Nurse the Hate: Hate Trump Week One

I have found it impossible to turn away from the news.  Despite knowing full well that if I see that shitbag Kellyanne Conway and her vacant grin on TV I might well lose my mind, I can’t stop myself.  I need to see her lies.  Whenever Steve Bannon comes on camera I hear that Darth Vadar theme play in my head.  I can’t even turn away from soulless Paul Ryan who would refer to Joseph Stalin as a “rascal” if he could have Stalin shove some oppressive tax legislation through.  Trump himself is must see TV for the entire planet as he stumbles through our planet like drunken bull in a china shop.  What wild ass lie or empty claim will he make as he waddles around with the nuclear codes?  Like a Third World Dictator with a comb over, he repeats lies and lies over and over again until those lies become truth.  In a million years, I never thought this would be the America I lived in.

It hasn’t even been a week.  Holy mother of fuck.  In six days we have a “voter fraud” fallacy, shattered Mexican relations, suggestions we should “take” Iraq’s oil, mass senior level state department resignations, major US cities vowing to oppose anti American immigration "executive orders", and of course building a pointless $14 billion dollar wall that you and I are going to pay for.  It didn't take long for it to become clear.  A crazy person is in charge.  There hasn’t even been a real crisis yet and it feels completely out of control.  The “Doomsday Clock” was moved by the Atomic Scientists to the closest point to midnight since 1953.  There was a fork in the road, and the planet took the wrong road thanks to the input of approximately 70,000 hillbillies that got off the couch and voted in Wisconsin and Pennsylvania.  The die has been cast and we all crapped out.  There is no way to white knuckle it through this presidency.

My game plan is to travel as much as possible.  I think it will be important to see parts of the world that might not exist in the future or I might not be welcome to walk in without being tarred and feathered.  I have said “yes” to anything that has come my way this week.  Euro Tour?  Yes.  Wine judge in England?  Yes.  Diving in Mexico?  Yes.  Burgundy and Alsace?  Yes.  San Francisco?  Yes.  When I am sitting in my bunker eating a cold can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew waiting for the radiation sickness to do me in, I don’t want to think “Boy, I wish I would have seen what Romanee Conti looked like…”.  Now is the time.  If I was a gambling man, I’d bet on the “under” for “happy days for the planet”.  Life as you know it is ticking down.

With some luck we will get some good revolutionary opposition going.  I hope there are some good bands.  I regret being born too late to walk around in a headband at a Vietnam War rally.  I think I would be really good yelling out slogans into a 1970s era bullhorn.  It’s a shame that I would look Geddy Lee if I grew my hair out now.  I don’t want to be pointed out as “that creepy guy with the bullhorn” when I am hoping to be The Voice of The Revolution.  Maybe I can find a good hat.  I’d wear one of those Che Guevara berets, but I think I would come off as a failed French artist.  It’s a real situation, almost as dire as The Destruction of America.

It's a suburban revolution.  When the weather improves, we should take to the streets.  Let’s be prepared though.  I'm going to the hat store.  You bring the bullhorn.