SEAMUS O’BRADAIGH – FROM A SHITHOLE COUNTRY
Is there a doctor in the house?
We need a doctor.
Trump’s America is being drawn into an unscalable pit of remorseless and gratuitous pond slime and there’s some cat living in his house named Stephen Miller, who now seems to be digging deep into the sludge with a backhoe from hell.
Stephen Miller is a soulless cretin straight out of Hollywood central casting. He is an unflinching bigot who supports the alt right with not even a whiff or semblance of denial. He has a face only a mother could love replete with the dead, lifeless eyes of a marauding Tiger Shark.
Since the departure of Steve Bannon who ran Hauptamt Persönlicher Stab Reichsführer-SS just as his predecessor Heinrich Himmler, Miller is beome at once the personal overseer of the blood and soil propaganda wing of the White House.
Miller is a lickspittle and sycophant who has now risen through to the rank of Oberst-Gruppenführer because the White House staffing matrix is prone to self-immolation, suicide and characters (plural) assassination. Who is Stephen Miller?
God only knows people. God only knows. He’s a sylph, a mirage, a speck of organism with no life force. He moves through the corridors of the West Wing like a wee-horned nebbish. He is quite fundamentally flawed intellectually and devoid of empath. Trump loves him. A grouping or psychopaths is called a Dirge. A Dirge of psychopaths like a Murder of Crows adopt sinister motives which they hide with raucous noise and mindless babble.
Like Bannon, Miller wants to stop all Muslim immigration. Period. Miller is the Wizard pulling the levers spinning merit based immigration and its use in Australia and Canada.
Miller has insinuated himself so closely with the faux president that he joins him abed snuggled beside Donald and three cheeseburgers plotting twisted and cadaverous memes. Their tittles and tattles subvert to tweets vis the deft, svelte and tiny fingers of a drooling intellectual who is of course a man of words.
“Words,” he says. “I have the best words! I shall tweet those words. His Oberst-Gruppenführer, Miller, cackles like Golem.
“Oh, yeth, yeth, yeth my pwecious! Golem wants cheeseburger now!”
But we digress. Miller has risen from speechwriter to interpreter and perhaps we should worry now that Ivanka is in charge of finding a replacement for the old houseboy John Kelly, who has apparently irked the master with some spleen venting over the wall and suchlike.
“Kelly is bad my President, he is making funsies of my poor Donald,” says Miller. “We must tweetsies, tweetsies my Master! Pwecious Tweetsies!”
There is nothing about Stephen Miller that comports with sense or sensibility.
Here’s Stephen Miller!
White Nationalist wing of the White House!
As Spicer likes to say: “You can’t make this shit up!”