Everything is Going to Be A-Okay

The United States presidential election is over. And while this campaign turned democracy into something you would scrape off in disgust from your shoe, one in five eligible American voters chose Donald J. Trump as our 45th president. That is less than the 25 percent of Americans who believe the Sun revolves around the Earth.

You may be part of the other 20 percent who voted for Hillary Clinton or the 30 percent who didn’t vote at all and are now expressing regret as you see Trump loading up his cabinet with an assortment of Dick Tracy villains. But don’t worry, everything is going to be a-okay.

How do I know this? Because I just wrote it and that’s how the spread of information works. I write it, it gets passed along and becomes truth.

Even Kathleen Parker, columnist for The Washington Post, wrote an opinion piece titled “Calm down. We’ll be fine no matter who wins” a few days before the election. The point of the piece was “I’m a rich, white heterosexual woman past the point of ever needing an abortion so I’ll be cool–like all of us.”

She also opined that Trump won’t do any of the things he said he would on the campaign trail. He will rise to the position. And she’s obviously right.

Yes, it’s true that Trump said he wanted to close mosques after the terrorist attacks in Paris, then called for banning all Muslims from entering the U.S., and then called for creating a Muslim registry, then called for suspending any immigration from nations compromised by terrorism, but he’s not actually going to do any of those things. I know Trump wants Lt. Gen. Michael Flynn to be his national security advisor–an appointment that does not require Congressional approval–and Flynn has said “a fear of Muslims is rational” and has compared Islam to cancer. And yes, Kansas Secretary of State Kris Kobach is advising the Trump transition team and he created such a database while working under the George W. Bush administration and has said recently that Trump will be doing this. But words and actions don’t necessarily translate into words and actions, right. So it’s cool. Everything will be a-okay.

It’s like when Voldemort and the Deatheaters took over the Ministry of Magic. They became chill and worked on improving infrastructure and Muggle relations. Or I think that’s what happened, I never read the books.

I know Trump began his campaign generalizing Mexican immigrants as raping drug fiends, and in his Republican convention speech made it sound like America (i.e. white people) was under siege by murdering, marauding illegal immigrants (non-Western European people). And, true, he continued to use coded language on the campaign trail that made white supremacists swoon, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to continue that invective in the Oval Office.

Not possible.

I mean, remember how powerful it was when Trump called a pressie and announced that President Obama was born in the United States after spending five years saying the complete opposite and then blamed Hillary Clinton for starting that rumor?

That was so….presidential? Sure, let’s go with that because everything is going to be a-okay.

Sure Trump did select Steve Bannon as his chief advisor, a man connected to a news site that was a platform for the alt-right movement, a loosely connected group of white supremacists, anti-semites and men’s rights activists, among other super fun people. And okay,  Jeff Sessions, Trump’s pick for attorney general, was denied a federal judgeship because of his history of racist remarks, including but not limited to, saying the Ku Klux Klan was okay until he learned they smoked marijuana. And true, if you were to ask a police sketch artist to draw a stereotypical Southern racist, the sketch artist would draw Sessions’ face–that still doesn’t mean the Trump Administration will engage in racist behavior.

See this is what happens when you are about to hold the most powerful office in the world. You do a complete 180 and change every personality trait you have held your entire life.

It’s like the quote from that guy…was it Shakespeare? Or the really calm dude who writes the Dilbert cartoons? I don’t know….I digress…..anyway, that quote: “Absolute power corrupts no one, in fact, it makes people act like Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird.”

See? We’re fine. Everything is fine. Nothing to see here folks.

 

 

Orange Fury

I watched Donald Trump’s speech Thursday at the Republican National Convention. It was…uh…good? I’m afraid I don’t know what words mean anymore. It was definitely loud, I’ll give him that. Lots and lots of yelling. I felt like I was back in 9th grade band.

I had not realized that America had become the Thunderdome, a hellish landscape filled  with marauding gangs of illegal immigrants in place of bikers. Um, okay?

It was a laundry list of a country in crisis. While it was low on information and high on fear mongering, it had little in how Trump will actually accomplish anything other than by saying “believe me, I’ll do this.”

I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you.

I condensed the best parts of the speech:

He insisted he would honor us with his “truth.”

His obvious affection for the GLBTQ community

His “policies”.

He declared he was the voice of the voiceless.

A few other gems:

And finally:

I don’t know. It kind of smells like napalm.

Trump Fluff

Nothing has meaning.

Because nothing has meaning, America’s favorite winking Tourettes’ sufferer Sarah Palin interviewed America’s favorite decomposing pumpkin Donald Trump.

It was an interviewing tour de force. Palin used words in an order that somewhat resembled sentences to fluff Trump’s presidential scepter, and Trump continued to resemble an orange-hued blobfish.

As expected, the interview made our inevitable decline more inevitable America great again.

So you don’t have to watch it and shave years off your life like I have, I condensed it to the highlights.

I don’t know about you, but I am suffering from Trump Fatigue™. I would really like to not write anymore about him so America, if you could stop considering him as a real presidential candidate as opposed to a deflated nut sack, I would appreciate it.

Trump Dumps

Donald Trump, America’s favorite sentient hemorrhoid, is on the cover of Time magazine. According to Time’s editorial staff, several tag lines were tested out to see which best encapsulated the essence of a Trump presidency:

They finally went with this one:

In the video interview, Trump continued to hypnotize the electorate with his special brand of jingoism and his hair confetti.

He pontificated on why he was a better candidate than Hillary Clinton, the likely Democratic nominee:

Trump thoughtfully explained how, unlike all other politicians, he was no puppet. He did all his own thinking.

He spoke of a broken, troubled country and how he was just the guy who could fix it.

He presented his reasoned and researched stance on immigration.

The editors attempted to include a photograph of Trump with a bald eagle, but the eagle kept attempting to eat Trump’s head having mistaken it for a muskrat carcass.

They were forced to go with a secondary shot.

This Post is Sponsored by the Letters H, B and O

Some parents are concerned that the acquisition of the beloved children’s television show Sesame Street by HBO, the purveyor of breasts, will continue America’s decline into a giant shithole. Justin knows what I’m saying:

Not so, says Jeffrey D. Dunn, chief executive of Sesame Workshop. Things will invariably stay the same with some tweaks to keep Sesame Street up-to-date with the digital natives we ween from breastfeeding apps.

“It will still be Sesame Street with Big Bird, Elmo and that shitbag who lives in a garbage can,” Dunn said. He did note there were would be some content changes to “spice things up in the way HBO viewers are used to, and to make young children enslaved to HBO for life.”

“What I’m basically saying is tits. Lots of tits.”

For examples, writers will focus more on the relationship between Big Bird and Snuffy. They will be recast as 20-something friends trying to find their way in the big city in the style of Girls but with a giant imaginary monster and a talking bird.

Dunn said more emphasis will be placed on The Count in the sense that he will be given a love interest.

“I mean The Count is kind of a drag,” Dunn said. “Yes he can count. Like bats and whoopie pies, but what if he was involved in an obsessive and dangerous relationship with a southern waitress? Then you’d definitely see your child counting past 20.”

Kid will also be challenged more. Instead of trying to guess what object does not belong in a group, children will be asked to test their talents in solving a mystery.

“We’re talking about taking one of those nondescript muppets like Maggle or Furry and getting real deep into the complexities of the human soul,” Dunn said.

Dunn said it would designed as an anthology. Each season would star different monsters in the detective role. The detectives would all have alcoholism, daddy issues, obsessive needs to pontificate on nonsense that make viewers feel the monsters are deep, and storylines that you believe are good, but in the end suck balls. And there will be many topless muppets used as props because…um…tits?

“But it will be completely for kids because it will take place on different playgrounds across the country,” Dunn said.

And, or course, the Sesame Street cast will pay homage to Game of Thrones.

The Good Ol’ Pricks Debate

I watched the entire GOP debate last night and while my stomach muscles are still strained from all the dry-heaving, I felt compelled to actually write a post to share the highlights.

There were so many good things happening—so, so many. So many fantastic visionaries on one stage, so many enthusiastic audience members cheering the worst things, so many witnesses to the demise of the American democratic system.

It’s really hard to pick a favorite moment, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try.

It began with a shot of the most popular candidate at the moment, Donald Trump. I believe his face truly represents the face of the Republican Party:

There was that special time when Trump was asked about his penchant for calling woman “fat pigs”, “slobs”, “disgusting animals” and “losers who don’t appreciate megalomaniacs with Easter-grass toupees and micropenises”:

Then there was that beautiful moment when the audience cheered wildly about Trump’s claim of referring to only one woman as a “fat pig”.

I also enjoyed when Trump gave “evidence” about his claim that Mexico only sends the criminals, drug dealers and rapists to this country:

Or the moment Trump said his solution to immigration was to build a wall and that he asked former Florida Gov. Jeb Bush to do it:

There was the time Wisconsin Gov. Scott Walker made this face:

And then made this face:

And then opened his mouth and I finally understood the concept of the banality of evil:

Or that time when Sen. Marco Rubio was asked about his support of allowing abortions in cases of rape and incest, and looked like a deer in headlights and began voraciously back-pedaling without the assistance of a bottle of water:

Or the moment when the millionaire candidates tried to out-poor each other:

The time Mike Huckabee challenged the claim from the movie Hustle and Flow that “it’s hard out here for a pimp” and blamed pimps and prostitutes for social security’s budget problems:

The moment Ohio Gov. John Kasich used the “I have a gay friend” defense to deflect a question about same sex marriage:

The entire time Jeb Bush looked like an uncomfortable, sad man:

How about the fantastic Facebook questions?!?:

Or when Rand Paul challenged Trump’s “hair” to a fight:

When Trump asked the moderators if he could have one minute to squeeze out a fart:

Or when Ted Cruz broke into song:

Breathtaking, really. And we still have over a year until the general election!

Oh boy…the dry heaves are starting again.

Fifty Shades of Trailer Trash

Hold onto your butt plugs, everybody!!

Or insert them. Should we insert them? I think so. I think that’s appropriate.

Tomorrow is the day we get to see the downfall of inspiration and creativity  Fifty Shades of Grey movie trailer!!

This is apparently a big deal, so much so that Beyonce released a trailer for the trailer a few days ago.

My husband showed it to me yesterday because he clearly hates me.

I think I might be suffering from PTSD from my time reading and recrapping the trilogy. That could explain why I tried to remove my eyeballs with a melon baller upon viewing the teaser trailer and I don’t even own a melon baller. I was really using a shoehorn.

The teaser trailer is. . . what is the word I’m looking for. . . oh yes, a giant stinking turdpile (I realize that is more than one word).

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s clear the movie will be as if Show Girls and Battlefield Earth mated and had a love child that was raised by one of those stupid water-fearing aliens from Signs and then went on to be a pink lady in Grease 2. What I’m attempting to say is that this movie will suck with the force of a 1,000 master series intake anal suction cups.

Don’t just take my word for it. I showed the teaser trailer to my two leads.

Maybe.

The trailer is premiering on the Today show and the anchors will be dressing up as characters. Matt Lauer will portray a butt plug, which means he will basically be himself. They then will continue on with the other real news of the day, mainly on expose on which Buzzfeed quiz are you most like.

News.

Hugo insisted we make our own trailer after I jokingly said I could make a better one if I inserted an iTouch up my bunghole.

Those things are painful.

 

Does Social Media Make Us :-(?

Fuck no!

It makes us super, super :-).

Some bozo at some newspaper–yeah, I know. Newspapers! What is it? 1995? :-P–wrote with his quill and ink that social media is a platform to promote a fake life and then make you feel shitty about said fake life when put in contrast with your real shit life and others’ fake lives.

My son accidentally peed on the floor today and then ate a piece of food off the floor. I posted this to Facebook:

I felt better.

In fact I felt :D.

Until I only got 12 likes and not even from the A crowd, you know, the popular gals I went to high school with who now post about how much wine they drink because kids, amirite? Oh my god, and they looovveeee their husbands so much! Happy anniversary to the most wonderful men on the planet. You make us the most sexually fulfilled women on earth!!! We love you, sweeties <3!!!

But what else are we suppose to do? It’s not like we can handle being with our own thoughts. In fact in one science experiment, people preferred to shock themselves with a 9-volt battery rather than spend any moment with their brains at full volume yelling at them about their cellulite.

So we sift through our newsfeed and feel crappy about your most fabulous vacation to consumerism hellscape Disney World and your delectable microwaved-bag-o’-crap dinner at The Olive Garden.

And in retaliation we post this:

So at least there’s that.

Older Ladies Aren’t So Stomach-Churning

Good news, used-up carcasses (aka, middle-aged women)!

Your boobies and lady gardens, while deflated, wrinkled and musty, are still somewhat servicable to the other gender.

Shocking, right?!?

When I packed my vagina away in a Klip-It™ Meat Keeper Storage Plus, I figure that was the end of it. Time to shrivel up like a raisin and live in the woods in my house on chicken legs.

It’s a story as old as a middle-aged, gnarled and misshapen face. You hit 35 and are then put out to pasture so that menfolk can enjoy the younger objects and not be subjected to dry-heaves by your upper-arm flab.

But no! Women over 40 (!?!) are not as grizzled as a ham-and-mayonnaise sandwich left out in the desert sun. They can be–do I dare say it?–not completely repellent.

I wish I could take credit for this brilliant insight; an impossiblity because I possess a woman brain and am therefore using 76%  of its capacity on keeping up my kegels. The credit all goes to walking nutsack Tom Junod.

In an article for Esquire, which I initially mistook for The Onion, Junod pontificates on how 42-year-old women aren’t so gross as long as they resemble Cameron Diaz.

“Let’s face it: There used to be something tragic about even the most beautiful forty-two-year-old woman. With half her life still ahead of her, she was deemed to be at the end of something—namely, everything society valued in her, other than her success as a mother.”

But now, Junod has discovered, he still kind of wants to put his dick in some of these tragic ladies.

And that’s all it took, you old hags. A man to notice your worth.

I only wish Elizabeth Cady Stanton was alive to read this. . . and then get banged by Tom Junod.

Ragebook

As a rule, I try not to be drunk when I look at Facebook.

I have found it leads to stupidity, like, “liking” someone’s status –“It’s wine o’ clock!”– because in your cabernet-haze, that sentence is better than poetry.

It also frees me up to have feelings I normally suppress in order to exist in society; mainly anger and there’s quite a bit to be angry about.

As you may know, the U.S. Supreme Court made a supreme decision that affects more than half the population who have those whore parts. The majority opinion was written by Justice Samuel Alito to get back at the girl who rejected him in high school.

I’ve read a smattering of articles on this because I’m trying to avoid a rage stroke. My understanding is a divided Supreme Court continues to believe corporations are people much in the same way my 4-year-old son believes his monster truck has feelings and is allowing these “people” to use made-up religious beliefs in order to deny some forms of birth control for real people who actually possess human-like vaginas.

That decision, as Justice Ruth Bader Gingsburg so eloquently put it, sucks balls.  Some Facebook “friends” took to Facebook to vent their outrage over this decision. They then posted a picture of their mojitos with the caption: “It’s Mojito o’ Clock!” and that sentence was better than an employer-covered Plan B pill.

I’m a little tipsy at the moment.

And then one “friend” posted this:My immediate pinot-noir-fueled idea was to respond in this manner:

Social media is ripe for this sort of thing. In fact there was this whole article about in Sunday’s New York Times. We relish in the rage of strangers and become willing participants, each piling on his or her own vitriol until we transform into a community of Yosemite Sams.

I erased the “um. . . fuck you” and tried for logic instead: I figured this response would take in the “minefield” the ruling created, but, as the article rightly points out, social media is not a place for nuanced discussion about controversial issues. Short, snippy quips are preferred.

I ended up not doing anything because life is meaningless, amirite? Up top!

Good thing too because that article points out that those who frequently vent Internet rage are in general pretty angry people in real life.

You know the type. They’re the ones who would put corporate profits over women’s preventive health care.