Still not ready to make nice
I posted the following piece on Facebook around 10 p.m. the night Donald Trump was declared the winner of the 2016 presidential race. I'd love to say I nailed it, but I didn't. I had no idea what a trainwreck he would be.
Congratulations, Mr. Trump. It’s official now. You won, despite the rigged system and the liberal media and outlaw organizations like ACORN, even though it disbanded in 2009. You won despite the fact that you can’t find Syria on a map of South America and you probably can’t detect the absurdity of this statement. I’m impressed and depressed.
I’m hearing a lot of “we must unite” and we must “put our differences aside” and “we must stay together for the sake of our nation” and blah blah blah. I don’t think so. Not after eight years of the relentless drumbeat of “You lie” and “Obama the anti-Christ.” Not after “Lock her up. Lock her up.”
So I’m going to stew for a while. Not sure how long.
In the meantime, if you want to build a 16-foot wall that stretches from the Tijuana beach to South Padre Island? Fine. Build it. You want to throw another trillion to the Pentagon and trigger an incident with China or Iran? Go ahead.
You want to ban all abortions? What do I care? I’m a 64-year-old male, and I’m certain the Thumper Trumpers will take in the unwanted children, even those with profound physiological or psychological defects as well as the Zika babies who loom on the horizon.
And you can eliminate Obamacare on Day 1 and dump five or six million people back into county hospital waiting rooms for basic health care, but don’t expect me to pick up the tab.
In fact, don’t ask me to pay for any of this. And do not, under any circumstance, raise my taxes. Losers pay taxes. Clever, savvy guys like you and me don’t. That’s how the system works, right?
I know I sound bitter. I’ve been accused of being hateful and spiteful. Guess what? I am, and I will be for a while. I wish I could be philosophical about this, see the larger picture, stop and smell and roses for the sake of the children and all of that, but that’s not going to happen. I’m not ready to make nice, as the Dixie Chicks sang, and I have no intention of standing behind, beside or anywhere near you.
Odd thing is, I don't hate you. I despise you, but I don't hate you. I'd like to say I'll never understand why your supporters so viciously hated Mr. Obama and his wife and even his two daughters, but I know why. You do too. You tapped into it and enflamed white fears of loss of entitlement into the most blatant race-baiting since George Wallace stood on the doorsteps of the University of Mississippi and refused to allow black kids to enter the hallowed halls as anything more than janitors.
When Mrs. Clinton talked about "deplorables," that's who she was talking about. Then and now. So, yes, I'm angry. I am also vengeful, and I plan to devote a few minutes every day doing to you what your base has done to President Obama the past eight years and to Mrs. Clinton the past 30. I won’t hesitate to circulate memes containing repugnant lies about you. I might share tawdry photos of your wife. I can't see myself stooping so low as to ridicule your youngest child, but I'm not promising anything either.
I’m also going to watch closely, and if you fail to salute the Marine every time you step on or step off a helicopter or plane, I’ll blast it because it must mean you hate our soldiers.
And, if someone Photoshops a picture of you wearing an American flag lapel pin, them moves the pin right to left or upside down or next to a Crescent moon or a hammer and sickle, I’m going to express the most venomous outrage and demand to know why you hate freedom. I'm not going to fact-check it because truth doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is narrative. Does it reinforce my narrative? If so, I'll post it.
I’m also going to enjoy watching you turn this country into a combo Atlantic City casino/Trump University satellite campus. You are now so far in over your head that if we shoved a radioactive cashew down your throat and dumped you in the Mariana Trench, a Geiger counter wouldn't stop beeping until you hit bottom.
And you’ve promised your angry white voters that they’ll get their country back, so it’s put up or shut up. Build that wall and make Mexico pay for it. Deport millions of undocumented immigrants. Rip their families apart. Wipe out Radical Islam. Order big business to return those manufacturing jobs from the Third World, and if they don't, fire them. U.S. Presidents have done that forever.
And, by all means, Lock Her Up.
Is any of this likely to occur? Of course not. It was all just political theatre, smack talk to impress the meatheads wearing the “Execute Killary” T-shirts.
You'll do well to find the White House men's room. This is the real world now, not reality TV. You need experts — generals and admirals and Harvard professors —boring you with facts about North Korea and climate change and how a bill becomes a law. Your bluster won't get you a thing. You need a little humility, but I don't believe you're capable of producing it.
So, it's going to be ugly. I'm certain of that. There are young men and women serving today who will die because of some knee-jerk decision you’ll make just to look like the tough guy, and the irony is, these young and women will be be the sons and daughters of the people who elected you.
Well, c’est la vie. People get the government they deserve.
I'm able to endure these days of post-election shock and fury because I know you'll fail, and I’ll enjoy watching your supporters turn and twist like a snake tied to a tree limb after you slash taxes on the super-rich and welsh on every promise you made to them, and I won't feel an smidgen of sympathy for one of them when the Trump Tower crashes and burns.
Do I hope you'll fail? Not necessarily. Depends on what you're trying to accomplish. Do I expect you to fail, to be repudiated, to finish your term as the worst president ever? Yes. I do.
So, good luck, Mr. President-elect, and prove me wrong. Please note that I didn’t call you what several of my Tea Party pals call Mr. Obama, which is “You piece of…”
...rhymes with "bit." I didn’t call you that because your winning this election and my knowing that your smug face will soon appear on a wall or in a picture frame alongside Washington and Jefferson and Lincoln and FDR and Barack Obama is obscene enough. More than enough.
Congratulations, Mr. Trump. It’s official now. You won, despite the rigged system and the liberal media and outlaw organizations like ACORN, even though it disbanded in 2009. You won despite the fact that you can’t find Syria on a map of South America and you probably can’t detect the absurdity of this statement. I’m impressed and depressed.
I’m hearing a lot of “we must unite” and we must “put our differences aside” and “we must stay together for the sake of our nation” and blah blah blah. I don’t think so. Not after eight years of the relentless drumbeat of “You lie” and “Obama the anti-Christ.” Not after “Lock her up. Lock her up.”
So I’m going to stew for a while. Not sure how long.
In the meantime, if you want to build a 16-foot wall that stretches from the Tijuana beach to South Padre Island? Fine. Build it. You want to throw another trillion to the Pentagon and trigger an incident with China or Iran? Go ahead.
You want to ban all abortions? What do I care? I’m a 64-year-old male, and I’m certain the Thumper Trumpers will take in the unwanted children, even those with profound physiological or psychological defects as well as the Zika babies who loom on the horizon.
And you can eliminate Obamacare on Day 1 and dump five or six million people back into county hospital waiting rooms for basic health care, but don’t expect me to pick up the tab.
In fact, don’t ask me to pay for any of this. And do not, under any circumstance, raise my taxes. Losers pay taxes. Clever, savvy guys like you and me don’t. That’s how the system works, right?
I know I sound bitter. I’ve been accused of being hateful and spiteful. Guess what? I am, and I will be for a while. I wish I could be philosophical about this, see the larger picture, stop and smell and roses for the sake of the children and all of that, but that’s not going to happen. I’m not ready to make nice, as the Dixie Chicks sang, and I have no intention of standing behind, beside or anywhere near you.
Odd thing is, I don't hate you. I despise you, but I don't hate you. I'd like to say I'll never understand why your supporters so viciously hated Mr. Obama and his wife and even his two daughters, but I know why. You do too. You tapped into it and enflamed white fears of loss of entitlement into the most blatant race-baiting since George Wallace stood on the doorsteps of the University of Mississippi and refused to allow black kids to enter the hallowed halls as anything more than janitors.
When Mrs. Clinton talked about "deplorables," that's who she was talking about. Then and now. So, yes, I'm angry. I am also vengeful, and I plan to devote a few minutes every day doing to you what your base has done to President Obama the past eight years and to Mrs. Clinton the past 30. I won’t hesitate to circulate memes containing repugnant lies about you. I might share tawdry photos of your wife. I can't see myself stooping so low as to ridicule your youngest child, but I'm not promising anything either.
I’m also going to watch closely, and if you fail to salute the Marine every time you step on or step off a helicopter or plane, I’ll blast it because it must mean you hate our soldiers.
And, if someone Photoshops a picture of you wearing an American flag lapel pin, them moves the pin right to left or upside down or next to a Crescent moon or a hammer and sickle, I’m going to express the most venomous outrage and demand to know why you hate freedom. I'm not going to fact-check it because truth doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is narrative. Does it reinforce my narrative? If so, I'll post it.
I’m also going to enjoy watching you turn this country into a combo Atlantic City casino/Trump University satellite campus. You are now so far in over your head that if we shoved a radioactive cashew down your throat and dumped you in the Mariana Trench, a Geiger counter wouldn't stop beeping until you hit bottom.
And you’ve promised your angry white voters that they’ll get their country back, so it’s put up or shut up. Build that wall and make Mexico pay for it. Deport millions of undocumented immigrants. Rip their families apart. Wipe out Radical Islam. Order big business to return those manufacturing jobs from the Third World, and if they don't, fire them. U.S. Presidents have done that forever.
And, by all means, Lock Her Up.
Is any of this likely to occur? Of course not. It was all just political theatre, smack talk to impress the meatheads wearing the “Execute Killary” T-shirts.
You'll do well to find the White House men's room. This is the real world now, not reality TV. You need experts — generals and admirals and Harvard professors —boring you with facts about North Korea and climate change and how a bill becomes a law. Your bluster won't get you a thing. You need a little humility, but I don't believe you're capable of producing it.
So, it's going to be ugly. I'm certain of that. There are young men and women serving today who will die because of some knee-jerk decision you’ll make just to look like the tough guy, and the irony is, these young and women will be be the sons and daughters of the people who elected you.
Well, c’est la vie. People get the government they deserve.
I'm able to endure these days of post-election shock and fury because I know you'll fail, and I’ll enjoy watching your supporters turn and twist like a snake tied to a tree limb after you slash taxes on the super-rich and welsh on every promise you made to them, and I won't feel an smidgen of sympathy for one of them when the Trump Tower crashes and burns.
Do I hope you'll fail? Not necessarily. Depends on what you're trying to accomplish. Do I expect you to fail, to be repudiated, to finish your term as the worst president ever? Yes. I do.
So, good luck, Mr. President-elect, and prove me wrong. Please note that I didn’t call you what several of my Tea Party pals call Mr. Obama, which is “You piece of…”
...rhymes with "bit." I didn’t call you that because your winning this election and my knowing that your smug face will soon appear on a wall or in a picture frame alongside Washington and Jefferson and Lincoln and FDR and Barack Obama is obscene enough. More than enough.
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