Donald Trump

When he comes in, he's like a king, with trumpets sounding, and a carpet laid out already. He may not be god but everyone treats him that way, and even if they don't he will act that way. There an inevitability about anyone with so much power, the kind that comes from fake things revered. These things are money and allies with more, so that you form a sort of impenetrable blanket of influence. Impenetrable to anyone that thinks Donald Trump is doing the wrong thing, anyhow. And you see how her eyes glisten, leaning in towards his face, listening so carefully that words seem to have new meaning. For every word coming out of his face is gold to her, and she will sweat and scream and put out any one of her teammates in order to impress him. But nothing of the sort could impress a king. He is almighty, and her desperate attempts to win the attention of a royal body are all-too-obvious. She might as well give up. But such is a fool, who desires so much they throw away even their friends. But this fool knows how to wear makeup.
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Enters a face.
A smooth, white, porcelain face, with a gaze straight into the heart of yours. Beauty. Breathless. Pure. Swooping away a large dispenser pump appears in the upper left hand corner of the screen, effervescently pumping out a soft cream glistening like liquid gold, floating down into the fingertips of a most angelic hand; lifting softly and joining the angel's face the cream literally turns her already perfect skin into a heightened state of luminosity, threatening now to outshine even the lights of the tv, sending so much heat and energy to the point that the circuits burst and through the massive explosion in the center of your living room, this skin-angel is real and has been sent to you by Macy's in order to give you all that you've ever dreamed of - the perfect face and skin which bring you one step closer to power.

Back to the show.

The others pity him because he has it so hard; they have compassion, sorry-feelings in their hearts. Everyone is here because they are unemployed-but he has it worse. His anger and dreams make it hard for one to like him. As his takes a short break during the last hours of the final task, he pulls out his iPad and checks his email, his voicemail, hoping for the return message from a future employer. Hoping that his 15 minutes of fame have fooled someone into thinking: he is worth their money and time. When will he ever make it? he wonders. When will my efforts show? he doesn't know.

Until then, surround yourself with the artefacts of success, the accessories of divinity and privilege. Let it be known to the "others" that you are one step above the rest, not willing to rest, and ready for any challenge. Let them know, because these signs will lead you into . . .