Illustration by Zach Watson.

Biff beast is loose…a border wall…Ouroboros chokes: Facing reality months after the election

“The highest type of ruler is one of whose existence
the people are barely aware.”

--Lao Tzu

As votes were tallied last November and each state on the map of the United States slowly turned red on election night, citizens of Earth slowly slipped into the sickening shock wave rippling around the planet as the sun slowly rose over Asia, and it was apparent that Donald J. Trump (aka Mayor Biff Tannen) would be president of the United States.

Now, looking back just a few months into the Biff-pig being president, the all-too-real narrative of a nightmare we live in gets worse as his presidency comes to full and frightening fruition.

Nights in D.C. and all over the nation are horrifying now as the Biff-beast wanders twitter and the streets whetting his appetite on the innocent, the marginalized and the middle class. He climbs out from his luxury suite window at his own hotel, evading the secret service, with orange, artificial and grizzled “hair,” a puke stained mouth, gangrene eyes, warted personality and jaundiced soul. His hunched back is the ever-growing symbol of the “amuricun” demagoguery at odds with the old tradition of liberty, free speech, diplomacy, tolerance and sacrifice. One can hear “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” by the Rolling Stones -- Biff’s choice of music to celebrate his election win -- playing again and again in the warm-lit living rooms of American homes in hellish repetition…but then there comes a shriek like a lame, emaciated whale, and a parent, an orphanage caretaker, a grandma bursts through the door to find the cellulitis, pimpled ass of the mangy satyr, Biff, attempting to creep into their child’s bedroom window. Biff reeks of rotten meat, sour sweat and crab bait. It screams and scurries off like a gimping overfed rodent with extremely tiny hands. That was a close call, Grandma, and Biff falls down 50 feet to the gutter. It runs off roaring like a demented rabid walrus, bowlegged on obese haunches, bent double, hooves riddled with warts and its hair tangled with filth, dollar bills and dandruff. His face, a riot of meat-forms and deeply blackened pores, masked with two-day-crusted orange Cheeto dust. He gallops the streets in search of his next teen beauty pageant to buy and “check in on.” B-Biff! B-Biff! B-Biff! B-Biff! The thing climbs through garbage cans and death houses, 7Eleven bathrooms and on peep show floors by night, prospecting, hunting for the next Big Deal. It hunches over a man in an alley unlucky enough to rest for a quick toke. Biff snarls and crouches on the dumpster above the man like a meth-addled, constipated devil spawn too disappointing for even Satan to make again.

“We are going to build a wall. I’m a genius. Okay… You're fired,” spews out of the thing like hot sulphuric gas from hell, and the man below immediately dies from the stench of the creature’s mouth.

Very grim folks, but don’t worry because that was all just a waking nightmare. I was only kidding. The President of the United States would never act that way unless he was on another reality show that starred him grabbing pussies with Billy Bush like in the old days. And we know Bill O’Reilly will make a good showing.

But seriously, there was an ominous tone in Seattle, the nation that night when Biff was elected. It was so quiet one could hear the ether hum. Streets were oddly empty. Even the I-5 was a dead zone and not thrumming its usual transcontinental seashell drone. A stillness pervaded the melancholy masses here in the Emerald City, a microcosm of America and a known hotbed and sanctuary for breed-happy progressive liberals, cowboy conservatives, drug fiends, beer addicts, anarchists, witches, sex-gurus, alchemists, tech-geeks and freaks of all kinds. They live here in a harmonious chaos, a pointed diamond of democracy moving through that old dark primordial loam.

But remember, things could be worse. I mean let's take a look at the scene of the crime, all those red states that actually voted for this sweating lobster mushroom. How does an American populous elect a menace that centered a campaign on hate, rape, misogyny, xenophobia, homophobia, megalomania and fear, reach that point?

How, indeed?

The scene is too horrific for any fully conscious human to approach or to fully grasp without some affinity toward a reptile mind: a “loose” or all together missing frontal lobe or cortex. To think of what was happening in the Biff-camps deep in the swamps, far off back woods, Wal-Marts, Wall Street gang-bangs and gated communities in Bellevue and across the nation on election night is a nightmare we will never, never fully wake from now: all the backward guttural grunting and chimp-yipping amid that depraved, primitive revelry in a dank bacchanalia blood-lust -- the mutant pigs erupting over each other in demented drunken jeering, snarls, slobbering and lobotomy-hoorays in places like Indiana, Florida, South Carolina, Wisconsin and of course, Ohio. Oh Lord, approach these “states,” with caution now as the Eyes Wide Shut orgies erupt across America and a boon for hate and ignorance blooms out in all directions, spreading out like a red sea.

Damn. Well, we can’t take it back now, Stacey. The cool-aid has been drunk. And now we know They absolutely Live, and Citizen Biff has his rosebuds of nuclear codes and the world as we know her is his hostage -- that Great and Beautiful Ouroboros will now slowly but surely close the eternal circle and choke on her own tail to finally tighten that noose around Shiva’s neck. No more creation, no more destruction, just Biff.

“Jesus, no! You’re so dramatic. Just impeach him.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa, not so fast, Cindy. For this four-year gaff will surely usher in someone or at least something that will truly “make America great again” and they won’t be donning those idiot Biff caps either. In fact, maybe America and the world need this Biff-beast to lift that rotten hind leg of his and mark the territory that we will forever steer away from – that forbidden place we will not speak of or dig up again. Maybe we need the monster impersonating a man in that sagging, pimpled and stinking pumpkin-spice man suit to part the combined sewage overflow so that we can truly come to grips with how bad things can be… Four years from now we will look back and pull off those disgusting Biff-brand undies and finally jump into the Ganges for a long awaited purification, and maybe if the gods are in a good mood, we will all have a cool drink of that murky water…ugh.

I write this now at 9:34 a.m. on President’s Day weekend while I slowly grind out the last article for the Ballard News-Tribune -- that deadline ever approaching and a Dropbox folder waiting to be filled with content. I’m working remotely in Sayulita. It’s warm. I can hear the ocean down there. I see the beach beyond the thatched roof of the veranda. Breakfast is being served at the hotel, and obese American retirees sip their mimosas by the pool and eventually lineup at the buffet-trough. I’m unable to finish my chilaquiles as I stare at a large television above the bar airing that hideous miasma of a man, Biff, talking his hateful drivel. The wall to separate these two countries, he says, is coming. I will tell you now that actually being in Mexico, as that personification of a fart moves his mouth before the very people he falsely vilifies is repulsive -- watching all those kind, brown Mexican faces sinking, their eyes watching the screen, some ignoring him entirely, most dismissing him, cursing him, cursing America.

Shane Harms
Sayulita, Nayarit, Mexico
February 19, 2017

We encourage our readers to comment. No registration is required. We ask that you keep your comments free of profanity and keep them civil. They are moderated and objectionable comments will be removed.