THE SECRET TRUMP DOWN-LOW: MIDDLE AGED REPUBLICAN MEN WHO EXPERIENCE RECURRING NIGHTTIME DREAMS OF BEING SEXUALLY ABUSED BY DONALD TRUMP
A RADIO FREE OZARKS
AFTER SCHOOL HEALTH WATCH REPORT
By Dr. Fred Potato
Radio Free Ozarks Senior Editor
July 20th, 2022
Radio Free Ozarks has learned of a new type of men’s support group appearing throughout the Ozarks and the rural South. Older family men, strictly Caucasian, staunchly conservative and more than a little bit racist, coming together in small and secret groups. In semi-anonymity, they discuss their similar experiences and possibly act on them. But this is no white supremacist coffee-klavern. These men share a rarer bond, for these men are all having the recurring nocturnal dream of getting backdoored by former President Donald Trump.
Local tire shop proprietor C. Davenport (not his real nam) is one such recipient of these visions. Davenport spoke to us on condition of anonymity, because we really would have published his name if he hadn’t agreed to speak with us. Davenport initially balked at telling all, but with the curtains drawn to a darkened room and with suitably sad and tinkly piano music playing through our iPhone, he eventually spilled the beans.
“It was a Friday night a few weeks ago. My Threeper buds and me had been practicing drinking and shooting out at Chuck’s compound. We knocked out some paper targets set up across the field but no one wanted to run out and set up new targets because they might get shot. So mostly we just whooped and hollered and shot up in the air. The wife had taken the kids to visit her folks for a few weeks while we were working some things out, so it should have all been a good time, right? But I had the dream for the first time that night.
“(It) seemed so real. In a vision of white light, Donald stood behind my shoulder. I always used to call him Trump, but I feel like, uh, we really know each other so now I call him Donald. He had that usual dark blue suit with the red tie, but I don’t think he had pants on. He was smiling and he seemed so self-assured and he pointed beyond me and I knew that he wanted me face forward. And he made that thumbs-up sign with both hands but then I felt him use those thumbs to sorta spread things apart. Now I would do anything for Donald. But in the dream I realized that I didn’t have any choice.”
Davenport took a moment to collect himself. “I trusted him to be gentle. But damn it was rough and it made me wake up after a minute. I think I really felt pain outside the dream because my sheets were all messed up. And I was walking funny the next day. I went in the tire shop the next day and I told the guys there I’d pulled a groin muscle. But the strangest damn thing is that my employees Vance and Coy (names have been changed) were walking funny just the same, and they said the same thing.
“It’s not something I wanted to happen. But clearly Donald wanted it. And if He wanted it then I guess it was something I wanted for Him,” Davenport said while looking away with a 1000-yard stare. “For Him.”
“I tried to move past it,” Davenport mumbled. “I took a week’s vacation. Went down to Florida for the Patriot Front camp. Came back and things seemed good for a few days. And then the dream happened again. Nearly the same, only it lasted a bit longer. I think I cracked the bedframe.
“I was so messed up. I had to tell someone. The minister who leads the prayers at our camp, (he) blesses our rifles. It was one of the toughest things I’ve ever had to do, walking into his little storefront ministry. But he listened to my story and didn’t seem to pass and judgement. He said that Donald works in strange and mysterious ways and if that’s what Donald wanted I should accept it. We sat in silence for a bit and then he said ‘I’ve been having those dreams too.'” He told me that several other men like me had confessed the same dream to him, and that there was an informal support group meeting once a week. He said I needed to attend.
“They’d been meeting in the back room at the ministry, on the weekends. They’d started up maybe three weeks before. I told my wife that I was going to the gun range for tactical training. I didn’t know what to expect when I walked into that back room, but the minster led me back there. They’d pulled the curtains and the lights were off and it was dark. Maybe eight of us there. My eyes got used to the dark and I was stunned to see Vance and Coy there. After an opening prayer, I was invited to tell my story. I did, and the other guys all said they’d had the same dream. And the minister told us that there’s at least 30 other support groups that have sprung up around the state. I was so relieved to know I wasn’t alone.
“Then the minister told all of us that he was worried for our salvation if we rejected the visions we had been given, and that furthering our personal growth in the real world didn’t make us gay, because Donald is obviously not gay in any way. The priest directed us to meet again this Saturday, and prepare for some role-playing brotherhood with him dressed up as Donald so he could, as he put it, help us further explore our feelings on what we’ve been through. And we should wear loose clothing.”
Davenport looked up from the floor. “The whole thing sounds like a setup, to be honest, but I’ll be there if I can feel closer to Donald. And the minister has seemed mighty depressed lately since he lost the primary for lieutenant governor. And he’ll be out of the legislature soon, so maybe this sort of manly fellowship will lift his spirits.” Davenport shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “And somehow, it will all be okay.”
Radio Free Ozarks arranged an interview with another attendee from Davenport’s support group, a prominent business executive with extensive ties to the Arkansas Republican Party. After initially refusing to speak with us, then offering us money to go away, a nighttime meeting on the Junction Bridge pedestrian pathway in Little Rock was arranged. The business executive, who we shall call E. Strate (not his real name), arrived looking unkempt and unshaven, bleary-eyed and smelling of booze. Strate indeed drank from a flask and repeatedly looked over his shoulder during a short but emotional and eventful interview.
“It won’t stop. It’s the same dream over and over again. Should I feel blessed?” Strate wondered out loud. “Tell them. So they know they’re not alone. Write it down.” he pleaded. “It felt so wrong. But if it’s what He wanted then it had to be so right. But if it was right, did I enjoy it? If I was part of something greater why should it matter if I enjoyed it? But then my minister, a man I trusted, has made things so complicated. It’s been so strange lately with Donald, and I wish he would stop.”
Strate suddenly looked terrified. “Wait, I mean I wish my minister would stop! I’m not talking about Donald Trump!” Strate loudly insisted. “I don’t want Donald Trump to stop anything! Oh my goodness. I didn’t say any of this! This conversation is off the record. Off the record! Please don’t write down that I said that. I have powerful friends. Powerful friends! Aaaaaa!”
Strate then ended the interview by staggering away, and in a scene that looked remarkably similar to the Edvard Munch painting The Scream, began running frantically back and forth across the Junction Bridge while holding his head and screaming incoherently. Strate then yelled toward the sky “I’m dead! I am doomed! Donald John Trump, please forgive me! I beg of your mercy!” before jumping over the bridge railing into the Arkansas River. A State Police search boat eventually recovered Strate’s body several miles downstream, according to local news reports.
Have you or someone you know had recurring dreams of getting buggered by Donald Trump? Let us know in the comments section below, assuming our WordPress plugin subscription is up to date. You can trust Radio Free Ozarks with your information.