“Lrae, there’s only one way to chip away at Trump’s base, we have to gaslight him!”
“Duzn’t sound safe or praktical Earl. He’s got all them burly bodyguards. He probably wears non-flammable underware.”
“Not literally set him on fire Lrae, metaphorically.”
“Never herd of or seen a metaphor. Are they burnable?”
(Earl scores higher than Lrae on the standardized poultry IQ test, but he’s not sure himself about metaphors and abstract thought.)
“I’m just a rubber chicken Lrae, but there’s a lot of high octane political chatter out there in the barnyard. It’s getting ugly, and it’s not going to end well."
(Even though Earl’s brain is smaller than a dime there is evidence that birds possess impressive intelligence. Shorter connections between sections of their miniature brains suggest they make decisions more rapidly)
“I’ve come to a really rapid decision Lrae. Something in my dime sized brain says we have to act quickly, before it doesn’t end well."
“I have no plans for the future Earl, except mebbe crossin that rode over there.”
“What I’m saying, Lrae, is that we can bring this presidential pretender down with a play from his own gaslighting playbook.”
“Explain it reel simpel Earl, and explane how you stole Donald’s playbook.”
(Gaslighting refers to a type of psychological manipulation used to get people to question their direct experience of reality.)
“Well, Lrae, Donald gaslit Obama. It’s so simple even Donald could do it. First he said, A LOT of unnamed people, not me, not me, say that Obama is not an American.
Donald just sat on that until the media picked it up. Then he did a lot of interviews on talk shows where he brings up Obama’s half African roots, and that turban his daddy wore. This is the Oogala Boogala stage of his playbook. There’s something scary under the bed, or in the henhouse, or maybe even the White House. Trumped up fear and suspicion works for whoever is on Donald’s hit list. It cast a lot of doubt and suspicion about Obama for a couple of years. It was good press until Obama produced his birth certificate.”
“So what’s your plan Earl?” I voted for 'The Donald.' He’s a fun kind of guy like Don Rickles. You never know who he’s going to viciously attak or twitter about. He goes to bed late, gets up reel erley, and crows bigly about his grate achievements.”
“Well, we should cast our own little doubts about Donald’s paternity. Little things that might be believable. We could say he’s not a real human being.”
(Lrae’s mind is wandering. He’s feeling sorry for himself, realizing most people don’t have any sympathy for a latex rubber chicken.)
“You’re not paying attention Lrae, I’m saying that Donald's early morning crowing isn’t natural for a real human that needs their coffee, and maybe a donut to get on track.”
“Ever notice Lrae how he struts around like a Rooster and tilts his head to one side when he talks and juts his chin out to make himself look more like the macho Rooster Cogburn?”
“He might jes be watching out for incoming hawks Earl.”
“Ever notice that abnormal shelf of feathery hair that sticks out from above his forehead with nothing to support it? That isn’t natural!”
“It duz look a littel like tale feathers stuck on the wrong end of a south bound chiken, come to think about it.”
“And those heel spurs Donald suffers from, ever take a good look at your own feet Lrae, that little worthless spur that sticks out from the back?”
(The plan begins to make sense to Lrae)
“You sayin Donnie is related to us chikens Earl?
“There’s a lot of resemblance Lrae. His loud crowing in the early hours of the morning, his preening and strutting. He picks on anyone beneath him in the pecking order, just like the chickens out there in the barnyard.”
“So -- who’s his reel daddy Earl?” I herd it was that filthy rich slumlord Fred.”
“They don’t look anything alike Lrae. We’ll say we heard it through the grapevine that his real daddy is Foghorn the Leghorn, straight out of the comic books.”
(For Lrae, and others who don’t watch cartoons, Foghorn is a large obnoxious Leghorn Rooster. He struts around the barnyard inflicting loud and boorish little sayings on all the luckless creatures he encounters.)
(As low as his Poultry I.Q score is, even Lrae has some misgivings about this plan of attack.)
“We’ll say a disgruntled doctor who lived in one of Fred’s roach ridden apartments took Foghorn’s DNA from old comic books and spliced it into little Donald on a routine pre-natal exam.”
“Can scientists do that Earl?”
“Sure------- maybe------- I don’t know. Voters don’t keep up on things like genetics or climate change. They believe that chemicals in the water are turning frogs gay and that Hillary is still running a child sex ring out of the basement of a pizza parlor. I’m pretty sure a lot of people will believe Donald’s got a lot of Leghorn in him.”
(Actually, glow in the dark cats may sound like science fiction but they’ve been around for years. Scientists have engineered cabbages that produce scorpion poison. Really? Yes, it’s a strange new world we live in.)
“What do you think Lrae, shall we post this?”
(Lrae has a short attention span. He is wondering why chickens cross the road and wondering if Donald crosses the cart path to retrieve his own golf balls from the rough.)
“Should we cross that road Earl?”
“Sure, just watch Lrae, Donald’s poll numbers are going to drop like a Plymouth Rock.
Maybe social media will re-post this, and eventually Donald will be forced to make his DNA results public, to prove he’s a real human being.”