What is to be Done with Mr. Crusher’s Enemies?

As we saw in an earlier instalment, the episode with Ozymandias has left our hero in a state of unrest. The orange menace paces his realm of marble-and-gold as his mind searches for an outlet through which the pent-up emotions might soar. Soon, so soon, he will have the resources of the world’s most powerful nation at his disposal. Yes, in only days his hands will be upon the levers. For now, however, he must settle on less grand arrangements.

He retires to the washroom for his daily briefing.

Piers Morgan trolls. Look how the admirable fellow berates his followers! The orange menace scrolls. An Emergency Kitten sits on a wooden chair and, through a hole in the backrest, looks into the camera.

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The photo assuages as a wave of relief washes over his electrified nerves. Why, wonders the orange menace, are there no pets in the Crusher household? The smell, of course, and the germs, the dander, the general animal filth. Will he be obliged to procure the conventional White House dog? Convention be damned, thinks Mr. Crusher: there will be no deference to norms in the his White House.

Roma Downey, “Exec Producer of the Bible,” retweets a New Year’s message imposed upon a photo from Ben Hur. Well done, thinks Crusher, well done. A projection of strength, much as his own Christmas message. Next: Fox Nation tweets the “16 Most Ridiculously PC Moments On College Campuses In 2016” followed by “9 Times The Media Attacked @realDonaldTrump Supporters.”

He is provoked. The familiar anger once again overtakes him. “My enemies,” thinks Mr. Crusher. “My many, many enemies!” He composes a tweet:

Happy New Year to all, including to my many enemies and those who have fought me and lost so badly they just don’t know what to do. Love!

The psychic discharge is so intense, the catharsis so pure and so perfect, that the orange menace instantly discharges a spontaneous, involuntary turd. Thirteen inches in length, thinks the President-elect, not an inch under. Prodigious, thinks the orange menace, as always. The largest turds of the finest bowels. No one turds like the President-elect, the best turder, a tremendous turder.

Another day’s successful briefing, thinks Mr. Crusher: an input, followed by an output. Action and re-action, Newton’s Third Law of Thermodynamics. Water finding its level, the universe in balance. Ying and yang. For some minutes he will have peace, then it will come, the next wave of indignation, the search for release, the discharge. Respite and provocation, provocation and respite, appetite satiated yielding to ravenous appetite, and so on. He is hungry for the approaching day when his hands will be upon the levers.

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