Gâteau

• Satire

								
I'm officially running for President! I have zero qualifications. Zip, zilch, Grenada! I have a lot great ideas. No one else, of course, will agree on how to make any of them happen. Instead we will fight! Like estranged siblings on Christmas, waiting until mom leaves the room to put out one fire; so that we may start another. 
 A cornucopia of delicious delusions that only serves to service our current path. One of apathetic discourse, disguised as altruistic empathy bathing in animosity.
This is how it is done! 
Slowly then swift.
Like a river, like a tsunami...

We are all there on the shore. Her name is tomorrow. No amount of hubris can hold her at bay! The knowing, the gnawing, that certain thing, it is vexing! Yes? Uncomfortable things wrapped up in worries. Untouched but in plain sight. Destiny and desires garnished. Waiting for the storm, ribbons and wrappings scattered. We have come undone! 

I'm imagining my Vice, is it unhealthy? My squire, no my atache! Suitable in reputation and charismatic. There is chaos blossoming along the withdrawn path. Replacements do little to ease the suffering. We will shape the future. Obliterate precedence, plaster decorum with vague implications we will rally our mass. An undulating tide sowing seeds of hope with maudlin curiosity. The atrocious past will wither! This is the way. Intoxicated with progress we flirt with congress, then fall apart.

The tides are turning. Choppy and tipsy we slosh our way into the future. Oblivious of inherited obligations we tread the water with a cabinet of dignitaries. Parliament in hand, pursed lips, exhale. We are revolutionaries on a merry-go-round plotting intercourse with disaster!

Relief?
Stricken from the record.
Out of order!
Bye design. It is coming. The surge! It swells up from below, a bellow! Forged of balderdash misgivings. A reckoning nonchalantly guiding our current company. Dauntless, undressed, avarice "Qu'ils mangent de la brioche" 
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