I didn’t quit politics, I just didn’t know how to address this note. I quit chasing clicks and likes and shares and memes. That’s all. Fun fact: you stimulate a similar dopamine rush playing Candy Crush or clicking around Facebook as you do having sex or eating something sinfully delicious. Me, I took a cooking class. And got healthy.
I’ve begun and set this essay aside countless times. It’s not Don Drumpf, it’s me. Okay, it’s a little him. That and the way the electoral college resembles now looks like just another Trump University scam. Thanks to Michael Cohen, “Predisent Trump’s personal lawyer” (currently under a cloud of his separate, personal Russia investigation), I found a way out of my moral dilemma. Hey, it’s the Trump era — I’ll latch onto any loophole I can find.
I never had an issue referring to the 43rd resident as “Mr.President,” “the president,” or even “President Bush” (avoiding pejorative phrases, such as “Bush the Lesser,” whenever possible). My quandary, frankly, was challenging. I could reference the office and title of “president” easily enough, but any attempt to include the surname of the GOP’s Trumpanzie™ in the same sentence brought reason and my writing to a screeching halt. I still haven’t been able to do it. If I slip up down the road, remind me. This is so far beyond “not my president,” there’s no comparison. First, we need someone competent enough to understand the issues.
It’s like this: I won’t watch President Obama’s farewell address until a capable adult is waiting in the wings. I loathe Mike Pence, but he’ll do. Saying goodbye to one president absent anyone “presidential” in the vicinity seems bad form — or bad luck. Then again, luck had little if anything to do with the monosyllabic Predisent Trump’s electoral squeaker. Oddly enough, everything you hate about Il Dupé is flourishing from the same soul-killing affliction Democrats are quick to point at in horror when it manifests itself in Mitch McConnell’s lipless sneer — greed.
Back in 2012 I wrote an essay about what I saw as our “post-truth political landscape,” where “facts and reason are in a death struggle with disinformation and lies.” Predisent Trump is proof positive that facts and reason took it on the chin in 2016, but I didn’t have to get past the Democratic Primary to read the writing on the wall. Greed took half the Democratic party out behind the barn and slapped it full of st-st-stupid.
I tried to tell you to calm down. I said, ‘stop listening to the noise.’ And I did tell you to stop being so damn greedy and learn how government works before convincing yourself that tilting at ideological windmills could win an election. Yes, our schools should be palaces of knowledge where young Americans are free to follow their bliss or expand their horizons. Never lose sight of the goal. But if you haven’t yet charted a course through the regressive, Republican-led efforts to starve public education funding and give those tax dollars to private and parochial schools? Well, that isn’t politics — those are just empty platitudes.
I don’t have a lot of sympathy left here, America. Angst? I get a truckload delivered daily (in 140 characters or fewer). It isn’t normal and there is no “making sense” of it all. I know what you want. You want reassurances that everything’s gonna be okay — that the checks and balances of a representative democracy will limit potential damage to the value of your homes, or 401K, or drinking water. I can’t help you. There are no experts to turn to for advice. As Dr. Peter Venkman once said, “Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria” … or … “We go to jail; peacefully, quietly. We’ll enjoy it!” There doesn’t seem to be any middle ground left. For example, I just listened to some loon waste another five minutes of Thom Hartmann’s time, explaining ‘the real collusion which gave us Trump was between the DNC and Hillary — Bernie’d be president if they hadn’t stopped us.’ “Mass hysteria” it is then, huh? Even Thom has had enough. Just stop.
Nope, I can’t help you, America. I really wish I could, but you can never say I didn’t try and stop you. This is a self-inflicted wound and only time will tell whether or not it proves fatal. It’s angry-looking, though, and festering around the edges. While I’m no doctor, I really do think you should have that looked at. And by that, I mean Predisent Trump. Thanks for that, Director Mueller, but now that Putin and Trump have gone public with the ‘everything turned out alright in the end so what’s the big fuss?’ defense, expect a pink slip any. day. now. It’s the Republican’s turn to run for the network cameras and complain about the cost of these “pointless investigations on the U.S. taxpayers.”
I know, I know. Fire Bob Mueller? Even that bloviating buffoon couldn’t be that st-st-stupid. Pffft. I’m not even really paying attention and I know the president actually is that stupid. Anyone with ears should know it. My kids have a broader vocabulary (hey, maybe I “primed the pump”). Heck, the part-time operator in a Pakistani call center (because now’s a great time to switch your data plan) has a better shot at forming a grammatically correct, coherent sentence. So I really can’t think of a lot of good reasons to debate the merits of the latest presidential tweet “suggesting” (in no uncertain terms) “two plus two equals five.”
No. Just, no. I’m sure Sarah Huckabee Sanders will hand out corrected, written ten-year estimates backing the White House’s “two plus two” position at tomorrow’s press briefing. That is unless Steve Bannon decides she’s getting too fat and turns off the cameras … again. The revolution will not be televised. And it sure as hell won’t be on Facebook. Stand up. Get active. Get out while you still can.