Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?
Another soul-crushing disappointment at last night's White House Correspondents's Dinner
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MODERN MEDIA OPERATES as a syringe that constantly injects us into the minds of maniacs. Be they gunmen or presidents. It never stops. At coffee this morning, each table I passed as I walked over to where I wanted to sit was deep in conversations about—of course—Trump. Before I could get my AirPods in place, I was subjected to three different degrees of excitement from different clusters of people.
Everyone was talking about how the still-offgassing White House Correspondents’s Dinner dinner mayhem was a staged happening. That had me laughing, not from incredulity but because, well, the notion isn’t far-fetched at all. With global discourse fixated on the Iran war, the minimizing of attention on Trump was too much for his hybrid form of narcissism to endure. There needed to be some kind of an event that would pull him back into the spotlight and allow him to elaborate on the importance of building his beloved ballroom. The astrology confirms it.
Apparently J. D. Bowman, er, J.D. Hamel, er, J.D. Vance was the first cabinet member to be yanked off stage by the Secret Service after shots (or clanking pans) rang out. Grampaw Don was in the midst of being entertained by a magician, apparently, and (allegedly) didn’t want to be interrupted. A charming image. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
And not to be ignored in the narcissism department, TPUSA’s Serena Joy/Tammy Faye Baker clone, Erika Kirk, had an ego-fueled breakdown backstage and was quickly whisked from the building.
Confusion abounded for the Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight administration.
One thing that did clarify last night was the transit I’d been harping on since the start of the year, namely, Uranus’ final square to Trump’s Mars-ascendant conjunction. That angle perfected—almost to the fucking minute—just as the bangs went off. Interestingly enough, this same transit was in play during Trump’s Butler, PA, assassination attempt.
Although props to press secretary Karoline Leavitt! From a post I caught over on Twitter, Leavitt outflanked every soothsayer in town with her fiery prediction that arrived five hours before the dinner commenced.
Let’s look at the transits for last night. Thanks to Malia, in DC, we’ve got the exact time for the ruckus, 8:36PM.
Look at the fucking Moon (the public) and midheaven (the pinnacle of exposure)—just where Trump wants them, exactly conjunct his ascendant. The entire nation, naturally, would be fixated on the event, but more importantly, they are fixating on him (the ascendant—the most forward-facing part of a person’s chart).
And, again, Uranus (surprises, explosions, and no, shit magicians) exactly squaring Trump’s Mars-ascendant nexus—off by only four minutes. Surreal. It’s the easiest aspect in astrology to unpack, put Mars (violence) and Uranus (surprises) together, and—baby go boom.
There’s more to consider, but I wanted to get this post up while all the madness continues to unravel. And remember, there are still four more days to see if Nick Dagan Best’s prediction—that Trump would be ‘out of the picture’ by May—comes to pass.
Love,
PS: For more mishegas, my co-host John Calendo and I will be revisiting this topic and much more in a new episode of our Fame Whore’s podcast. Follow us here.
The opening photograph, Three Stooges Eating Pie, public domain.
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