The Republic of Donald’s Gut
" "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves" " Once upon a time, inside a spacious, gold-plated colon, there lived a loud and scheming nation of microbes. This was the Republic of Donald’s Gut. They were small, invisible, and infinitely more powerful than the man they lived in, though he thought of himself as the most powerful man on Earth. Candida Albicans was their generalissima. She wore a spotted uniform and spoke in a voice both syrupy and shrill. “Listen, comrades,” she declared at cabinet meetings (these were held daily, after the eighth Diet Coke), “our mission is simple: we want more. More sugar, more corn syrup, more preservatives. More humans who crave these things. Donald is our Great Host—our Prophet of Processed. Through him, we will conquer the world one fast-food wrapper and Walmart Plus delivery at a time.” The bacteria, yeasts and fungi nodded. Bacteroides, wide and greasy, waddled forward. “Our system thrive...
