It’s been a wild ride in Fool’s Paradise, as bowl-cut aficionado, Trumpleton Dump was walloped by a partial muzzling courtesy of the Big Apple’s High Court majesty, His Honor Encyclopedia Engoron.
It all took place on a day that was otherwise regular enough to rival a metronome’s predictability, with Trumpleton ambling into the courtroom, a location he’s become disturbingly familiar with, like a groundhog that watches C-Span instead of predicting spring. Then, in typical Manhattan style, as if painting the skyline with judicial firmness, Judge Encyclopedia Engoron, direct descendant of the Dewey Decimal System, dropped his gavel like a beat on the DJ decks.
But this wasn’t the sort of buttoned-down, order-in-the-court moment that courtroom dramas are made of. No, this was more along the lines of a circus lion being muzzled by a velour-tracksuit-wearing lion tamer. Trumpleton was gifted, or cursed, with a partial gag order. For a chap known more for his verbal diarrhea than eloquence, this was like asking a fish to climb a tree.
Unsurprisingly, this didn’t bode well for our protagonist Trumpleton Dump, and frustration levels matched that of a marathon runner being asked to bunny hop the entire route. But here’s where it got interesting – and by interesting, we mean, more chaotic than a game of Jumanji.
Under the watchful gaze of Encyclopedia Engoron, known for his stern gaze and a penchant for courtroom theatrics somewhat akin to Broadway, the trial progressed like a snail doing the tango. Trumpleton, forcibly silent, could only spew wordless exclamations and animated reactions, stealing the spotlight as he’s wont to do. It was a situation that rendered the court a makeshift theatre, with the participants’ restraint teetering like jello in an earthquake.
What does this mean for Trumpleton Dump? In a nutshell, the once garrulous presidential puppet master found himself firmly ensnared in the chains of legal protocol, and forced into a game of charades he may not win. And though it’s anyone’s guess what the orange-hued former commander-in-chief was mouthing, it’s safe to say, it probably wasn’t the alphabet.
In this grand farce we call life, it seems even a game of thrones can quickly devolve into a round of musical statues, with everyone flirting disastrously with the notion of silence. As for Trumpleton Dump, perhaps this partial gag order is exactly what he needs – an involuntary pause, an opportunity to ponder, chew on the finer points of humility, perhaps? Ah, who are we kidding? We’re more likely to see a unicorn prancing down Fifth Avenue…
