It’s Trump’s Fault That I Am Now An Amputee: by S. J. Waureear


It’s Trump’s fault.

I tripped on the cat today, and I am now missing a foot.

It’s that bloody Trump! If he just wasn’t in office, this would not have happened.

Trending: Christian – You Can Survive in Today’s Hostile & Evil World

Let me explain.

Last week, I purchased a designer wallet from Coach. I know it was probably way too much to spend on a wallet. In fact I had to put it on my credit card, because this will definitely be paid for by Kraft Dinner dinners and monthly payments. I may even need to use my food stamps for food. But boy, what a beauty! Unfortunately, I thought, what a shame that it stays hidden in my pocket for most of it’s existence.

This bothered me, and resulted in my questioning, “Why shouldn’t it be seen by everyone?! I mean, it’s a piece of art!”

So I started to think about ways I could make my wallet more evident in my daily lifestyle. Maybe, I could wear a see-through plastic rain poncho, placing the wallet in the front pouch, where it would be clearly visible.

Maybe I could attach a bell to it, so that each time I removed it from my pocket, the chime might announce its presence.

Maybe I could take out an advertisement in the local paper, telling people of this stellar purchase. Right next to the ad run by CNN seeking for locals to take part in harmless little dramas they put on.

But then people might catch on that I was trying to show it off. And I don’t want to be pegged as one of those kind of people. Only Republicans do that; Trump supporters.

So after consulting with someone who usually has all the answers, my aunt Beryl (she watches tons of “Ghost Hunters” and has sort of an spiritual sense about her), we finally came up with the solution that I should just spend more. I started right there by buying her a flat of Old Milwaukee. Then, off to the mall I ventured.

Every store I walked in, I pulled that wallet out, allowing everyone around to admire it. I even let a few people touch it. In one store I’m sure sales went up because I was there with my wallet. Every time I pulled it out, it was if time stopped, and all eyes were useless in trying to look away.

Strange thing though, by the end of the day I couldn’t spend anymore; I had wracked my credit card up, and the other plastic cried out in pain as I begged the merchant to try and run it “…just one more time; this must be a mistake, I have lots of money in that account!!”
At what seemed an eternity, the POS machine bleeped out, what I am sure was a cuss word, followed by a negative scowl and accompanying shake of the head, by that rude $4 and hour sales associate. “I pay your wage you know!?” I retorted as I grabbed my card and left in a fury.

Emotionally crushed, I quickly hid my wallet, not wanting to shame it. I was sure because I had such an amazing wallet that stores would give me a little extra room to spend. But of course, because of Trump, they didn’t.
Bloody Trump!

Something else occurred to me: I had drained my account of the money I had been saving for rent day tomorrow. Ooooh that Trump!

As I walked out of the mall, the sun had fallen, and I just knew that it was something to do with the new “Buy American” policy that Trump was encouraging. I moped my way to that car that I was forced to buy (because of Trump making Mercedes so expensive), only to find a parking authority wheel-lock on the back passenger side tire (yes because Donald Trump lied…..about something. I can’t remember what, but he did).

I stumbled home, for what seemed like an eternity, bags swinging off my shoulders, banging into my hips. My cramped hand, holding proud the Starbucks vegan-hallal-double-decaf-mocha-ricemilk-half-transgender-low-fat-creampie-cafe in a show of solidarity with the LGBTQ crowd (and received an acceptable number of ‘you go sister’s!’ …..even though I am a man).

The bruises that would follow, from my bags, I knew had something to do with Trump stopping Obamacare. In fact, I believe the bruising might not even be there if talk of this Mexico wall would just stop. Just thinking about it, on my way home threw my body out of alignment and probably promoted a heavier swing by those bags! Hence my bruised little SJW body. Now I know what those on the slave ships went through!

“My America! Where has thoust gone!! Grooaaaan…”

On my way home, I bumped into a protest going on outside the local college. Oh boy! Obviously this was a forcefully conservative college! You know, the kind of college that distinguishes between male and female, supports it’s president, is minus muslim prayer rooms, thinks Israel has actual reason to defend itself and hires professors with morals…ya, that kind of dump. I can’t really say what their issues with the college were, these protestors. But black hoodies and face masks were enough to tell me that they must have been the victims dammit! So I ran out to the front lines, flashed my junk at them, and threw a couple of bottles at the riot-police in support for whoever was rioting…sorry, I mean peacefully protesting.

When I finally made it home, I realized that I had left my door-key in my now impounded “not Mercedes” car, and that because of Donald Trump’s racism, I’d have to break into my own place through a window. If I did break in, I risked be mistaken for a burglar and to be dragged out into the street, curb stomped, gang beat and left for dead. But at least I could understand this, as I am a Caucasian male, the most vicious bloodthirsty and evil category of people since history began. I deserve it! And if I had breath left in me after the beating, I would grasp at the heals of my punishers to demand they beat me some more, wicked privileged person I am. Like how dare I go out in public in this skin (note to self: cover up you dumbbell!)

But like the fearless SJW that I am, I risked it.

As I stumbled inside the window sill, knocking over that plant and smashing a vase that was more than likely crafted poorly in China because they needed to compete with another dollar store that Trump probably has shares in, one of my bags got caught on the window latch and did not make it in. Probably a latch crafted poorly, because the business had to compete with a business related to one of Trump’s; no doubt. As I reached for my bag, an illegal immigrant from down the block, grabbed the bag and ran. I apologized for being white to him as he hopped my neighbour’s fence. It was then that I realized that it was Trumps fault that this thief had been stocking me on my way home from the mall. But, I am willing to bet he needed that Xbox more than I did. If trump would only distribute our wealth to illegals all this would stop!

Well once I got inside, I breathed a sigh of relief and flopped onto the couch. I decided that I wanted to be a woman for the rest of the evening and so I slipped into a tube skirt with a sequins top. Sexy and ready to make a difference in this messed up world we live in!! Once in my battle attire I lay my head down for a moment.

The next thing I know, I was awoken by a phone call from my employer. I had slept in, you guessed it, because of Trump. It seems the subconscious message he has been sending America, with him eating junky food, had claimed me as one of it’s many victims. If that loser Trump can run the Whitehouse with a piece of dirty-bird in one hand and a Red Bull in the other, I could certainly power-shop easily with a less than satisfactorily nutritious meal that day. But I was wrong. Trump obviously has a special kind of junk food jacked with steroids and cocaine, allowing him to sit up for days watching documentaries on the KKK and reruns of All In The Family. But me, I don’t. And so I ended up sleeping in.

Nonetheless, my boss, obviously believing in all that hard work bull that Trump preaches, thought that being late seven out of ten days to work was an issue! Can you believe that?! Well let’s see who’ll be calling me lazy when Trump is decapitated or booted out of office and I am getting my PHD in Feminist Studies for free!
Bernie 2019!

Anyways, he fired me on the phone, right then and there. Even after I told him that was going to exercise my rights in the second amendment (which I’m pretty darn sure is about the freedom to shop without prejudice) . Whatever it is, he hung up and before I knew it, he must be friends with “the Donald”, cops were at my door! Just because I am exercising my right to shop! Thanks Trump!

Almost immediately, my obviously republican neighbours came out on their front lawns to ‘gawk’. I took this as a challenge! I thought, hmmmm, what would Oprah do?

Immediately I grabbed my fancy wallet out and flashed it out the window, to remind them who the real was American here, “Drool ———‘s, drool away!”

Totally happy with myself for owning the whole neighbourhood which, like I said was obviously all republican (or else they would have stood by me, or at least cheered when I flashed my wallet) I went to post a pick of my wallet with the squad cars in the background entitled “Eat it haters!” I couldn’t quite get the right emoji or angle to get the swat team into the picture, that now had arrived (obviously friends with Trump too).

So as I was backing up, I tripped over “little Chelsea “, my cat (Little Hilary chocked on a Whiskies treat and passed on to kitty heaven last year just after little Monika got hit by a senior’s mini buss seven weeks earlier). Well over backwards I went, cracking my ankle like a corn chip. In pain I clawed my way to my super-smart phone, to photo and post my predicament. Then I called Planned Parenthood (who do so much more than just kill babies) for help. They said they’d have to amputate, but that my foot would go to a good home like all the rest of their parts did (probably some well meaning lab in China or Iran).

So today, here I sit, with one foot, a broken vase and only a fancy wallet to my name.
And this is all because of Trump.

Maybe I can go find a protest or two before Jersey Shore reruns air tonight.

The opinions expressed by columnists are their own and do not necessarily represent the views of Barb Wire.

JG Smoothy
JG Smoothy is a musician and the writer of UNDERSTANDING THIS JESUS THING. He has one wonderful wife and three crazy children. JG is a pastor in Southern Alberta Canada and is in the middle of yet another book writing project.

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