PRAGUE – Writers and intellectuals of various veins have not shied away from criticizing President Trump since he was granted the title of President-Elect in November of last year. But while these critics all pursue different avenues to voice their diverse complaints, only one has broken through the from beyond the dead to make his political sentiment heard. Famed novelist and former insurance broker Franz Kafka posits that President Donald Trump ought to be impeached, but instead of Vice President Mike Pence taking his place, a mumbling scarecrow should hold the highest office in the free world.

Supreme Reporters attempted to summon the ghost of Kafka for an interview to better clarify why he would make such a claim. But when the candles were lit, the lamb’s blood was shed, and ritualistic chanting was all underway, the ghost appeared and simply handed the reporters a packet of paperwork that, when filled out, would request the ghosts presence for questioning. The problem however, was that the information the packet requested included simple things like our names and dates of birth, but then included follow questions like “Are you sure you are who you say you are?”, “Who are you really asking questions on behalf of?”, and “Is the press an extension of the people’s need for transparency or the exact opposite?” To make matters worse, the final line where reporters were supposed to sign their names was already filled with the text, “Mere Shell.”

Upon completion, we were joined by the ghost of Kafka, whose first remarks focused on how our reporters had filled out the forms backwards, and noted that the paperwork wasn’t properly password protected.

Regardless, Kafka’s ghost was polite enough to neglect the incorrect paperwork, noting that it “didn’t really matter anyway,” and had joined us around a table for coffee and questions.

“The problem is that he is too good as President.” said Kafka sternly. “Americans are obsessed with over-dramatization of life, and they are one of few cultures to enjoy reality television in such mind-melting capacity. Even their political landscape has been molded by this fetish. To them, politics are a spectator sport, one they engage in passively from the safety of their couches, but actively in the sense that they respond both sincerely and emotionally as the show goes on. They feel actually feel joy, respond with anger, cry in fear and shout in victory in response to this show that they star in. They are both audience and performer, but neglect their acting responsibilities. So, they have others perform, and all performances are inherently hollow. This is why Americans are inclined to vote for hollow actors as politicians, as they seem to be doing quite frequently. Trump was a reality television star, a performative business man who regularly shit the bed on his projects but falsely instilled confidence in his investors, and openly discusses that he has the moral righteousness of a starved dog with an affinity for child-molestation, thus making him the perfect leader for the American people. Also, there’s nothing in these coffee mugs.”

Kafka’s ghost took a sip from the mug anyway, let out a satisfied “ahh,” and continued.

“Trump is both the most powerful man in the world, liberated to totality via unchecked power, yet an absolute prisoner, confined by the shackles of his own ego. His stern desire to campaign even after emerging victorious seems to indicate that he’s gaining momentum for momentum’s sake, without any motive to assert that energy in any direction whatsoever. This isn’t a President whose desire is to behave, act, and function Presidentially, but to simply perpetuate his Presidential-ness. Someone once called this, “tyranny without a tyrant,” or something like that. Also, they weren’t coffee beans, they were just the shadows of coffee beans — pardon me, Sean Spicers.”

When finally asked why a mumbling scarecrow would be the best viable alternative, Kafka’s ghost simply nodded and handed us another packet of papers labeled, “Additional Questions Request Form” which had a photo of our parents paper-clipped to the front page.