Oh, but we can’t help it. They keep crawling out from under their rocks, showing their true colors, and we just have to keep on mocking them while bathing in their bitter, salty tears of rage.
After the election, break up: You voted for Trump? You’re off my list.
It may seem harsh, but there has to be accountability.
By Paul John Scott NOVEMBER 19, 2016 — 10:41PM
Somewhere around 1:30 a.m. the morning after the election — an insurgency of white, rural Americans lacking college degrees having taken its revenge upon itself and the rest of us by granting power
Actually, Trump won the white college vote, but don’t let that get in the way of your idiocy.
to a self-styled strongman with a long record of race-baiting, tax-dodging, creditor-stiffing, self-dealing, model-chasing, lie-disseminating and the hosting of rallies where journalists were confined to pens and subjected to taunts and promises of death printed on T-shirts
Damn. We never thought we’d get that much fame out of that T-shirt. That ONE T-shirt, that has now magically metamorphosed in your diseased tiny mind into an entire army of them. We owe that good LC who wore it a great deal of gratitude.
(please, commenters, do tell us again about the Hillary Clinton e-mails)
They’d have to, or you wouldn’t have heard it from anybody else. Certainly not from the members of Felonia von Pantsuit’s Lügenpresse, who spent the entire season with selective Helen Keller syndrome whenever the subject came up.
I staged the only act of protest left in my immediate control.
Peed yourself? Drowned your sorrows in fair price, organically farmed Mozambican lattes? Do tell.
I sent an e-mail to an in-law, telling him that his genial hockey buddy and Trump supporter friend Johnny was no longer welcome on Thanksgiving.
THAT’LL show that Fascist Literally Hitler Trump and his hordes of Nazi Stormtroopers! We salute your boundless courage, Sir Robin!
I’m not a hater. Johnny’s a good guy. He means well and has done nice things for me. I’ve known him 20 years. But I can’t feed him any more of my potatoes.
But you’re… not a hater? Gotcha!
And I encourage everyone reading these words to defenestrate all the Johnnys in their lives, if they feel so inclined.
Definitely not a hater! Push those hateful hatey bigots through the windows and drop them on the sidewalk below, but do so LOVINGLY! Love Trumps Hate!!! LOVE TRUMPS HATE, DAMMIT!!!!
Or better yet, they could emulate what the comic and patriot Wanda Sykes did last week in Boston, which is to condemn the rise of the strongman, brooking no generosity or period of cooling — and to flip right off anyone who doesn’t want to hear it.
Certainly less hateful than shoving people through windows in a ProgNazi Kristallnacht Orgy of ha… er, LOVE!!!
We are in new territory, but I have a feeling that people who follow demagogues will dislike getting flipped off by people who once took them into their homes in late fall, handed them a drink and told them about the new bird feeders.
Most likely not. They’ll more likely shrug and move on. Perhaps they’ll chuckle a bit as they walk away too.
At the least, it will end the pretense that we share much in common. What, the Packers-Vikings rivalry?
Nice to get that out in the open, we’ll give you that. Not that we ever believed you ProgNazis for a second when you, occasionally, would pretend to care about anybody but yourselves and your Führer, but still. Nice that you finally admit it.
Everyone had their moment when they knew something was wrong about the strongman. For me, it was the clip showing an aging veteran repeatedly shoving an African-American girl from Black Lives Matter, hounding her from one of the strongman’s recruitment rallies during a break in the strongman’s public recitation of his beautiful poll numbers,
Given Black Lies Murder’s sordid history of creating death, rapine and mayhem wherever they show up with their herds of easily led vandals, it was probably for the best to get her out of the way before she could Trump Hate with another “random” act of Love. Who knows what the body count might have been?
his promises to jail the opposition
Only the criminal members of it. You do know that that’s what you’re supposed to do with criminals, don’t you? Jail them. Even if they are high in the Nomenklatura.
and his plans to round up the children of vegetable-pickers and bathroom-cleaners.
Along with the vegetable-pickers and bathroom-cleaners, of course. But we see what your real problem is here: Who is going to pick your veggies and clean your bathroom now? You???
The old veteran looked invigorated by the chance to push around a black girl in defense of the strongman. It ran on TV for weeks.
What didn’t run for weeks was members of her “mostly peaceful” organization killing cops, burning down cities and looting stores. For some reason.
I know Johnny had to have seen it, because Johnny watches TV all day long. So while he may not personally be racist — this is the ubiquitous fig leaf now — if Johnny saw that and voted for Trump anyway, he sure did not care about stopping racists.
You mean, racists who beat up people and steal their cars for being too white? We’d say that he cares a great deal about stopping those.
I made it to 3:30 the next afternoon before embarking on my next round of social housecleaning. By text, I put the question to a different relative, a note that read, let’s see, oh yes, here it is: “Please tell me you guys didn’t vote for that monster.”
Such quaint family traditions you guys have. We bet it must be a laugh riot to be around you!
Before the election, I had developed a vague inkling that this relative and her significant other — generous, warm, and good parents the both of them — might possibly have been considering a vote for the strongman.
“Before the Machtergreifung, I had developed a vague inkling that this relative and her significant other — generous, warm and good parents the both of them — might possibly have been frequenting the store of that Jewish traitor living next door, and now was the time to report them to the Gestapo!”
The more things change, the more they remain the same.
When six hours passed and she hadn’t replied, my forebodings only grew stronger — we trade texts about our kids in a heartbeat. At some point I sent over a curt follow-up: “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’?”
How fucking dare she leave a Party Member waiting?
“Don’t get hostile,” she shot back. “I didn’t vote.”
Don’t believe her! She’s been doing business with that vile Jewish traitor to the Volk for years now! She’s just trying to fool you! Genosse Heydrich needs your report NOW!
Which is funny, because this relative lives on the coast and works in prenatal care for at-risk mothers. But the climate-change denier she didn’t show up to oppose at the polls will soon accelerate the flooding of her streets
We’re all going to DROWN! Tomorrow! The waters have stopped receding now that our Beloved Führer, the Lightbringer, will no longer be leading us with his infinite wisdom!
and just told a reporter he expects that pregnant women in crisis, women he flaunts as lovers and later discards like last year’s car, to travel to the next state in order to end a pregnancy. So, not voting at all, yeah — “I don’t understand that,” I replied.
There’s a great deal you don’t understand, but to get into all of that we’d have to use not only a server, we’d need a bloody server farm.
And here came the grim capper of an explanation, a tragedy that will be studied for generations, the great American apathy of 2016:
“Don’t like her.”
Well. Maybe in light of 2016 we have all had enough questioning of our delicate consumer preferences for a lifetime. I replied: “O Boo Hoo, who does?” Which is probably the least I’ve ever done to conceal my contempt for the position of a close relative.
What? She “doesn’t like her?” What does that have to do with anything? Doesn’t she understand that Hillary has a vagina just like she does? What ELSE does she need to know??? TRAITOR! HANG HER! LOVINGLY! (Not a hater!)
We exchanged a few more comments, but I can’t tell you where we stand at this point, because she concluded with an emoji, and I don’t speak emoji.
Or Common Sense.
On the third and final night of this reckoning by text, it was time to engage with a young cousin by marriage:
“Did you vote for Trump?”
Picturing yourself in a long leather coat, a bright light shining into the face of your sweating, emaciated, frightened cousin, we’re sure.
I had been primed for confrontation with the young man, whose head is harder for me to impale on a spike because I have known him since he was a child. But he’s 30 now.
Perfect age for an impaling. Except you should have done so sooner, you fool! He may have procreated by now, diluting the otherwise clean, ideological bloodline of Das Volk!
And more to the point, when he arrived in my home last year for Thanksgiving and began pelting me with Sean Hannity talking points on the subject of police shootings of unarmed motorists,
Not to mention humming along to those ridiculously popular tunes spread by the dissidents and traitors among us, songs like “The Star Spangled Banner” and “The Red, White and Blue”.
a thought suddenly occurred to me: Why was I making this guy such delicious gravy?
Why indeed? When the truth is, you should have made him into gravy instead! And bars of delicious soap. And lamp shades.
Please don’t think this is about what you should and shouldn’t say in polite conversation, as if everything would have been better if the deluded Trumpers among us would have just piped down in mixed company. It’s actually about the feeling, as a woman put it in a recent New York Times piece on the defriending now underway over Trump, that “the mask has dropped” after this election.
Oh it has! It has indeed! In that you are correct.
The election of 2016 was a referendum on cruelty and the abuse of power.
And they lost. No wonder you’re upset.
Some of us can’t be present anymore among those who did not make the right choice.
Works for us. So when are you leaving? Canada is to the North.
Upon getting my text and apparently seeking cover, the young cousin, bless him, tried to change the subject. “Come on Paul,” he wrote, “we know politics is a bad conversation between us. How you doing, Bud?”
But I wasn’t having it. “That would be a yes, right?”
Nobody, NOBODY stops a man on a mission! A righteous mission! A mission of PURIFICATION, CLEANSING AND SETTLING OF ACCOUNTS! (All of this sounds so much better in the original German with a slight Austrian accent).
He said no, actually, that he would have voted for Trump, except that he was traveling for work. Wrong answer.
What? He didn’t quit his job to vote for Der Führer’s anointed successor???
“We are done,” I wrote, and I will admit this felt mean, especially once the bargaining started. He quickly said he found problems in the both of the candidates. He placed a call to my wife. So far I have bitten down and stayed the course. I hope the family is doing well, I wrote.
Bitterly, we’re sure. While at the same time lauding yourself for your infinite grace and generosity.
The new problem between the two us will surely require some stage-managing on any shared trips we may still have to take.
Only one of them, fortunately, and that’s only if he’s among the ones assigned to guarding your train on its way to the camps.
And yet I now feel deep in my bones: I can’t be friends with anyone who supported what happened.
Your loss, and we really can’t say that we care all that much.
But then, that was that. I had engaged with everyone in my social circle whom I could remotely blame for what had happened, sometimes unfairly. And I won’t lie, all of this felt pretty sad. But a lot of us feel pretty sad already, so what’s a little extra sadness between former friends.
Such a noble sacrifice. We’re getting all verklempt here.
Besides, I still have to figure out how I am going to make life unpleasant for all the Trump voters or even Trump-ambivalent as yet unknown.
Oh, but you have a plan! A glorious PLAN! All of them, ALL of them will rue the day, they will RUE. THE. DAY!!!
Going strictly by yard signs, they seem live in parts of town where you’d buy if you cared more about lawn size than people. But local numbers tell me there are 330 of them in my precinct. It unnerves me to think I share the sidewalk with even 330 votes for the social malevolence of denying my child’s school the right to ban guns.
The number one item on President-elect Trump’s agenda, as we all know. Denying Paul’s kid’s school the “right” to ban guns.
We are not supposed to ask each other about our votes. It’s not polite. Of course, it’s also not polite to teach your kid to taunt mine that the strongman will be soon putting his opponent in jail.
If, that is, she’s found guilty in a court of law. You know, the way this whole justice systemathingy is supposed to work. Oh, you don’t know, do you? Of course you don’t. Silly us.
Nor is it polite to stand on the street corner and demand said jailing to all who will hear leading up to voting day, something that happened throughout my town and from even the overpasses. It is the stuff of nightmares, not political difference, to tell a child his country has become a place where the wrong choice in political office will cost you your freedom.
But only when that “wrong choice” involves breaking the law. Or, in Felonia’s case, breaking every law pertaining to her office systematically, in alphabetical order.
So for all the smiling enablers who put Hillary in pinstripes at the Minnesota State Fair and supported the taunts of “Lock Her Up,” how are you feeling about the man driving around the Twin Cities demanding we shoot her in the head?
As long as she’s duly sentenced to death by firing squad first, we feel pretty OK with it, thanks for asking, but why waste a bullet when rope is cheap and reusable. Not to mention sustainable, organic and Gaia-friendly. Didn’t you lot use to care about those things?
What about the guys now roaring around in their pickups with oversize American flags flapping from the back? Should we expect a new mood of Fallujah to sweep the land?
Remember those hajis roaring around with American flags flapping from their pickups? Neither do we. Then again, we don’t have access to the same drugs that Paul is obviously taking far too many of.
Revenge of the countryside against the city, showings of force by vigilantes working in cells, the placing of writers in a pen, using AM radio to spread propaganda and confusion — better be careful, party of small government, your people are starting to look like Hutu Power.
Speaking of which, where the Hades did we put our machete? Oh well, a sharp broadsword will have to do.
Trump did us all a favor by showing exactly what would happen if an opportunist and political parasite with a compliant host party normalized the American subtext of racism, then brought it to a vote.
And all he had to do was to point to the last 8 years of racist misrule. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.
Some of us see that as a vote to be subjected to a million small acts of social correction, not engagement.
Oh look at that. A ProgNazi PC warrior wailing about “being subjected to a million small acts of social correction.” Believe us, we know all about that sort of thing.
If you’re very, very lucky, we’ll try our hardest to forget and, more importantly for the likes of you, forget who did it to us.
So you don’t have to make the Trump supporters dinner, or remain their friends on Facebook, or keep sending them holiday cards. In fact, it’s probably better that you don’t, not if you don’t want to normalize the election of a man who seems poised to penalize his critics, run a hotel business with the national Treasury, bunker down under the counsel of blood relatives as all tyrants do, and foment anger within his base. Some of us have pushed away family over far less. And once you’ve taken a stand, they might have to think about what matters more to them — their fondness for the strongman, or you.
Having read your hateful, fascist drivel for entirely too long now, we can only say that you made that choice very easy indeed.
Talk is overrated. The denial of warm potatoes, that gets a person thinking.
Besides, His Imperial Majesty’s Empress makes the BEST damn potatoes ever!