‘Twilight Zone” was an anthology of moral fables cloaked in science fiction and psychological horror that lived in our Magnavox from 1959 to 1964. The master sergeant and mom loved it. For me it was a weekly Sunday school sermon on civics featuring spaceships, time travel and talking marionettes dealing with issues like McCarthyism, nuclear war and race.
Or as Trump would call it, left-wing propaganda for bleeding-heart losers.
Since Trump had so much fun calling his opponents names during the race, you don’t mind if I refer to him as “Lyin’ Don,” do you? If any of you possess evidence he’s not a serial liar please send evidence — and be sure to include proof you understand that “serial” is not a breakfast food you eat from a bowl with a spoon.
This past week we learned there is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man, a dimension that is fact-free, a dimension where Lyin’ Don’s White House Strategist tells the press it should just shut up.
In spite of the lying we should go easy on Sean Spicer, President Trump’s press secretary. They’ve had a really tough week at the White House. First, Trump’s chief speechwriter, Pinocchio, quit. Which explains why Trump’s teleprompter speeches were so wooden. Then Burger King sued Trump for trademark infringement. Since Trump took the oath of office he’s peddled more Whoppers than they fry up in a year. It’s gotten so bad that 78 percent of Americans reported having a dream that Jack Nicholson screamed, “You can’t handle the truth!” in Sean Spicer’s face until his eyebrows combusted.
You’re traveling through a dimension of sight and sound and bait and switch, which brings us to Lyin’ Don’s wall, the demonstrably ineffective, budget-busting, $15 billion boondoggle that you’re going to pay for when Trump’s trade war with Mexico drives our trading partner into the arms of China, causing Arizona’s economy to tank faster than a Trump casino.
But none of that matters because we don’t live in Arizona anymore. Or Kansas, for that matter, dear Dorothy. We’re in a very special twilight zone, a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to Kellyanne Conway and whoever wrote the DSM definition of a narcissist. It is a dimension as cold and vast as the space between the Tweeter-in-chief and the first lady when they were dancing in the “Inaugural Dancing Without the Stars Show.” It is the middle ground between tweets and shadow, democracy and authoritarian fascism, between science and whatever Donald Trump imagines to be true. The shifting sands beneath every patriot’s fears and the shadowy world of “Alternative Facts.”
You’re in the Trump Zone.
Cue Rod Serling. Lyin’ Don was completely wrong about the size of the crowd that showed up at his inauguration. Unless those white patches that look like empty space on the mall were actually a bunch of Klan hoods.
You’ve entered the Trump Zone, a dimension of mind where the crew that derided Obama as a dictator suddenly cheers sweeping executive orders, and birthers are outraged by those who would question the legitimacy of their lyin’ president. You’re moving into a land of conspiracy theories that need tinfoil hats to be fully understood.
The fact that President Trump is calling for an investigation into some phony stats cited by a reality TV star named President Trump is not calming my worst fears.
We’ve crossed into a zone where Rod Serling is in heaven narrating episodes like “To Serve Billionaires,” “The Eye of the Birther” and “Nightmare at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.”
It’s a zone where our president’s three favorite Bond movies are “Goldfinger,” “Octopussy” and “To Russia with Love.” And “Live and Let Die” is the inspiration for his health-care reform.
A zone where the ends justify the means and Liberty’s lamp is extinguished and refugee immigrants are turned away.
A zone where climate change is a hoax and lies are simply alternative facts. Conway isn’t Trump’s “spin doctor,” she’s his “spin dominatrix.” That’s a spin doctor who wants to dominate the news cycle until she’s made every mainstream media anchor beg for a straight, honest answer. These are kinky times for journalism.
We’ve entered a strange land where generals are “stupid,” Mexico is our enemy, the CIA is “like Nazi Germany” and Russia is our friend. A dimension where protests are commonplace, journalists are arrested and torture is praised by our nation’s leader. A land where “1984” has become the No. 1 seller on Amazon because we elitists want to know where this is all heading.
There’s a notification on your smartphone. Another tweet just came in. Cue Rod Serling. You’re in the Trump Zone.
