Je Suis Moi, as the reader may know, had been an Existentialist before he perused Pence’s classic, Donald The Great, About Whom Nothing Greater Can Be Thought, which led to his free subscription to the How to Make Yourself Great Again Channel, and, ultimately, to his magic mushroom conversion to Egotism.
He had been a very depressed existentialist at that. He found no joy in the concept that life was meaningless so one should be happy with a menial job providing there was sufficient budget after rent and enough time off work to get a suntan, drink tequila, consort with prostitutes, and smoke hashish. What depressed him all along was the absurd notion essential to existentialism, that existence was before Being because all the misconceptions of Being got humans in trouble, even caused wars.
He intuited that he was not a speck of dirt, a tomato living in the now, or a naked ape with some kind of being pasted on as an afterthought. There is certainly a more essential being, some Being that comes before existence, as we should all know by now, but he did not know who he originally was. If he did, he would have gone home again.
“Existence in itself does not even exist,” he thought during one of his drunken mental masturbations. “I am someone at least, someone that actually is, that is what comes first, not existence.”
He mentioned his doubts to a fellow kitchen worker, who handed him a dog-eared copy of Donald The Great.
“Don’t be stupid, stupid, read this,” said the short order cook, “everyone else has, and become someone, an independent contractor like the rest of us.”
Sure enough, Donald The Great not only confirmed that he was someone, but that he was whatever he thought he was, and that was always something very, very great, indeed, because he was once very great and could be even greater again, thus he was born again.
It would not be long before he encountered Maya, his alter ego, a dissident from French Welandia, and changed his name to Je Suis Moi. He signed on to the independent contractor program at work, convinced, despite Maya’s advice, that he would be so great again that he would never need social benefits.
He would be promoted to server two years later. He was laid off and found himself without unemployment benefits. The benefits would have been minimal anyway, and not because of his low pay: no more than a thousand workers in Melandia, most of them Welandians with temporary permits to work jobs Melandians did not want, were contributing into the fund.
Maya, once a jurist in France, now reduced to selling drawings of Je Suis Moi on the sidewalks, threatened to leave him unless he got another job. Wherefore he contracted for doorman work at Trump Island, known as “Puerto Rico” before Donald the Great purchased it with a Russian loan after forcing it into bankruptcy liquidation.
His egotistical expectations exceeded his station there and it was not long before the both of them were deported with only each other and the clothes on their backs. They managed to escape from the ship bound for Welandia and made their way to Chania, capital of Independent Crete, where Je Suis Moi took a dishwasher job, immersed himself in Greek myths and imagined himself not only to be the famous Cretan necromancer, Epimenides, but the personification of Zeus from time to time.
Such was the tremendous influence of the book Donald The Great that it literally saved Je Suis Moi’s life, for he had decided that a merely existential life was not worth living, and he would have ended his if Pence’s book had not been thrust into his hands on that fateful day in the kitchen.
A thoroughly enjoyable, tongue-in-cheek satirical story of one man's journey to make himself great again.
I always knew that the Greeks were ahead of the Jews and the Christians. The Romans, while trying to come up with a promised savior for the Jews, turned back to the Greeks for guidance. Since Zeus was the head Greek God, they decided to use him to be the father and the way they would get his son down from Olympus would be to yell out there, "Hey Zeus!"
The Spanish and Italians decided to make it one word, Jesus (pronounced, hey-zeus). The English having a different pronunciation for the "J", started calling the son of God, Jesus (pronounced (geez-us). Thus it is easy to see that the Romans invented the son of God and called him, Jesus, to appease the Jews so they wouldn't keep starting fights in the Middle East and Europe. It sure worked great!
Ron