(Dedicated to the venerable Mad Sweeney)
Insomnia struck again, so I gave up and made some coffee. I drank my coffee, pissed off at morning as usual, when a sudden realization hit me: Donald Trump will be our president.
This happens to me about a dozen times a day: I’ll be focused on some minor task and again, it will hit me like a vivid recovered memory of a repressed traumatic event–the sucker-punch revelation that Donald fucking Trump, the trashiest, dumbest, crassest, humorless-iest relentlessly repulsive, pathologically needy, sleazy, obvious joke of a man—who still can’t seem to get that he is the joke—will be our appointed leader.
We did this. On purpose.
Believe it or not, I am not given to dissociation, but I simply cannot accept the fact that we are actually allowing this pumpkin-colored twat to control anything beyond a TV remote. I can’t believe it, not even hypothetically. I feel like a kid in a modern reworking of a neo-fable titled, “The Donalds’s New Leadership: the voters say “President Trump”, but all I see is “the Donald”. I just can’t seem to reconcile both; the sheer cognitive dissonance causes my head to overheat and lock down; short-term memory mercifully fades to black.
Until I remember that the Donald will be The President, a man who lost his (inherited) $100 million fortune four times, who has failed in virtually every half-assed endeavor he set out to half-ass achieve…and of all of his half-assed dubious achievements, his only real claim to fame is to give reality TV a bad name. Well, now he gets to give all of us a bad name…okay, a worse name.
It’s surreal. I feel as if I’m being gaslighted by every idiot who thinks that Donald Trump is some swap meet messiah. Have they listened to a word he says? He threatened to gut the First Amendment to make journalists “stop saying bad things” about him. He threatened Clinton on live TV that he personally would put her in jail. That he, all by himself, would “hire” new justices to SCOTUS so they could “change bad stuff” he didn’t like…which leads me to the horrifying conclusion that not only does he not respect the Constitution, he doesn’t even seem to be aware that there are three branches of government.
I can just hear the weary explanations of his revolving-door staff whispering, “No, Mr. President…you’re can’t prosecute somebody for being a meanie. And please stop telling Ruth Bader Ginsburg ‘you’re fired’.We just don’t do that here.”
This is basic shit. I know—I learned it in the fourth grade. It could be that he has come to regard himself as some sort of modern-day cracker Caesar, but…no. There’s not an ironic bone in that fleshy, mango-colored hide. He pretty much just…doesn’t know. And his supporters just don’t care…well, they probably don’t know, either.
Or maybe they can’t tell what the fuck he’s saying; his barely coherent oratory style consists of lies, xenophobia, violence, bullshit, misogyny, exaggerations, exquisite stupidity, unintentional self-parody, ME propaganda and then some stuff he just makes up on the spot, all barked out in a series of illogical sentence fragments.
And I suppose that’s it: they just hear the parts they like. Fuck democracy, these people don’t care if his boot is on their back…just as long as they get to put their boots on everybody else. I can’t think of any other reason they like him; Mr. Alt-right—and don’t kid yourself; he has no core belief system beyond the end of his undersized dick—regularly stiffs working class folks. Not rich people, not powerful people, but the bartenders, landscapers, drywall hangerers or virtually anybody else who doesn’t have the money to sue for compensation. I mean, I could see how they might gain some spiteful satisfaction at the idea of him ripping off his many, many undocumented workers, because they’re racist assholes. But why can’t that pipe fitter or hair dresser understand that not only would he not pay them, he wouldn’t let the likes of them unclog his toilet?
I don’t know how they work this out inside their head; it must take a really advanced form of denial for them not to see that he’s about as populist as a drug trafficker. Trump does nothing for nobody but Trump. Ever.
But even if he is incapable of finding Iraq on a cheat-sheet map, even if they don’t seem to mind him having a twice-flunked fourth grade concept of the branches of government, even if they only shrugged at his hot-mic self-incriminating admissions on the joys of serial sexual assault, or that he has repeatedly admitted that he gauges women solely on the basis of two circles and a triangle—I guess that can be rationalized by an especially spongy mind. If there is any genius to Donald Trump (SPOILER: there isn’t), it is that he has indoctrinated millions of people into thinking that they don’t need to think.
Still, even the most ardent Trumperite must feel moments of micro-contempt for a petulant man-toddler, who cries every time somebody hurts his itty-bitty feewings. He is incapable of ignoring criticism or laughing off even the slightest mockery. EVER. Never. Not once…not ever, from anybody…and sure as hell not you, you smirking bastard. Rubio’s only victory was fi doesn’t need to present his tawny, pudgy paws to prove to the world that he doesn’t have a little one…and isn’t self-aware enough to understand the implications of overcompensation.
Pause for a moment and let that sink in: our president-elect actually, 1) felt compelled to tell the world that the size of his pudgy fingers meant that he-does-too have a outie and not an innie, 2) thinks that it is of vital importance that he be perceived for his big-dickness and 3) believes that there is any real correlation between hand size and penis size.
The only thing it proves, of course, is that he is a deeply insecure idiot who must regularly bully and disparage others so they won’t see what a sniveling coward he is. And weak. Cher nailed it when she tweeted “How can Trump deal with Putin? He can’t even handle Megyn Kelly lol”. He is notoriously, dangerously thin-skinned, and quick to retaliate against those who utter the even the mildest criticism…and yet he is the one we will be sending to negotiate “the deal” with world powers capable of turning him into a cat toy.
I mean, has he even read the job description? He didn’t even bother to scan the notes in preparation for the first debate and he’s going to spend four years of working 18 hour days filled with a great deal of tedious but crucial details? And no goddamn glory. Even the best presidents are subjected to near-constant scorn, their every mannerism mined for satire…does he truly lack the insight that his own unintentional self-parody is a comedic mother lode? Comedians will never have to write jokes again.
I suppose that either he hasn’t thought that far ahead or maybe he really does think it will be different for him and that he could work, oh, for maybe three hours on the golf course, then rest in the newly redecorated white house specially designed to meet his specification of pink flamingos and Elvis plush…and even that would bore him after a week or so.
Which is too bad, since the people he has chosen for his cabinet are ignorant, moronic, immoral in the genuine sense of the word, violent, blatantly racist and in one case, FUCKING SCHIZOPHRENIC (by the way, has anybody done a welfare check on Ben Carson’s patients??). These aren’t consiglieres; they’re caporegimes…except maybe not as competent. More like mean-spirited Fredos. Never mind his Donatella Versace fashion sense of Oompa-loompa chic. He’s too cheap to pay for good tanner, refuses to part with the yellow ferret on his head, has the charisma of a meat grinder and is just straight up repugnant.
And he is also unforgivably, irretrievably, irredeemably stupid.
A year ago he was a joke—which is really his only skill, being a fucking joke—and we have chosen this joke to be the leader of the (still) free world. And now every time I remember that this pathetic, tasteless, emotionally retarded little man afflicted with an insatiable”look at me, daddy! look at meee!!” need for attention as fathomless as a black hole, will be our leader…and my brain just doesn’t have the capacity. Sometimes, I can actually hear the crackling sound of synapses shorting out inside of head.
But this is no dream. We did this senseless, spiteful thing..and that makes us the biggest joke of all.
All hail, King Tangerine–America has pledged to faithfully, mindlessly follow your descent into Dark Ages, 2.0.