There was a time a building would not have a numbered thirteenth floor, but designate the floor directly above the twelfth floor the fourteenth. So it was with an elderly building in Newark, New Jersey, except this building does indeed have a thirteenth floor, accessible only to the national and international establishment political and economic elite, who meet in the palatial suites of the non-existent thirteenth floor in times of crisis. To all appearances there is no thirteenth floor, no elevator stop for a thirteenth floor, but just off the lobby, at the far end of a narrow and dimly lit corridor containing toilet rooms and utility spaces, there is a locked door marked Electrical Closet, Do Not Enter. Yet, if one has the proper key, one can open the door and step into an elevator that will take you directly to the thirteenth floor. Which is what a man from a certain city on the Great Lakes has just done. The room quieted as the man entered, for they were waiting for him. On everyone’s mind was the question, What do we do about Trump.

The man accepts a glass of wine
Yet sips it not, for time was late
He said results from Florida
Have shown the nature of their fate
It’s Donald Trump
Another cried he can’t be stopped
Sweat beading large upon his brow
He is not owned, he’s not of us
Stop him we must, but tell us how
To stop this Trump
There is a man, the first man said
Who’s very quick and sharp of eye
A word from us and he will come
And after, many men will cry
For Donald Trump
But we shall keep the reins in hand
This fellow will not shape our will
The GOP establishment
Will see to it the man is still
This Donald Trump
But they have tried, another sobbed
And all have fallen by the way
The voters have now made it clear
That it’s all over from today
Blast Donald Trump!
The media, the first man said
So quietly that no one heard
Though all the lies they mean to tell
The people won’t believe a word
They say ‘bout Trump
What can we do, they cried at last
He’ll break our rice bowls from the start
No more the graft, the gravy stops
Our friends in Congress will lose heart
Damn Donald Trump!
This time we’ve lost, the first man said
But bide our time and we shall rise
But he was wrong, for it all ends
At the firm hands, to no surprise
Of Donald Trump

The Pentagon is now teaching its recruits the dangers and unfairness of white privilege. This is doubtless on instruction from the White House, and is just one more reason why the whole place should be fumigated when the Obamas leave.

Yes I am white and so’s my pop
And privileges never stop
We profited from being white
And got ahead but that’s all right
We worked for all we got
So let me say just what that means
It means that hard work’s in the genes
It means you study hard in school
And live your life by golden rule
It means your kids will have a dad
To teach you when you are a lad
So that you grow up good, not bad
And morals mean a lot
By morals I mean you treat me
The way that you would like to be
Respect your neighbors and your friends
And live as if your life depends
On doing well at what you do
And love someone as she loves you
And teach your children to be kind
And know good works brings peace of mind
And lastly as a parting thought
Think long and hard what God has wrought
Give thanks for what you’ve got

The disdain for Donald Trump and his supporters among the pundit class is endemic, with some of Fox News Channel regulars among them. The disdain extends beyond Trump himself to his supporters, who are universally described as ignorant, high school dropouts, low income residents of trailer parks. These faux elite pundits do not see that these people have been betrayed by the liberal dogma that says that shipping jobs and factories overseas is a good thing, and that importing millions of third world Mexicans into the country to take their few remaining jobs is good for the economy. The pundits sniff at the concerns of these people, who in their ignorance do not understand the world as well as their betters do. Well, disdain goes both ways, and the faux elites of both parties are about to find out how it feels when somebody eats your lunch.

The eyebrow raised, the snicker, sneer
Suggestions that the end is near
For Trump and folks who just drink beer
Well fellah guard your lunch
Those lower class moronic dopes
Those no-nothings with dopey hopes
Who spend their days watching the soaps
Will show how hard they punch
They’re marching and they’re pitchfork mad
They know they’ve been betrayed and had
You are about to get it bad
And that’s not just a hunch
Oh yes you’ll still be on TV
Your pretty face we’ll all still see
But you’ll be hungry, yes you’ll be
Because we have your lunch