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My memoir, The Coronavirus Chronicles, continues. I write every day as I deliver a play-by-play of the presidential election and the Coronavirus pandemic. I am trying to create the life of a writer/blogger. I have no problems mixing fiction with reality. As another blogger likes to say, it's all about the story. 

I have accumulated 600 entries and I have 24 days until the November 3rd election as I maintain my diary. I will end the project with the results of the presidential clash. I will have plenty of material to both edit and finish my book. I will include an epilogue written the day of the inauguration. It could be quite long since Trump will remain in office through November, December and January if he loses. There is no telling the shenanigans this vindictive son-of-a-bitch will pull. Maybe COVID will have the last word and Mike Pence will be president. Our traitor should know that lacking respect for the enemy can have fatal consequences.  

I remain faithful to my first-person project. It is exciting as events will determine the story's ending. It is exciting that the first draft is coming to an end. There comes a point when a relationship is no longer worth the effort. I will relish the editing; I know that I have a legitimate and spellbinding work. I don't know if it will be long enough to be called an epic, but after publishing 17 books of poetry, short stories and novels, number 18 will be by far my biggest book and I hope my best. 

I have to admit that I'm taking a deep breath as I head into the home stretch. This close to the finish line, I intend to sprint and not trot. It shouldn't be too difficult as Trump becomes more frazzled, we can count on him for entertainment. He is a sick fuck with a following of sick fucks. One of his white supremist organizations, Wolverine Watchman, was planning to kidnap the governor of Michigan and start a civil war. 

He is doing everything within his power to limit the vote and he has uttered on countless occasions that he can't guarantee a peaceful transfer of power if he loses; in his own words, only a rigged election could cost him the election. Full of steroids to help him combat his bout with Coronavirus, the drug has turned the madman macho into a super madman macho. He is contagious, but he intends to hold rallies. The death of a few fanatical followers is the sacrifice his disciples must accept in order to avoid the death of his political career. 

Biden and Harris are hitting the swing states in order to solidify their leads. Has the country finally had it with Trump? After the vice-presidential debates, he snarled that Harris was a both a "monster" and a "communist." He has said a thousand things worse, but there comes a tipping point when one has condemned himself to the path of perdition. With the exception of the rednecks, racists and Religious Right bigots, who is going to vote for him? The minorities aren't. The women, with the exception of those nymphomaniac females who want Trump to palpate their pussies, are disgusted by him. (Palpate is a word. I found it on my Goggle thesaurus. I had never seen it previously. I succumb to alliteration. So I went for it. It means: To examine or explore by touching an organ or an area of the body. Can't argue with that definition.) 

The senior citizens live in fear. He has mishandled the pandemic and their lives hang in the balance. The youth despise him. There is a healthy number of educated white men who want to throw him out of their nest. Most of the gringos I know agree with this assessment: He may portray himself as the king of the beasts, but it is his fruitless effort to convince himself that he is not the runt of the litter. The story's final scene is not a complicated telling. There can only be one of two finales: Trump loses and we have hope or Trump wins and we'll be smoking a lot of dope.

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