Once upon a time, in the United States of Alternative Facts, a little boy was born. His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Dumpty (no same-sex marriage here), christened him Ronald.

Ronald was not the brightest candle in his class, but he had motivation and tenacity. One day he would make his exacting parents proud, he swore. One day he would bully others instead of being the one bullied, he promised himself. One day he would be the killer and the king his father taught him to be, and meet the Queen of England to make his mother proud, he vowed.

He, the fourth child of five, would have it all: the money; the power; the wives and the children; and last but not least, the Holy Grail a.k.a. the Nobel-prize. Nothing and no one would stand in his way.

His father had taught him well. Rules, competitors and opponents were like eggs, Dumpty the elder used to say. One had to be ready to break a few to get what one wanted; be it success or an omelet. Money is power and power is money, he would continue. One could not have too much of either. The family money was a good start. But what was money without fame and recognition?

Ronald soon realized that it was all about perception. Being a real estate mogul with a promising career in reality TV might get you an invitation to Epstein’s villa, but it would not get you one to the Buckingham Palace. You could cover your homes with gold ten times over, but that would not make them palaces that beat the real thing.

Fame and money alone were not enough. Especially, when people like Obama were elected President and given the Nobel prize. A Dumpty would not take the success of someone so inferior (as Ronald saw it) lying down. It was not the way of a true Dumpty. Anything Obama could do, Dumpty, or Dumpster as all too many called Ronald in his youth, could and would do better!

So on Dumpster went to run for President. And wonder of all wonders; with the wildly unruly support of the Evil Magi, Ronald was elected not once, but twice. Voters all too often learn only when it is too late.

Not so, Ronald. He had learned his lessons well, both those of his father and of the wily Brooklonyx Rudy. Real winners took all they could get away with. There were opportunities galore, if you were unscrupulous enough to take advantage of them and ready to force the issue in your favour by any means available, fair or unfair. Isn’t that why a successful deal was called making a killing?

A totally new take on the presidential role was born. One where narcissism met up with antisocial behaviour and paranoia to create a unique Dumpster mix. A mix without boundaries, be they moral or legal, national or international. All of it richly peppered with wild mood swings.

Dumpty was on the roll: So many parcels of land from Gaza to Greenland, so much oil in Venezuela, such plentiful mineral rights in Ukraine; and all of them up for grabs, not to mention Cuba and Canada. The possibilities were almost limitless: so many sweet deals to be made, so much cryptocurrency to be had. If only the rest of the world would keep from interfering,

Dumpty was no Captain Picard. There was no talk of bettering ourselves and the rest of humanity on his watch. Ideals of selflessness and humanity’s enrichment were for sad losers and concepts such as friends and allies were a mystery as far as Ronald was concerned. What was in it for him, he pondered. Who needed enemies, with a friend like Dumpty, his  friends would learn the hard way.

But we live in a time of stories. And stories tend to have a morally upright and happy ending, unless they are scary nursery rhymes or told by the Brothers Grimm. Ronald, unfortunately, was clearly brought up on the latter, which is understandable given his father’s German antecedents. Not that the Dumpty family would ever dwell on that subject. Immigrants they were not, not at heart at least. If one could call it a heart, with so little compassion and human decency involved? This blood pumping organ might more aptly be called a Dumpty pump. A really, really great and beautiful one, naturally, as all things Ronald were, if Ronald was to be believed.

Dumpty could twist the truth with the best of truth twisters, and sell a story that no one in their right mind would buy, but people still did. He could even have himself immortalised by his minions with tailor made prizes and buildings renamed in his honor.

One thing was not in his power, however. No one would ever see him as the white knight of any story ; not after all that had been said and done. That happy ending was as far beyond his reach as the Holy Grail.

So Dumpty was left sitting on a wall, headed for a great fall. What goes around comes around – in stories and in real life. When Dumpty inevitably fell, all the President’s horses and all the President’s men couldn’t put him together again. That, however, is a story for another day.

What will happen? Who will the white knights be? The world is waiting with bated breath. To be continued…

Disclaimer: As is the way in the United States of Alternative Facts, all the above may or may not have happened. Who is to say, if it did or didn’t. You get to decide.