lurch forward in response to simple commands. Like "Trump!" Billionaire narcissist and Republican Presidential candidate Donald Trumpsil has an army of followers currently filling his tent and voting for him in primaries to the extent that one might imagine that he somehow represents the zeitgeist of American culture. With thirty-two and a half percent of the votes counted, Mister Trumplala won. Two hundred thirty-nine thousand eight hundred fifty-one South Carolinians got in line for what he was serving. It sounds like a lot. It is a lot when you put it in terms of filling sports arenas or waiting at the Department of Motor Vehicles.
But what about that missing sixty-eight percent? When the smoke clears and the confetti has been swept up, will all those other votes just magically shift over to Camp Trump out of some mildly perverse sense of loyalty? Now that Jeb :{ Bush has packed up his show and headed back to Florida where I hear he has a job waiting, will his supporters surrender to the vortex that is Donald Trumpyoki?
I confess that it is something I worry about. Especially when I find out that His Eminence Trumplich has a beef with the Chicago Cubs. Oh, Dark Donald of Sith, is there nothing which I hold sacred upon which you will not somehow fling bile? The twit tweeted, "I hear the Rickets family, who own the Chicago Cubs, are secretly spending $'s against me. They better be careful. They've got a lot to hide!" First of all, it is the Ricketts family, but he may have been worried about his character count. Second of all, I guess it can't be that big a secret, since you were able to discover this nefarious activity and throw a light on it while everyone else was busy looking at something that might really matter. Like what might be hidden in the belly of that big private jet with a golden T on the tail. I heard that Donald Trumpaoli flies around the country with a cadre of slave children who work on his spare hair pieces in the dark while he is off on the campaign trail, searching for more souls to devour.
Well. That's what I heard. And all that squinting in the belly of that plane might explain the hair problem.
And stop messing with the Cubs.
Sheesh.