The Elephant Killer

This sounds like a terrific tale from Ernest Hemingway.

Imagine the manliest man who makes a living in the bush.  A history of military service with incredible war stories is his past.  He is a hard drinking, womanizing, cigarette smoking beast of a man who can make due in any situation. This scraggly dude sports a ten-o-clock shadow and can pound two rocks together to make fire.

Greasy hair is due to lack of hygiene resources, not due to a poor decision on hair gel that dates one back to the 1980’s.

Being personally responsible for having a permanently bad hair day on one’s own accord is already questionable.  Yes, the juxtaposition between a rich fly boy and the macho man big game hunter is gross.

One guy is desperate to feed his family, lying low way outside the law, wheeling and dealing with other questionable and unscrupulous characters to sell some ivory and perhaps trade some elephant meat for a tent and a pan.  Photos would be self injurious.

Then there is Donald Trump Junior. This elephant killer brings a completely different vibe.  The plot becomes a polar opposite to that of the bush man who held our respect.

This millionaire man hires people all along the way to hold his hand, the same hand that can’t let go of that silver spoon.  There is the privately charted jet with the gold toilet to include monogrammed toilet paper, the pilot, the chef, the translator, the bodyguard, the clothing expert, the masseuse, the life coach, the personal trainer, the doctor, the journalist, the ammo expert, and local escorts who say, “This way, sir.”  Hold this gun, kneel here and pull the trigger as we lead Horton toward you on a leash.  A personal make-up artist adds some final touches, a hair stylist squeezes even more gel and glides the comb through while a professional dentist brushes, flosses and whitens the teeth as a professional lint roller cleans off Donald Junior’s shoulders to capture that perfect moment.

This is the picture we get.  And it isn’t a pretty picture, except for how un-dirty, how un-gritty wanna-be big time gamer boy looks in his pretty boy portrait.  Me thinks Donald Junior also hired a butcher to cut off the elephant’s tail who then handed him the tail, and the knife, while the hired professional poser positioned this punk for the perfect print from a paid photographer.

The big question looms.

Did Donald Trump Junior eat his kill?  Did he need to provide for his deprived, hungry family?

Of course not.  But, he did convince his father, President Donald Trump to waffle on the import law so that in the future, elephant meat could be readily imported to feed the poor, starving little children of America.  At least that is what his paid political advisor told him to say.

Please, pretty boy, give up the gun. . . and the hair gel.

Wilfred Knight

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