A fleecer by nature and nurture, a brute without conscience, who, aside from more than his share of his father’s wealth, had stolen everything he ever had, hurt everyone he’d crossed paths with, and silenced those who tried to warn villagers, the media.
“Wolf! The wolf is chasing the sheep… eating the dogs!”
To his naughty delight, he watched the villagers run up the hill to elect the boy, who was, in fact, the wolf.
Squatting in his (golf) cart, the spoiled boy became angry each time the dwindling number of his village inhabitants was pointed out. His MAGA flock having largely realized the hellion who sold them hats and other swag was not interested in their well-being. He wanted to starve and shear them.
“My ear! I’ve been shot! The liberal wolf is trying to eat me!”
As with every staged attempt, the boy cried wolf at the most opportune times: the election was nearing, the file was being released, and the midterms loomed as his ‘SAVE AMERICA ACT’ failed.
No other good ideas ever occurred to him or worked. He never considered to help the villagers with healthcare; instead, he’d bomb fishing boats. He never thought to keep a single campaign promise; instead, he’d bomb a girl’s school and start a war. His fallback was always to cry wolf.
He’d cried out before. Still, the villagers couldn’t see that he was the wolf trying to eat the sheep. He needed their sympathy. They were angered at the price of eggs. Fewer still knew the wolf wasn’t calculating alone. Smarter war criminals did the work.
“Don’t cry ‘wolf’, felon boy,” said wise media voices, before they were silenced, “when there’s no wolf!”
But the boy sneered and scrutinized them.
This time, many villagers who had supported him grew angry because they realized they’d been sheared and they were cold. Where was their wool? (Offshored, no doubt.) The boy’s poll numbers dropped to their lowest point ever, so anyone who could contest it would not believe that his party could win the election, should the postal service and hackers help him.
Because history taught the villagers that the boy would sell commemorative coins again, they understood he was trying to fool them once more.
“Save your frightened song for when there is something wrong! Don’t cry ‘wolf’ when there is NO wolf!”
The day would finally come when they’d look at their empty fields and ignore the boy. Should the shepherd boy not return to the village later with the sheep that were no longer theirs, they wouldn’t notice. The boy would never weep,
As the story goes, a day would come when the boy would see a real wolf prowling near. He’d leap to his feet and sing out as loudly as he could, “Wolf! Wolf!”
“There was a wolf here! The flock has scattered! I cried out, ‘Wolf!’ Why didn’t you come?”
Because malignant narcissists do not feel genuine emotions, no one would comfort the guy who shed no tears. Instead, they’d say,
“Fuck you. Nobody believes a liar…even if he could tell the truth.”
Donald Trump “the dumbest goddam student I ever had.” ~former Wharton professor, William T. Kelly