Henry Rollins: Donald Trump's Secret Service Code Name Should Be "Flounder"

Henry Rollins: Donald Trump's Secret Service Code Name Should Be "Flounder"
Heidi May

Now that we’re only days from the Comrade Trump administration, Washington, D.C., and all its governmental machinery is no doubt grinding overtime, preparing for a man who is trying to privatize a public office. Why else would the comrade-elect want to appoint his longtime business lawyer Jason Greenblatt as his “special representative for international negotiations” when he will already have a secretary of state? Why has Trump said he wants to use private security instead of the Secret Service as his primary protection?

Seems like Trump wants to be president — just not yours.

Nonetheless, there are things that must happen. For one, the Secret Service will have to come up with handles for the first family. Dick Cheney was called “Angler”; George W. Bush was “Trailblazer.” But the Secret Service will have a lot on its hands, not only protecting Trump, the vice president and their families but also dealing with the comrade-elect’s private security, who very well might discharge their weapons into their own scrotums when the proverbial crap hits the fan.

Always looking to save time, I have come up with multiple code names for some of the more visible players. The agents can use whichever ones they like:

Donald Trump: Tang, Grabber, Flounder

Melania Trump: Terminator, Bladerunner, Stalin

Trump son #01 (the junior mafia–looking one): Grifter, Vanilla Spice, Bambi

Trump son #02 (the one who looks as if he was hit with a pan): Grafter, Goblin, Spicoli

Ivanka Trump: Barracuda, Peaches, Sheena

Barron Trump: Plato, Beethoven, Tron

As a great man once queried, “Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?” Now that tweeting is a presidential form of communication, it needs to be put into the curriculum in any school left after Betsy DeVos gets her mitts on the controls. It’s time to leave all the long sentences to the herbal tea–drinking sweater-wearers at NPR.

Not only is the tweet a quick way to broadcast any half-baked ejaculation but it also lets all who read your asphyxiated logic know that you are indeed a dipshit. Embrace your ADHD! This 140-character form can be called “American Haiku” by elite liberal scum and “Power Messaging” by real Americans.

The severe limitations of the tweet will help citizens learn to tighten their intellectual belts for the austerity that will be a primary component of being great again. The tweet is a cheap seat for the mind. Just wait until the Comrade-in-Chief tweets out his State of the Union address. It will be like the last time the doctor stuck his finger up your ass. You know something happened, but it was over so fast, you were back in the woods and hunting squirrels for dinner in no time.

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Students from coast to coast can aspire to the lofty cerebral high bar of “Happy New Year to all, including to my many enemies and those who have fought me and lost so badly they just don’t know what to do. Love!” By golly, if that doesn’t unite us, then what will? Why, I feel closer to Stephen Bannon than ever. But nowhere near as close as when Vladimir has his lover pinned to the mattress in a guest room at Mar-a-Lago (aka Kremlin-by-the-Sea) and has rammed himself in as far as he can go, his repeated cries of “Da! Da! Daaaaaa!!!!” reverberating through the halls and sending the help into hiding.

Now that America’s chief executive looks like a character from one of the Smokey and the Bandit films and makes the dialogue from a Chuck Norris movie seem like Shakespeare by comparison when he speaks, the future president of the United States has served himself up as the lowest-hanging fruit on the world stage. He is the only leader of any country who makes Kim Jong-un seem as if he might have a clue.

Comrade Trump can’t send Mike Pence to do everything, so soon the big guy will have to go into the very adult world of global affairs. Like sending your 10-year-old in as a defensive back on a pro football team, it won’t be pretty.

I can just see Angela Merkel excusing herself as she repeatedly vomits into a bucket when she talks with him about the future of Europe. British Prime Minister Theresa May and secretary of state and Commonwealth affairs Boris Johnson laughing hysterically, twin jets of afternoon tea blasting from their nostrils as soon as Trump lumbers out of the room. As far making a good impression, the future PINO would be well advised to stick to meetings with leaders of Central Asian countries, or strongmen like Mugabe, Duterte and Kadyrov.

No, but seriously Comrade Trump, you’re making this easy. Too easy, in fact. The way you just jumped on the silver platter with the apple already in your mouth, this couldn’t have gone any better.

Thomas Jefferson expired the Sedition Act in 1801 and the First Amendment is a motherfucker. The media might kiss your fat ass so that you give them a few minutes of your time, and your chickenshit apologist constituents will stick up for you as they silently curse your name. But there are many who actually come in through the front door and state their business. 2017 will be by far the toughest, most infuriating year you have ever experienced. Nothing in your life has prepared you for it, and you have neither the stamina nor the love of country to get anything done that won’t wreak havoc on the lives of good people all over America, many of whom put you in office.

It’s obvious you have no fucking idea what to do. You’re not even in office yet and you’ve already failed. What’s that like?

Look for your weekly fix from the one and only Henry Rollins right here every Thursday, and come back tomorrow for the playlist for his Sunday KCRW broadcast.


More from the mind of Henry Rollins:
White America Couldn't Handle What Black America Deals With Every Day
Bowie's Blackstar Is on the Level of Low and Heroes
No Matter Who Wins, America Is Only Going to Get Angrier


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