Media’s Frankenstein; Bigger Than Elvis


By the time I began to witness tree branches growing into my arms, a mental notepad of bullet points began to develop on Donald Trump’s current stab with popularity. Whether you like the man, support the man or wish him dead, Trump is the monster most heads are turning to look at. Some see a savior; most see a shill.

It was Friday night and I wanted to get away from my own personal madness for a while. I needed some space and devilish hallucinogenics to whisk me away; some great music to stomp my feet to and jar my soul…something to possess me like a Santeria trance. A music house on the metro south side of Indianapolis was hosting a band called Bigger Than Elvis. I knew this would be perfect. Me, jaunting off to see a band (self claimed) bigger than the King, while bullet pointing my thoughts on the man who acts as if he’s bigger than God. This Trump thing had been nagging me a while now and I had to see if there was some minor theorem everyone overlooked.

I steeped a large portion of psychedelic mushrooms, drank it quick and hit the road. The music venue was about two and a half miles away so this would be perfect timing with the effects of the mushrooms. They typically take about thirty minutes to begin kicking in good and that was exactly the amount of time it took the trees to start growing branches into my arms. I envisioned a Dystopian Trump society as a police helicopter flew over my head. The streets were vacant except for me; the drugs exaggerated this scene with an eerie solitude of oppression. I imagined myself in this Trump world and it was not pretty. I assume most of us have imagined that horrifying Trump world and none of us like or want that…so why is this guy still in the lead? Hell, why is this guy still in the race?

Since Donald Trump came down that slow elevator and announced a bid for the White House, his antics have shown up being the front running footage for most newscasts. In the beginning, we were all amused at his pomposity and morose behavior but now the race is in it’s final months. We all thought he would be tossed out on his ear by now, or at the very least, be at the bottom of the polls-popular only to Skinheads and dullards. We have ourselves and the media to blame for this Frankenstein. Our focus on watching the man we loved to hate brought high ratings/viewings.and those numbers played to news outlet moguls who saw a cash cow in keeping Trump in the public’s eye. Frankentrump is a result of our over-indulgence in watching the freak. Media outlets couldn’t help but harbor the man on their websites. He was internet browser gold.

I made the show and watched a fantastic performance from this band who played whiskey drinking, boot tapping rockabilly music. Old covers from Elvis Presley and Roy Orbison. The voice of the lead singer, this man who was truly bigger than Elvis (pounds/acreage) had a sweet crooning voice that crashed out these old hits with emotion to move you. It was impossible not to shake and dance while watching him. The hours passed by as I slammed down Dewars like it was water. Mushrooms will make you do that. The alcohol puts a nice damper on the tremors you can get from them.

Hours later, I had walked back to my side of town and stopped at a neighborhood bar which hosts great bands. The outside cigarette smokers patio had a discussion going on about a disruptive crowd in Chicago upsetting a Trump rally there. This led to my asking the question to that small group; how many of them knew hardcore Trump supporters-people who definitely want the man in the White House. One man knew one supporter. More peculiar to me was the fact that the same number usually gets pulled up when asking the same question with regard to any other Republican candidate. The right wing political machine is somewhat stalled for the moment and not sure what to do about it. The media placed Trump as their front runner but most Republicans look at this guy and refuse to believe he is going to be their designated man. They aren’t sure who they want, but they know who they don’t want. They have to see a future with another Democrat in the White House this upcoming term and this upsets them. They seethe at the thought of Hillary Clinton being the next President and aren’t really sure what they feel about Sanders-other than they think he’s some incarnation of Vladimir Lenin. Republicans are pissed and feel they’re going to have to take it up the ass four more years, all because their party couldn’t get it together enough to provide them a candidate they could get behind. They yearn for the days of another Ronald Reagan but so far all they get is Ronald McDonald…some clown selling them a lot of cheap, tasteless shit.

The evening eventually turned to morning and all the effects of the drugs and alcohol washed away leaving me to feel reassured that I don’t believe Trump will be elected president…this time, at least. Sweet Jesus, the majority hasn’t gone that insane yet. I had ventured out into the night to see a man know to be Bigger Than Elvis, while thinking about a man who feels bigger than God. At least one of these two proved worthy of praise and title, and that one man sings with a voice of gold.


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