Politics 🤡 Donald Trump
- Thread starter sup42
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NZWarriors.com
After writing and posting It’s Over last night, the news came down about the Reiner family killings. It landed on a day already soaked in death and despair, a day that felt heavy before the sun even bothered to rise. Grief stacked on grief—the kind of day where the air itself feels bruised.
I never expected much from Trump and his G-Force posse of vampire bats and bloodsuckers, yet somehow, he still managed to prove me wrong. He reminds us daily that there is no bottom—none at all—to his willingness to inflict more pain onto an already painful situation. When you think you’ve reached the floor, he shows you the shovel.
The Reiner family endured years of hell with a son trapped in a cycle of addiction and psychological distress. In and out of rehab seventeen times. Homeless at points. Fractured, lost, unravelling. I can’t speak to what finally broke the man’s internal wiring, or what demons took up permanent residence in his mind. None of us can. But I know this much: this wasn’t a family unfamiliar with suffering.
I see this suffering up close. I see it when I’m going and coming from teaching at the Harris Institute. People climb onto the bus with a crack pipe still warm in their hands, pants sagging nearly to their ankles, bodies caked in grime, minds hollowed out by hunger and chemicals and despair. This is what addiction looks like when it’s no longer romanticized, when it’s stripped bare. Any parent pushed to the cliff’s edge while trying to shepherd a child from troubled teens into an unforgiving world deserves our most tender compassion. Most of this pain happens quietly, behind walls, far from headlines and hashtags.
I’ve always loved and respected Rob Reiner. He could have taken the easy road—pulled a Mel Gibson turn and become another Hollywood cautionary tale—but he didn’t. He stood his ground. And that ground has never been stable. It rattles and shifts with political fashion and cultural cowardice. Reiner understood right from wrong and refused to let the world forget the difference. His films carried humanity in their bones. They were honest. They cared about people.
And then there’s the rat. The one that never stops chewing on our collective grief. Trump.
I wrote about this parasite yesterday, and sixty thousand people read it. Many asked me to say something more. So here it is. I feel the same sickness hearing the bile spill from Trump’s mouth. He is a poor excuse for a man, a hollowed-out ghoul who feeds on the pain of others the way children tear into fast food—thoughtlessly, joylessly, and without consequence. To post those sickening words in the immediate wake of death tells us everything we need to know. As James Carville said: It’s over.
Trump is dead. What we’re hearing now is the corpse still moving. The remains bumping into furniture, muttering, sleepwalking through the final days of relevance. A body that forgot to stop.
I swear there’s no place left on this planet where Trump could walk in public for a snow cone or a bag of grapes without being met by open contempt. This isn’t partisan dislike. This is global revulsion. The world is wired now. Flat screens. Google Translate. News travels faster than excuses. Humanity still knows bad from good, and Trump stands as a textbook example of moral rot. He ranks with the outcasts’ history warns us about, the ones studied later, so we don’t repeat the damage.
All he lacks is the means to cause greater harm. The appetite is there. The instinct is there. And that should chill anyone paying attention.
As I’ve said before and will keep saying until it no longer needs to be said: the world knows him. And the world is done.
- Bill King is American born, Canadian citizen - musician, author, photojournalist. Based in Toronto.
I never expected much from Trump and his G-Force posse of vampire bats and bloodsuckers, yet somehow, he still managed to prove me wrong. He reminds us daily that there is no bottom—none at all—to his willingness to inflict more pain onto an already painful situation. When you think you’ve reached the floor, he shows you the shovel.
The Reiner family endured years of hell with a son trapped in a cycle of addiction and psychological distress. In and out of rehab seventeen times. Homeless at points. Fractured, lost, unravelling. I can’t speak to what finally broke the man’s internal wiring, or what demons took up permanent residence in his mind. None of us can. But I know this much: this wasn’t a family unfamiliar with suffering.
I see this suffering up close. I see it when I’m going and coming from teaching at the Harris Institute. People climb onto the bus with a crack pipe still warm in their hands, pants sagging nearly to their ankles, bodies caked in grime, minds hollowed out by hunger and chemicals and despair. This is what addiction looks like when it’s no longer romanticized, when it’s stripped bare. Any parent pushed to the cliff’s edge while trying to shepherd a child from troubled teens into an unforgiving world deserves our most tender compassion. Most of this pain happens quietly, behind walls, far from headlines and hashtags.
I’ve always loved and respected Rob Reiner. He could have taken the easy road—pulled a Mel Gibson turn and become another Hollywood cautionary tale—but he didn’t. He stood his ground. And that ground has never been stable. It rattles and shifts with political fashion and cultural cowardice. Reiner understood right from wrong and refused to let the world forget the difference. His films carried humanity in their bones. They were honest. They cared about people.
And then there’s the rat. The one that never stops chewing on our collective grief. Trump.
I wrote about this parasite yesterday, and sixty thousand people read it. Many asked me to say something more. So here it is. I feel the same sickness hearing the bile spill from Trump’s mouth. He is a poor excuse for a man, a hollowed-out ghoul who feeds on the pain of others the way children tear into fast food—thoughtlessly, joylessly, and without consequence. To post those sickening words in the immediate wake of death tells us everything we need to know. As James Carville said: It’s over.
Trump is dead. What we’re hearing now is the corpse still moving. The remains bumping into furniture, muttering, sleepwalking through the final days of relevance. A body that forgot to stop.
I swear there’s no place left on this planet where Trump could walk in public for a snow cone or a bag of grapes without being met by open contempt. This isn’t partisan dislike. This is global revulsion. The world is wired now. Flat screens. Google Translate. News travels faster than excuses. Humanity still knows bad from good, and Trump stands as a textbook example of moral rot. He ranks with the outcasts’ history warns us about, the ones studied later, so we don’t repeat the damage.
All he lacks is the means to cause greater harm. The appetite is there. The instinct is there. And that should chill anyone paying attention.
As I’ve said before and will keep saying until it no longer needs to be said: the world knows him. And the world is done.
- Bill King is American born, Canadian citizen - musician, author, photojournalist. Based in Toronto.
NZWarriors.com
Teflon Don's lawyers will probably slither out of this but you never quite know
View: https://x.com/i/status/2000714657552851121
View: https://x.com/i/status/2000714657552851121
Tourism from Canada has already plummeted apparently
I reckon this handing over five years info is going to kill tourism and they will backtrack within 6 months