The Devil in Tennis Shoes

 

 

Ok! I didn’t want to write about this at 5;45 in the .%#*¥ing morning but here goes. For months I’ve been trying to join Truth Social. And. . . for months they have rejected my application. At first it didn’t bother me. I knew the site was an effort to confront Fake News. That’s why I wanted to post there. I’m just about the most confrontational individual on the planet. My own movie company hides me in the restroom during filming to avoid me talking to the press. I’m good. I’m old, I’m ugly, and I have a high school diploma from Killeen Texas which is just about as ignorant as you can be and they still let you drive a car by yourself. I’m a member of The Texas Nationalist Party and I am a successionist and every time they let me on a plane, I think it’s my birthday. I have six ex-wives and several subordinates. But I was MAGA before MAGA was cool. I wrote not one but two articles when Trump announced his candidacy from that escalator saying he was gonna take the White House and I think his wife is Miss America. So what’s the problem?

As near as I can figure it is my phone number. Now, without giving it here, and inviting even more calls from foreigners worried about my car’s warranty, I will tell you that my phone number has three sixes in it. Yeah, that’s right. (###) ###-666#. When I fill out the application form I get all the way to that point and the web master at Truth Social screams THE BLOOD OF CHRIST COMMANDS YOU! You would think I grabbed Pam Bondi by the . . . well, I won’t go there.

Apparently, the President of The United States of America thinks that I am the Devil! It simply can’t be anything I said or wrote. I mean, Elon was on there, wasn’t he? So yesterday I used a friend’s phone number and did get an account. I put up a rather mundane article recounting the previous week with due respect and this morning, when I tried to sign in they yelled BE SILENT, threw holy water on my password and out the window I went!

What can I do? I can’t join the Democrats because I like girls. I can’t just walk up and talk to Donald Trump because they have guns. He can’t deport me because I like Mexico and I’d just open a toy store in Boy’s Town. I’m in Republican hell. Like a burning bush that never burns up. And you know what really pisses me off? It ain’t because of anything I wrote. The President or his people never read my stuff!

So, here I sit with an algorithm stuck up my ass with a cold cup of coffee and feeling rejected by my own people. A paleface Contrairé! Well Yá’ át’ ééh M’Fers! I’ll be here!