Okay, I confess, I’m now trying to catch the most interesting part of Donald Trump’s act, which is his exit music after a big speech. He’s still going with the opera number I can’t identify and “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” and prefacing those with Van Halen’s “Right Now.”
But last night, the post-show schmoozing went on a bit longer and proved beyond a doubt that whoever is programming the playlist is some sort of evil genius. Who exactly that genius is devoted to reaching with the obvious coded messages I don’t know. My operatives are seeking clarification as I type but, honestly, they’ve been kept hopping by persistent nagging rumors that the conversation long assumed to exist between Trump and Bill Clinton in which Bubba, clearly haunted by the fear that he may have finally run out of ways to humiliate “the love of mah life,” pleads for the Donald to jump in the race lest she steamroll the dwarfs remaining in her way, may have actually been caught on tape last summer, somewhere around the seventh green of a golf course to be named later.
The messages are there, though. There’s no longer any doubt about that.
Given five extra minutes, the Invisible Hand at the digital controls dialed up the usual, except “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” previously the closer (and, of course, also the strangest message ever sent to any audience by any campaign expecting to win…is it meant ironically? in your face? a cry for help? character analysis perhaps? but, if so, which character? foot-loose man? surely not bleeding man!…the mind boggles), was switched with the opera (which, for all I know, may be sending even more perverse signals).
And when the opera was over?
I’m not the man they think I am at all…no-no-no-no!
The song played and the Donald, inscrutable as ever, edged closer and closer to the door.
The suspense was killing me.
Would he actually leave on that?
On burning out the fuse I’m living on?
Oh, me, of little faith.
Just as the exit door opened into that mysterious hallway that, unique to Trump’s halls, always seems to be waiting off to the side, like a vault where the secrets and the real future are kept, and the steady shaft of phosphorescent white light swallowed up the secret bearer, the Laughing One (aka Satan, Lucifer, Beelzebub, etc.) started patting his foot in time to the bonus track.
And at that point, Satan wasn’t the only one laughing, because I realized it was back to business with his house band and everything was still on track:
Even money, now, on whether the inaugural theme will be “Gimme Shelter” or “Let It Loose,” though “Get Off of My Cloud” is definitely starting to generate some action in the back room where the bookies are also being given strict orders to take no bets whatsoever on whether citizens will be encouraged to dedicate the eventual winner to “the establishment” or vice versa.