A Myth

With Flowers

Wanna hear a myth?
Oh, great. Don't we hear enough crap about hoaxes?
Not a hoax. Not "fake news." Not even a conspiracy theory. A myth.
Where will that get us?
It will replace Donald Trump, link by link, with beautiful flowers.
Oh yeah right. 
Once upon a time there was a nymph, named Echo --
Aha! Because she always just mindlessly repeated whatever--
At first, Echo could speak for herself. As long as she was faithful to Hera.
Who was Hera?
She was the wife of the big god, the god of gods--
That better not be the direct link to Trump.
No. Zeus. Zeus drew Echo into a sordid scheme --
Aha! I'm smelling Trump, all right. But where's the flowers?
Hang on. Zeus talked Echo into distracting Hera while he messed around with other nymphs.
Of course. Because his wife was a mature woman, and he preferred 'em underage!
Well, he was eternal.
And feeling it! Just like --
Echo did distract Hera.  Zeus did mess around, and -- 
When is Epstein coming in? Did Hera find the files?
There was no Epstein back then, and no files. But Hera wasn't easy to fool. Hera found out what Zeus was up to, and she couldn't do anything to him--
Yeah? Yeah? Why not? Why the fuck not? Didn't they have "Take him to the cleaners" back then?
No, the courts would side with him. He was not subject to any laws.
Oh yeah? That better not be the link!
What happened was, Hera put a curse --
Good for her. On Zeus?
No. She put a curse on Echo.
Oh. Okay. Surprise surprise. But you promised flowers! 
What the curse did, it made it impossible for Echo to speak her mind. Whenever she tried to say something, she could only utter the last  syllables. "I'm sorry" became "orry. . . orry . . . orry . . ."
 I get it. Hence the name. I still don't see any flowers.
Another character enters the story. Narcissus. Narcissus was the most beautiful dude ever. Nobody could take their eyes off him. 
That cannot be the link to Trump.
But Narcissus had eyes for no one. 
Aha! The manosphere!
Echo was also very beautiful, so you'd think the two of them might have hit it off. No. When Echo saw Narcissus, she tried to exclaim, "Hi-dee-ho!" But all that came out was "ho-ho-ho." So maybe Narcissus thought she was laughing at him. Anyway, he wandered off into the forest. And found a beautiful little pool. A reflective pool. 
Which he immediately found a way to despoil? Named it after Hitler, maybe?
No. He saw something in the pool that transfixed him.
What was that? Pepe the Frog?
He saw his own face. And realized, for the first time, how great-looking he was. He lay beside the pool, and stared, and stared. He was in love with himself. 
I see where you're going with this.
So the next time we call TRUMP a NARCISSIST, whose only regard is himself, we can shift the picture from a bloated old tyrant to --
A beautiful young incel? 
No! So much better! We can picture the very inclusive family of flowers called Narcissus, featuring the jonquil, the paperwhite, and the daffodil.  Flowers whose blossoms may tend to look down, as if to see themselves, but they're not stuck on themselves, nor are they drooping. They're considering where they come from.
But what happened to Narcissus, Mister Pretty Boy?
He never got over himself. Faded away. Leaving the flowers.
What about Echo?
She resounds. Brings us back to the common good: "owers . . . owers . . . owers."