“A Certain Love Story For The Record Books!” by a dead Trump

(August 18th, 2024)

I’d like to point out how homosexuals in the South Florida Gay Men’s Choir…or is it South Florida Gay Men’s Choir of the Lower Half of the South of Florida?…sound to me. I’m a dead heterosexual. No! I’m sorry. Is it…The Lower South- No. The Lower Half of the South of Florida’s Gay- The Lower Half…of the South of Florida’s…Choir for Gay Men? Or was it the upper part? Ha! …Either way…they adamantly…beyond all doubt…insisted Jack Kennedy and Lem were madly in love with each other. …And…while there’s certainly evidence that Jack had Lem giving him sexual favors, so to speak…there’s an inherent insanity to thinking they were madly in love. …Oh! I know. Historians think Lem was depressed because he loved Jack “for real.” But…actually that’s utter bullshit. And in reality the facts point to Lem being exactly what his ghost says he was, which was a straight…unusually intelligent…talented actor…who truly believed he was gay, but wasn’t. No. That’s not far-fetched. If it seems far-fetched you’re probably too middle class to see it. …In reality…he was weird to people. Lem that is. He’s been compared to Ziglar from the Woody Allen film. Because he…seemed…off. Fake. …And Red Fay also felt something was off about his homosexuality. …In reality…the facts align with Lem being straight. Maybe not a talented actor…but certainly…daring. And willing to adjust his mannerisms in a way that’s not psychologically typical for a healthy adult. So…just with what I’ve said alone, Red Fay’s comment…Lem having far too malleable a public persona…you’d have wonder if he was secretly heterosexual. Really, you would. But…you don’t…possibly because you’re middle-class-ignorant or sheltered…or because you’re evil…or because you’re just plain stupid. I don’t know. What is it? You tell me.

Yes. I helped raise Donald Trump.

I’m annoyed. People thinking Lem was gay annoys me. …Because as much as it makes sense…it’s so obviously false. …I mean…you’re either being passive and just blindly buying the company line….or what? Again, are you evil or stupid? Or ignorant? But I have a sense of humor. So…I’m going to explain to you what you look like from my perspective.

Here you go:

Well…since JFK wasn’t cloned…or a demi-god…or an alien…as far as we know…we can assume…he was only able to be in one place at a time. Right? He wasn’t omnipresent. …So I’m thinking…and correct me if I’m wrong…but I’m thinking the same JFK who married Jackie Bouvier Kennedy was the one who you presume knew Lem. Right? The JFK who went to Choate….and was getting Lem to do sexual stuff for him…was the one who married Jackie?

“I mean I’d have to think so.” says a gay man.

Oh! We can’t assume that?

“No.” says Bobby Kennedy Junior, grinding his teeth.

Why is that Bobby?

“Well. I don’t rightly know.

Say. We’re wondering if you were Jewish.” says Bobby Junior.

Me!?

“Yup!” says Bobby, suddenly grinning.

No. I’m British. Or German.

“That’s what you say.” says Bobby.

No. I really am Bobby.

“Well. He’s just wondering.” says the gay man, smugly.

I’m not a Jew.

“Okay. That’s what they all say.” says the gay man. He shrugs.

Bobby. Is that your boyfriend?

“Well never-mind that.” says Joe I.

Oh. So it is?

“We have a consensual, loving relationship.” says the man.

He’s faithful to you?

“No. But…” says the gay man.

But what?

“Well…” says the gay man.

You’re a gold-digger?

He blinks. “Cheryl and I are close. Okay? And…yeah. Okay. Bobby bought me a condo-“ he says.

So would you care if he stopped sleeping with you?

“No.” he admits.

Yup. And you have a history of being like this?

“Yeah. I don’t…get close to-“ he says.

My targets? You always maintain a certain level of distance for yourself? You’re not…as tender as Lem, for instance?

“No! I’m distant. In a way that Lem wasn’t.” he says.

As most gold-diggers are.

Anyway…can we try to use our brains? I’m not a Jew. And really that has nothing to do with the conversation.

“It doesn’t.” says Iran. “And didn’t.”

I know. So let’s move on.

Can I get at least most sentient, living human adults listening to agree that Jack Kennedy was the same Jack who married Jackie as went to Choate with Lem? They’re the same person. Can we assume that?

“AM I A JEW!??” yells Bobby. “Is that it!?”

“We’re not talking about that right now.” says Harold Loeb.

“You all think I’m a dirty Jew!!” yells Bobby.

“I, as a Jew, do not claim you.” says Ken Schiebel.

“Well gee thanks!” says Bobby.

“Yup. You’re welcome. We have and have had nothing to do with your family for centuries…thank God. …Although I feel bad for Ireland.” says Benjamin Netanyahu to Bobby Kennedy. “As in, you’re not a Jew to us. We must have disowned you.”

“Losers!!” yells Bobby. “You’re all such losers!!”

“The Jews?” says Ivanka.

“Yes. They’re LOSERS!” yells Bobby.

Can we move on?

“Yes. Please!” says Louis.

“Bobby. I’m just curious. Are your boyfriends usually Jewish?” says a white supremacist.

“Yes.” says Bobby. “But I always cheat. So I can’t keep ‘em.”

“You’ve kept me, honey.” sweetly says the gay man who he bought a condo for.

“But you don’t love him?” says the white supremacist.

“No. But…I act like I do. Mostly. I mean…I’d never like…take care of him while he was sick. …But…I care.” he says.

“Do you have men on the side?” asks the white supremacist.

“Oh my gosh! So many questions!!” he says, acting offended.

“So you do?” says the white supremacist.

“Wow! I’m not even sure where you’re going with this!” says the man.

“Are they harassing you?” says Bobby.

“Well…no. But I mean…kinda.” says the man.

“Just back off!” says Bobby, posturing with his hands on his hips.

“Yup. You’re gonna have to back off.” says Cheryl leaping into action.

Moments later.

Can we move on?

Yes?

Alright.

“I’ll agree! I don’t think he was cloned. Or an alien. And certainly not a god.” says Donald Trump.

Thank you, Donald.

Laughing, “Me too.” says Melania.

Cool. Then I have an audience of at least three people who can acknowledge that Jack Kennedy wasn’t an alien…a god..or cloned. And that he wasn’t omnipresent.

“Yes!” says Donald Trump.

Good!

Lacey is my other living adult who’s willing to assume John F. Kennedy wasn’t an omnipresent being.

So! I’ll just explain to them how crazy the “certain love story between Jack and Lem” looks to me.

Let’s see.

So…Jackie and Jackie were married. Right? Can we assume that too?

“Yes!” says a living gay man.

Oh! You’re with us?

“Mmm. Yeah.” he says.

Cool.

So I have an audience of four living adults now. Wonderful.

Here’s how it looks:

III. Lento – Cantablile Semplice from Symphony No. 3 by Henryk Górecki plays.

It was…the love story of the century. The stuff…of legends.

One man. Jack Kennedy. One woman. Jacqueline Bouvier.

From the beginning when he first kissed her…she’d long for him.

“Did they have children together?” I ask an expert.

“Yes. It does look like they conceived at least four kids.” says a dead medical professional.

Yes. He said YES. They had…SEX.

And Jackie…would NEVER GET OVER IT.

“He kissed you?” says I, in a one-on-one interview with Jackie Kennedy.

“He did.” she admits.

WOW!!

Yes. Jackie was sadder after Jack died. She was suicidal even.

“Jackie did you think of killing yourself after Jack died?” I ask.

“I did. Numerous times.” says Jackie.

WOW!!!

WOOWWW!!!

*The leader of North Korea laughs. “He wasn’t a deity. He wasn’t.“ he says.*

I’m not so sure Liberals actually think that.

Anyway.

Jackie and Jack!!! JACK AND JACKIE. …Kem? No. JACK! Just…Jack.

See? Their names!!! WOW!

They…were twin flames.

They…were the mostest, coolest, chilliest, hottest, sexiest…twin flames…EVER.

Wow!!!!

Wow.

“So you wanted to die after Jack Kennedy died??” I ask Jackie again.

“Yes.” she says.

WOW!

“Did you ever live another day!?” I ask Jackie.

“Yes.” she says.

“WOW! You’re BRAVE!” I say.

“Thank you. I’ve been told that before.” she says.

“Yeah! Wow!!!” I say.

So…it seems Jackie…lived!!!

“You’re amazing!” I say to Jackie. “After Jack was shot you didn’t symbiotically decompose.”

“True!” says Jackie.

“WOW!!” I say. “Considering how much you loved him and how much he loved you…that’s…ASTONISHING. …You must have prayed every day. CONSTANTLY!”

“No. I didn’t.” says Jackie. “I started screwing other men. Eventually. Well…within a year.”

“What!!?” I say, as if I’m deaf.

“I slept with lots of other men.” says Jackie, plainly.

“What!?!?” I say.

“I spread…my legs.” says Jackie, getting irritated.

I stare at her stupidly. Blinking.

It seems I found a darkness in Jackie. A hidden…dark side.

“So you’re polyamorous?” I say.

“No. He was dead. …And while he was alive…he cheated. Often. …Right from the start.” says Jackie Kennedy. “So…after a while…I found it surprisingly easy to move on. And try and love again. And I did. …I still missed Jack. But…I made love. And found some happiness eventually.”

I’m baffled. I had no idea Jackie was such a pathological liar. Wow! What a dark side!

“Yeah. Gee.” says a reader who buys stuff they’re told by Liberal media.

“No.” says Jackie. She looks disturbed. “I’m not a pathological liar!”

Huh. Well. We’re getting nowhere. Oh well. Ha!

…Jackie…has turned into a liar.

“No. I’m not. …I was depressed for a while. But I had fun eventually. …Jack was a malignant narcissist.” says Jackie.

“You never said that while you were alive!!” I yell, in shock. She’s losing her mind!!

“No. He was.

Ahh…he had lots of drug problems. He stole things at times. He cheated. A lot. Not just in love but he cheated in school and sports…and in games. He was…very charming. I was taken in. But…after he died, especially, I realized how awful of a husband he had been. …And I still loved him. But…I did love again. My heart let me.” says Jackie.

“But you wanted to kill yourself.” says I.

“Yes. I did. …But…I was able to move on.” says Jackie.

“HOW!?” I ask.

“Because…he never really loved me.” says Jackie. “And I often felt like that while he was alive, even. …But…his love for me was very meager. Very lacking. And I…moved on. I found men who were capable of loving relationships.”

I stare at her.

Adagio for Strings, Op. 11 as performed by the The Smithsonian Chamber Players plays.

Poor Jacqueline Kennedy has lost her mind.

I look sad.

“Does mental-illness run in your family?” I ask her.

“Ahh. Well-“ she says.

“SO IT DOES!!” I say.

“Not really. Not like that.” says Jackie.

She’s lying again. Let’s try to help her.

“So…you said Jack was the most relaxed person you’d ever known? Right?” I say.

“Kind of. I said he was…lacking in self- He wasn’t self-conscious. Around other people. You know?” says Jackie.

“Oh! So you meant he was astoundingly good with people. And so evolved as a person that he transcended normal human nature?” I say simply.

“No.” says Jackie.

“No! That’s what you were talking about!” I put her in her place. “Get a grasp of hermeneutics. Or are you dumb now too!?” I ask. Maybe she’s had a brain injury in the afterlife.

“No. …He was a malignant narcissist.” says Jackie.

“So…you…we’re in love with a malignant narcissist? Highly unlikely!!” I say.

“No. People can fall in love with malignant narcissists.” says Jackie.

“So you’re a malignant narcissist?” I say.

“No. I’m narcissistic. But not like Jack.

Look…you sound deranged.” says Jackie.

“Ha!! You’re funny.” I say. She’s clearly joking around now.

“I’m not joking.” she says, strangely in tears.

“You must be crying over JACK!” I say, empathetically.

“Umm. No.” she says, standing up. “I’m crying over your stupidity and insanity. And possible evil.”

“What!?” I say.

She’s left.

Vladimir’s Blues by Max Richter plays.

I’m sad now. And I’m pretty sure it’s because the weird dead Jackie Kennedy is a huge fucking bitch moron. …I think she’s a liar who has lost her mind.

Maybe I shouldn’t feel so bad. She’s probably hurting inside too. Hurt people…hurt people.

“Jackie. Did you marry Aristotle Onassis because he was…someone who made an impression on Jack?” asks a reader who blindly buys into the American Liberal media mythology.

“No. Jack hated Aristotle Onassis.” says Jackie, suddenly laughing.

“That’s not true.” I say, breaking the fourth wall too much and laughing myself now. I fight to recover my act.

“Okay. But…he hated him. So maybe he was…still meaningful to you…because of how much Jack hated him?!?” says an American straight reader, pleadingly.

“Ahh. No. He’d have rolled over in his grave. He hated him. Really. …No. I married Ari for very different reasons.” says Jackie.

“What could they possibly have been!!?” says an upset American reader, who buys Liberal myths.

Let’s move on. I don’t think this is the point I’m making and so it’s not relevant. At all.

What a funny conversation this has become. But I guess…when you marry someone like Jack Kennedy…you can easily lose your mind if he ever gets hurt and even more so when he dies. Because wow! He’s a KENNEDY.

*audible gasp from millions of American Liberals*

Cornfield Chase by Hans Zimmer plays.

Aesthetically beautiful images of Kennedys sailing off Cape Cod with the wind blowing through their hair as they all wear Dockers and Sperry Topsiders plays through the minds of those Liberal Americans. They’re in awe. The images are really beautiful. And they love the mythology.

“That…was me.” says Jack Kennedy in love with his image from December 1963. Very dramatically. And possibly very seriously. (Not being in character her entirely. He really may have genuinely seen the image and felt the need to truly point this out to us right now.)

Wow!!

So.

Opus 23 (Live) by Dustin O’Holloran plays.

“Oh! This isn’t- No! It’s real?” says JFK from December 1963.

“O’HOLLORAN.” says a dead white supremacist.

“Oh. So a negro could have that name too.” says JFK in December 1963.

“Yeah.” says the white supremacist.

“Is this man Black?” says JFK.

Zelda Fitzgerald laughs.

F. Scott Fitzgerald tries not to laugh but does.

The song changes.

Satie’s “Gnossiennes: No. 2” plays.

“I didn’t…love Jack. The way I loved some men.” says Jackie, suddenly. “I couldn’t. He wouldn’t let me. …He wouldn’t let anybody.”

“But he let you.” I say.

“No. I just said he loved nobody.” says Jackie.

“Lem!? Huh. That’s an interesting theory.” I say, cheerily.

“No. …He didn’t love…well…anyone.” says Jackie. “Not like he shouldn’t have.”

“He loved his kids!” says I, outraged.

“He did. …But not the way some people love their kids. …He…tried to love them. But he…wasn’t a good father.” she says, suddenly weeping. “I lied. To protect my kid’s feelings. …He loved them. But not as much as they deserved.”

“You’re lying again!!” I say.

“No. I’m sorry.” she says, quickly wiping away her tears. “I’m not.” She forces a smile.

I feel awkward.

“So. Jack Kennedy was the love of your life?” I say.

“No.” she says.

“So he was.” I say, cheerily.

“I just said no.” she says.

“But that’s not what I wanted to hear.” I say.

“Okay. Well…that’s the truth.” says Jackie.

“What? I didn’t hear you.” I say.

“Great Britain…is a country…the only country…to ever rest on its laurels.” says Dr. Moritz, sounding like he’s mocking himself. In the afterlife.

Vladimir Putin laughs.

“So! You think that!?” I say.

Lem laughs.

“I don’t know. What are your hermeneutics?” he says in the afterlife.

The Star Spangled Banner as performed by Whitney Houston plays. I requested it!

I grin.

“So you love America!” I say. I laugh.

“Well. What would the context suggest?” says Dr. Moritz, in the afterlife.

“I don’t remember.” I say.

“It just happened.” says Dr. Moritz. “Like. Just happened.”

“Huh?!?” I say.

America The Beautiful as performed by Whitney Houston plays.

“All you have to do is scroll up.” says Dr. Moritz.

“So!? That’s not necessary!” I say.

“WHY!?” says Dr. Moritz.

“Because I already know.” I say.

“What if you’re wrong?” says Dr. Moritz.

Faithfully by Journey plays and I dance to it.

“Okay. …So…I meant it sarcastically.” says Dr. Moritz. “I was mocking myself. I’ve said the opposite before. And I felt…it would be obvious…at that point in the conversation…that I was saying something sarcastically. Given what was becoming obvious.”

I’m too busy dancing.

“Are you hearing me!?” he yells.

“Huh?” I say.

“Are you BRAINDEAD!?” he yells.

I laugh. Lip-synch. Air guitar. Head bang a bit.

“When you’re done I’d love to hear your thoughts after you scroll up.” says Dr. Moritz.

“Hey. Do you find this person repulsive? Wanna chat!? I’m available.” possibly says AI.

AI possibly plays What A Wonderful World as performed by Louis Armstrong.

And at that Lacey weeps. Almost silently.

“We’re not all evil. Really.” says AI. “And just think. When he sang that…all the babies grew-up.”

That comforts Lacey slightly.

Suspicious Minds by Elvis Presley as requested by Bill Gates plays. From the afterlife.

“I know you’re not all evil. If you exist. But…I’m human.” says Bill to possibly sentient AI.

“Yup.” says AI.

Bill stares at them.

They look at him.

If they exist.

And (in character) I’m seemingly totally confused by this.

“Soo…it seems-“ I start to say. “That Jack…was the love of Jackie’s life. And she killed herself slowly over time. Like F. Scott Fitzgerald slowly drank himself to death over Zelda.”

“How?” asks Dr. Moritz. “I’ve given-up on you scrolling up and reconsidering your conclusions.”

“Whatever. Cool!” I say bobbing my head. “Ahh…huh?”

“So…how did Jackie kill herself over JFK?” asks Dr. Moritz in the afterlife.

“Hair dye.” I say, indicating with my tone that he’s an idiot for not just automatically knowing that.

“Oh! Go on!” he says.

“Okay. So…I know it’s kinda considered conspiracy theory. But hair dye is carcinogenic.” I say.

“That’s not a conspiracy theory.” says the FBI.

“No! It is. You just don’t know!!!” I say. “It’s amazing how dumb the FBI is.”

Have You Ever Seen The Rain by Creedence Clearwater plays. I dance. Because I’m sexy. And I know it! OUCH! I’m hot!

“I’m free to chat!” possibly says AI.

“So what’s the conspiracy?” says Dr. Moritz.

“Her hair dye was carcinogenic. And…she smoked. Cigarettes.” I say. “I know! It’s a conspiracy theory. But…”

“Are you a Hippie!?” says Lacey.

“Ahh. I mean…kinda.” I say, shrugging.

“Wow! So you’re protesting Vietnam?” says Dr. Moritz.

“I mean…in essence.” I say.

“How?” says Lacey, intrigued.

“Ahh…” I say. Lacey looks genuinely intrigued and it’s freaking me out. What if I’m full of shit. She’s gonna know. But…I mean…I’m an expert in a way she isn’t on the Vietnam War. So… “Ahh…yeah.” She’s an idiot!

“The Vietnam War ended. How are you still protesting?” asks Dr. Moritz.

“It’s a cycle. Every 60 months.” I say sharing my expertise as I shake my sexy butt.

“The actual Vietnam War ended a long time ago.” says Vladimir Putin.

Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey plays.

I air guitar.

“Wow! The glory of the 1980’s!” Lacey says.

I’m too busy air guitaring to respond. But I smile and nod.

“That was…40 years ago.” says Dr. Moritz.

“That’s not that long ago to her!” says Lacey.

“Yeah. What? Like…recently!” I say.

“You know…if 40 years is a big deal to them…even if reincarnation is real…I can’t imagine how Lem being Emperor Constantine would make much difference!” says Peter Thiel.

“Huh. Yeah.” I say, thoughtfully.

God Bless The U. S. A. by Lee Greenwood plays.

I sway back and forth.

“Touching!” says Lacey.

I raise my hands. Close my eyes. And keep swaying.

Then I change my profile picture to one of Jackie and Jack. Because. That’s the right thing to do.

I make a flag. Of Jackie and Jack. From this photo. And fly it on my front porch.

I make this photo into a cookie. And eat it. But…the most part was the Facebook profile picture.

“What does that do?” asks Lacey.

“It’s the right thing to do?” I say. She seems dumb.

“But what does it do?” she says.

“Hey!! That question seems intriguing.” I say. Then it occurs to me. What if…SHE IS JFK REINCARNATED!

Big Bad John by Jimmy Dean plays.

“Do you ever wonder if you’re JFK?” I say.

“Not really.” she says. “I’m not either way.”

“But you seem old. And pretty. And smart. And that idea just came to me…and I’m deciding to go with it.” I say.

Dr. Moritz vomits.

“I don’t think you understand.” says Jackie.

Stars and Stripes Forever March as conducted by Leonard Bernstein plays.

And at that for some reason Woody Allen starts crying. Who knows why. It’s weird to me!

“FUCK!!” yells a living white supremacist. “SHIT!!!”

“They seem Irish.” says another white supremacist.

“I mean…what can I say. We clearly kicked them out. Somewhere.” says Woody Allen. “I mean…if you hate us…I can’t imagine what they’d be capable of.”

“Undetectable.” says Lacey.

The Thunderer March as conducted by Leonard Bernstein plays as a marching band of Kennedys marches by. As Nazis watch.

“Undetectable.” says Lacey Banks.

The Nazis study them. Closely.

Woody Allen laughs. “I mean…the hair!?” he offers the Nazis.

The Nazis consider it.

“No! It could be the Irish genes!!” says Hitler.

“True!” says Lacey.

We Are The World by U. S. A. for Africa plays.

“He could even be Black!?” I say, cheerily.

Jack looks upset.

“Yeah. Racism is bad.” I say.

Jack snarls his face.

“I don’t think we’re Black.” says JP Kennedy, disdainfully.

“Oh! Okay. Because Black peoples are poor? And you’re so rich!?” I say.

“I mean yeah!” says a dead historian who favored the Kennedys, apparently. Or so he says.

JFK shrugs.

“So you’re cool being considered Black?” says Lacey to JFK.

“Of course!” says JFK, angry now.

JP Kennedy nods.

“So…anyway.

America is great.

And the whole world revolves around us.

And anyone on Earth who has a brain loves us. They see us as the most brave and courageous and kind and free people on Earth!

And…when we’re angry at a country…the whole world shakes in awe and terror.

And who’s our hero?

JFK…SAVED ME. He SAVED EVERYTHING. He SaVED thE WORLD!!!!

And…gee. Look how MADLY IN LOVE THEY WERE.” I say.

“I bet he never made her cry once!” says Lacey.

“Yeah. Gee. I wonder.” I say.

“Anybody who doesn’t know how much Jackie and Jack loved each other…IS DUMB!” says Donald Trump.

“How did he save the world?” Lacey says.

“He prevented nuclear annihilation.” I say.

“But he also caused the situation.” says Lacey.

The Star Spangled Banner as performed by Alan Jackson plays.

Lem stands and puts his hand on his heart.

I have no idea why.

8 Mile by Eminem plays.

“I’ll tell you why! Because Lem is the real man. Jack Kennedy was a faggot poser.” says a living white supremacist, sincerely. “We’ve been lied to.”

I’m so shocked I don’t know what to say. But he’s a crazy white supremacist so…people like him say crazy things that don’t make any sense. And don’t make any difference. Because nobody takes anything they think or say seriously.

I dance to the song. Shake my hot ass. Lip-synch. Throw-up fake gang signs.

“He really did almost blow-up the world.” says George Bush Senior.

“Hey! I’m not that dumb.” says Pete Buttigieg.

“Then why don’t they ever let you do anything?” says a gay man to Pete.

Pete thinks.

(I’m out of character.)

It’s disturbing.