A Spoonful of Sugar

I’m not much of a policy wonk. I don’t even pass as a policy wonk wonk, but I’m usually pretty capable of following their wonky summaries if I have time. “Oh, there’s a photograph of Hitler here and the word America,” I say, scrolling madly to get to the paragraph where I find out if America is Hitler or not. Call me Wonk³.

There’s a French book I haven’t read called How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read. From what I’ve gathered, life is much too short to spend time dissecting things when it may not be necessary in order to discuss them. It’s never stopped anyone anyway, so go for it. Wikipedia that shit. Get the Cliffs Notes. Cheat off Jake in calculus class. That’s what I did, and I didn’t have to take college algebra.

That said, maybe it’s time to start paying attention to the finer details before we go berserk about any particular subject. Every president replaces staffers and ambassadors. Not every president calls CNN “fake news” on national television. Every president pitches a host of policy changes while they’re on the stump, some good, some terrifying, but many never pass through Congress. Not every president threatens to change everything on day one with a Congress to back him.

Da Gubmint is working on murdering about 30 million people this week, or so I have been led to believe. I’m not sure how Triple Holocaust will work out in the end, but it begs a question. If someone is actually trying to kill you, isn’t it time to defend yourselves? I’m not referring to knitting a pink hat, either, unless it’s imbued with some magical property that gives politicians cancer.

Do people really want health care, anyway? We’ve recently developed a mumps problem here in Northeast Arkansas, and I’m just about done playing nicey-nice games with anti-vaxxers. We shouldn’t justify idiocy by trying to debate this anymore. I wouldn’t give someone who didn’t believe in gravity or the curvature of the earth the time of day. Next time I encounter this bullshit I’m going to SCREAM REAL LOUD like Pee Wee taught me.

Then again, these folks are in charge of government now, and our only hope is guys like Cory Booker who pocket so much money from pharmaceutical (thanks, spellcheck. So that’s why you guys write BIG PHARMA) companies that they can’t be bothered to back defeated Brocialist Bernie “Birdman” Sanders and get one small thing done.

As a proponent of Fully-Automated Luxury Omnisexual Space Communism (still working on it, guys), it hurts me every time I see frightened people double down on pantsuited neoliberal politics. That monster is the mother of the one about to take office. They are of the same bloodline, the dynasty of failing late-to-endstage Capitalism, the Hunger Games for you kids out there, Beyond Thunderdome for everyone else.

While I hold the unfortunate honor of calling this disaster months ago, it was still a punch in the gut when it came to pass. I liken it to knowing of the impending death of a loved one. There is no amount of preparation that will shore you up against the flood of grief.

Still, I often think of that night and what I would have said had Clinton been chosen. I had planned on extending an olive branch and posting the “Sister Suffragette” song from Mary Poppins. It seemed a funny way to acquiesce for a moment, and it’s just jerky enough.

Now I think of something different, which runs through my head while I’m taking a shower, or a shit. It goes, in part, like this:

Though we adore Libs individually,
We agree that as a group they’re rather stupid.

Clamp on the shackles of yesterday,
Further and further into the fray.
Our daughters’ daughters will abhor us,
As they scream in hateful chorus,
“Well done, bougie slacktivists!”

Sorry not sorry, folks. I’m not going to turn off my brain for this one. Maybe I don’t have any answers, and that’s okay. The people in charge are supposed to have those. I’m just some stupid asshole retail manager who writes a blog frequented by his mother and a half dozen close friends. What I can do is poke holes in everything, and I will, because that’s my goddamned job. It’s the only fucking thing I’m good at.

If I yell in the anti-vaxxer’s face for ignoring science, I pretty much have to yell in yours when you throw the future of the human race into the arms of a pitiful demagogue and decide to knit hats in protest. There’s nothing whiter than that. Nothing more American.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you folks have plans, and believe me, I’ll retract the shit out of this statement when middle-class Capitalists who can afford to take a few days off to bus themselves to DC change the fucking world, but I’m not going to hold my breath. I stopped getting excited about these things in 2011 when Occupy Wall Street walked up to the doors of the stock exchange, yelled a bit, and went and occupied a tent until everyone got bored. They were right at the threshold and they froze because that trust fund was too much to lose. Don’t want to be late for class tomorrow because you’re in jail. Oh look, there’s Scarlett Johansson. 

They were right at the threshold. All they had to do is step inside.