Fishing for a ‘Trump Groper’

By RALPH DOTTERER JR.

The Griswold family vacation has become a movie classic. What could possibly go wrong with a family, a loaded station wagon, and the open road in front of them? During the late 1950s and early 1960s, my mother would pack supplies in the back of our Pontiac station wagon and we would drive off into the northeast for a week or two in the summer.

For our mother, it was a working vacation. When we were on the Atlantic coast, our parents would take the family deep sea fishing on a party boat. Unfortunately, our father wasn’t born with sea legs, and his stomach was never compatible with the rocking boat.

Sometimes the sand flies were biting us more than the fish bit our bait. On a party fishing boat, when the people stand around the perimeter of the deck, sometimes their fishing lines would get tangled. And who could forget the guy with a cooler full of beer who, by the end of the day, wanted to kiss your fish!

Our one son recently went fishing with a friend on a party fishing boat, off California’s coastline, bringing back memories. This got me to thinking about the Presidential and general election, as I continue my 2016 analysis. As the campaign winds down, the big push in the media is mostly about Donald Trump, the predatory groper. I also thought the word groper, was the name of a large predatory fish. But by the time I realized the difference in spelling, my imagination had already kicked into overdrive. These are my thoughts, set to the storyline from the classic movie “Jaws.”

It’s now the campaign season and the atmosphere has heated up. The beach is crowded with people trying to shed all their frustrations with the remaining candidates. Among the crowd are beautiful, young, innocent women wearing string bikinis. They catch the eye of the Trump groper prowling the shoreline.

Suddenly shouts ring out, “groper, groper, groper!” There is mass confusion among the people. Some react in fear, others don’t seem to care. Lifeguards and parents rush to wrap towels around the exposed young women in a sexually explicit culture.

The Trump groper won’t be tolerated and must be eliminated for his past deeds. Like sharks in a feeding frenzy, newspeople, political operatives, and thrill-seekers set out in a flotilla of small boats. Their purpose is so driven that they block out all other issues. A committee then decides it’s time to bring in an accomplished predator to catch their beast. They head to a seedy part of the dock where the predator has his lair. Sitting in his chair reminiscing, surrounded by trophies hanging on a wall, is Cap’t Bill. There is also a photo of the infamous blue dress, the one that he didn’t get to keep.

After an agreement is reached with Cap’t Bill on strategy, the Clinton party boat is outfitted with gear and bait. For Cap’t Bill this is personal, because a close relative of the Trump groper, Republican red tips, had almost done him in.     As the boat leaves the harbor, onlookers can see the name “Pay to Play,” painted on the boat’s stern.  Then they hear the words to a song rising above the drone of the boat’s motor;

“Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies

Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain

For we have received orders

For to sail to old Boston

And we may ne’er see you fair ladies again.”

The Trump groper draws the Clinton party boat out further from shore, as the predatory groper taunts Cap’t. Bill. The crew finds that normal rod and reels prove useless to bring the big fish on board. The decision is then made to harpoon the beast and tie them to barrels of accusations by groped women.

While news media operatives chum the water with photos of tell all women, a crew member calls out, “We’re going to need more help. Someone call in the President!”     After taunting the Clinton party boat, while pulling underwater the barrels of accusations, the Trump groper meets his latest test. Michelle Obama comes to the boats rescue and based on the strength of her words, tries to tie the monster to the boat.

The boat’s crew decides to race the Trump groper to shore’s finish line, where they can publicly do him in, stuff him, and mount him on Cap’t Bill’s wall!  Unfortunately the Clinton party boat is taking on water, after the bruising battle with their foe. The Trump groper is now obsessed with a blinding rage, threatening to sue his accusers, and claiming the process is rigged!

The boat’s engine now faces more challenges from it being flooded by WikiLeaks continuing release of hacked emails, and hackers of Russian, North Korea or Chinese origin who haven’t followed the Clinton party boat’s “Pay to Play” demands.

The boat, which is belching black smoke, races toward the shoreline, with impact occurring on election day.

Who will win? I don’t know. But I can predict the ending could be very messy. Any voter who is not somehow disturbed by what we’ve seen so far in the campaigns is relegated to cutting bait.

Donald Trump has taken a lot of heat lately by saying, “The election process is rigged.”

I don’t know much about voter fraud, but in other aspects, I think he’s right on the money. The love of money and power corrupts, and we see “pay to play” campaign winners from both parties drive government policy.     Ask Bernie Sanders’ millions of supporters if they don’t think the election process was rigged. Ask any of the reputable Republican primary candidates who got Trumped if they thought the process was fair?

Sadly, we ended up with two con artists and one will be elected our president. On election day, the outcome will be determined by a nose. Yes, swing voters will hold their noses and vote for the lesser of two evils.

I now ask, how has it all come to this? Hmmm?

As our nation begins a new journey with our next President, what will be our theme song? Will it be “Amazing Grace” for those who believe in a higher power? Will it be “Holiday Road” with a Griswold style presidency? Or will you sing … “Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies….?”

Ralph Dotterer Jr. is a lifelong Nittany Valley farmer, hayseed philosopher, barnyard artist and soapbox theologian whose roots in the same soil go back almost 200 years.

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