Flash in The Pan
Donald's Excellent Military Adventure
Standard Definition:
A flash in the pan is: “An effort or a person that promises great success but fails.”
Origin:
“…A metaphoric term that alludes to the 17th-century flintlock musket, which could be fired only when the flash of the priming powder in the lockpan ignited the charge in the barrel. When the charge failed to ignite, there was only a flash in the pan and the gun did not shoot…”
Another interpretation:
(And this might be fitting for Sir Donald of The Small-Hands) “…the kind of recurring nightmare an aging, dissolute man might tell a therapist: “Doc, I keep having this dream where I have the most popular and the hugest erection in history, but just when I’m going to ejaculate, my member droops and nothing happens…”
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Trump’s military birthday bash of June 14th ended, and, in fact, began—not with a bang but a prolonged whimper. Our president had, in his vacant yet boyish heart, yearned desperately for the same kind of precision goose-stepping military parade that he had seen in France during his first term; but, au contraire, it turned out be one long sad duck-waddle… And even worse, in the definitive world-view of young Donald, it was a bad television show.
The soldiers slouched, often seemed out-of-shape and out-of-step; they shuffled along as if they were at a summer camp cook-out. They made silly heart signs and flashed Tik-Tok grins from the turrets of tanks, turning these standard symbols of masculinity into children’s carnival bump-a-cars.
Some of the men (and women?! What happened to no-DEI?) dressed up in period military uniforms, attempting to recall the revolutionary and other wars this country fought to win and preserve and Democracy. This silly costume party didn’t show an ounce of military pride or even a fraction of America’s struggle for freedom; it more closely resembled a bunch of clueless children dressing up in their daddy’s old uniforms.
The military parades that Trump saw on his original European vacation—the ones that he wanted so much for himself (and this is perfectly symbolic for this silliest of men) were the very antithesis of the great armed struggles fought by the United States Army (until Vietnam and the blundering, destructive wars in the Mid-east).
These thundering European horse-operas that our kicked-in-the-head president witnessed were first, last and always displays of the very worst symbols of imperialist, colonialist arrogance and oppression; armies of the king, or the Emperor—of the hereditary upper classes of these countries and their paid mercenaries.
For Christ’s sake, the kind of military parade that Trump yearned for was the rotting remnant of exactly what Americans fought against to achieve their independence, eliminate slavery, and help the world defend itself against dictators.
The United States—despite our great faults and sins as a country—was always, when called on to use our military, made up of Citizen Soldiers. As soon as the fight was over, the Army receded; returned back its historically low numbers, and that was always as it should have been.
Huge, standing armies were never American. In fact, it’s emblematic of the moral and political decline of this country, that, after the great failure (and national embarrassment) of Vietnam, Nixon was able to sell a volunteer army—professionals not beholding to the wishes of its citizens—to the American public.
And that “volunteer” (in fact standing, officially imperial army) grew, inevitably, out of the transfer of all war powers from the Congress to the President. The last time a President asked the citizens of this country for a declaration of war was 1964!
All the wars (with the possible exception of The Korean War)—all the wars after that were owned and operated by home-grown American imperialists, blinded by their towering, ignorant arrogance. (Robert MacNamara, Dick Cheney, et. al.)
At this pivotal moment, Congress is trying to reclaim its constitutional authority to declare war and not leave every military decision to the Executive branch (especially an executive branch run by a mad king and his billionaire, gangster pals).
So, this past June 14th, what a stark contrast there was between Trump and the usual suspects; the corroding zombie, military-industrial establishment, and it’s sad, little spurt of a birthday parade—AND the millions of American citizens who who turned out passionately united all over the country for the NO KINGS demonstrations.
The protesters gathered together as a true expression of E Pluribus Unum, of the fundamental power of its citizens, always striving for a balance between freedom, equality and the need to use wisdom and force in this dangerous world.
Trump, as always, misses the fucking point. If that point refers in any way to the struggle for, and the triumph of, the human soul, or of the shared yearnings of the human heart, he just doesn’t get it. Despite his repeated, pathetic attempts to be Julius Caesar, he always winds up doing a bad imitation of Nero.