How long ago did I write that thing about how saying “Happy holidays” meant you were a child of Satan? It’s been a few years, but we’re still dealing with people who take some kind of personal offense to being greeted that way rather than with “Merry Christmas.” Now, Donald Trump is being hailed as a hero for giving the country permission to say “Merry Christmas” again. Just when you thought life couldn’t get any more weird.
It’s almost over.
This election season has been hell. I was a Bernie Sanders supporter, and when he lost the primary, I was hit hard. I’m not a political expert by any means; I don’t know a lot about public policy or the ins and outs of political wrangling. I don’t know enough, I guess, to look past the human being that each candidate represents and understand the political machinery inside their heads.
I know that there was a guy who wanted to help people, and that wasn’t what the majority wanted. That’s putting things in the most simplistic terms possible, but that’s the bottom line. He wanted to help, and people said no.
And then it got ugly, uglier than any campaign I’ve seen in my, what, 24 years? of voting.
Every time Donald Trump opened his mouth, I thought, “No. This is where people say, ‘enough’.” That “enough” never happened, and we are looking at the reality of him becoming president. Frankly, after seeing the lack of response to the horrific way the Sioux tribe is being treated over DAPL, I don’t feel good about anyone in the running. The teenage son of a woman with whom I’m acquainted was beaten and jailed, just for being there. He had gone there with his family to help feed those trying to defend their water supply. A cousin of a writer I know suffered the same, having his possessions stolen on top of everything else. These are real people being hurt, not characters on a TV show, but we watch as if they are, less angry about their fate than we are about Glenn’s poor scrambled brains leaking onto the set of The Walking Dead.
I’m a cranky, apathetic, cynical little shit, but this lack of caring on such a massive scale is crushing me. Lack of concern for Native Americans, for LGBT folks, for people of color, for children, for women, the elderly, disabled, mentally ill, veterans… Lack of concern, it seems, for anyone who isn’t involved in the exclusive financial circlejerk that is our federal government.
So I went and I voted, not for anything in particular, but against the worst of it. I voted against Trump, and against the disgusting governor of my state, Pat McCrory, who has worked incredibly hard to destroy the lives of as many of his constituents as he possibly can. I voted, and I felt just as bad walking out as I did going in.
Election season is like Christmas when you’re a kid. You get all riled up in the weeks before, deal with the inevitable elation or disappointment when the gifts are all unwrapped, and then a week later, the new clothes are in the washer with all your old stuff, the new toys are on their sides with dead batteries, and you’re back in school having the same old conversations about the same old shit and learning the same pointless garbage they’ve been feeding you since you were toilet trained.
It’s not going to get better unless we keep being angry past election day. We have to keep fighting everything that’s wrong, every day. It’s hard. It’s exhausting. It’s not fun, and there’s something cool on Netflix, and we have money for Taco Bell, so tonight let’s not think about it, right? And tomorrow it’s something else, and the next day, another thing, and then it’s election day again and we’re irate again, for just a minute, and then it’s done.
And then it’s done.
And trans people keep getting beaten up in bathrooms. And gay people keep getting their houses painted with ugly graffiti. And the mentally ill keep floundering, with nowhere to go for help, and children keep going hungry, and veterans keep dying on the streets for lack of care, and women die of cancer while they try to raise the funds for mammograms. Black men keep getting murdered for the crime of being Black. Native Americans choose between bullets or giving in to slow poisoning, and the politicians keep getting richer with every shot that’s fired. But every four years, we give a shit, so it’s okay.
I’m going to take a nap.
My new book, Chicken Soup for the Fuck You: Inspirations, Observations, and Character Assassinations is now available in print and Kindle format via Amazon.
Here’s a little about the book:
“Chicken Soup for the Fuck You” is spit straight from the hyperactive brain of a lifelong oddball who has, to put it simply, seen some shit. In the process of finding her voice after a decade and a half of quiet, April Fox puts a wry spin on politics, religion, and the weird and wonderful aspects of everyday life, including parenting a herd of eclectic children. In between, there are periods of darkness, and those are reflected here too.
In short, “Chicken Soup for the Fuck You” is a feel-good book for people who hate feel-good books.
April’s work has been described as “Intoxicating… Awesome, inspiring, and resonating all the way.”
“…a huge dose of reality.”
“Enigmatic and thought-provoking, but still touching.”
Chicken Soup for the Fuck You is a collection of essays (some previously published here) in line with Jon Stewart’s Naked Pictures of Famous People, interspersed with brief one-liners and a few lines of verse. It runs the gamut from Barbie’s role model status to evangelist Pat Robertson’s readiness to come out of the closet to why kids with autism don’t make the best survey subjects sometimes. One early reader said he was laughing on one page, raging on the next, and on the verge of tears with the one after that; another, before reading, hoped the book came with “a piece of the author’s brain.” Chicken Soup for the Fuck You is exactly that: a slice of my brain, stuffed inside a paperback cover and served straight to you, ready to be enjoyed.
So Donald Trump, right?
What a fucking asshole.
Apparently the financial bigwig (heh heh) recently took it upon himself to mock the appearance of a reporter with a physical disability. I haven’t said much about him or this particular incident up until now; half of me, when I heard about it, wanted to tie his wrinkly old nuts in a knot and toss him in a cage with a herd of horny badgers. The other half of me was just like, rolling my eyes and going, Eh, what do you expect from this idiot? His main selling point seems to be that he “speaks his mind.” Well yeah, so do lots of people, but when they start standing up in public and going “Hur hur hur look at me I’m so disabled, hahaha!” that’s when you grab crazy Uncle Donald by the arm, smack him in the back of the head, and drag him out of the room while simultaneously apologizing to everyone who witnessed his behavior and swearing to kill whoever left the liquor cabinet unlocked so ol’ Donald could get into it and make an ass of himself again.
Being a brazen jackass is not an admirable trait, people. This guy wouldn’t know class if it was delivered to him in a private jet and served to him straight off the fat ass of whichever Kardashian it is that has the famous fat ass. He’s a joke, and let’s try and keep that in mind when we’re getting upset about this latest idiotic move.
This is a guy who sounds like the Young Republican Frat Boy Book of Mad Libs being read by a broken See n’ Say. (Remember those?) He has a dead weasel stapled to his head for decoration and wants to brand everyone of a certain religion because fuck history and common sense and compassion, right? And he’s a notorious homophobe but still maintains a steamy sexual affair with the famous transsexual Ann Coulter, a cranky conservative television personality. The guy is not all there. He’s lost his marbles. When they handed out IQ tests, he pissed on his and cheered because it was negative. Motherfucker wants to act like that asshole in high school who talks about kids on the short bus; I don’t think the ignorant pickledick could spell short bus without a picture dictionary and a staff of interpreters. And he damn sure couldn’t demonstrate or define basic human concepts like kindness and empathy, not even with all the help in the world.
His opinion doesn’t mean shit.
He’s a dick, no doubt. He has some really, really, ugly ideas and behaviors. But like I always told my kids, if someone like that doesn’t think much of you, that says something really good about who you are.
And now, on top of everything else, he wants an apology for being called out for making fun of someone. Fucking seriously. Here’s your apology, Mr. Trump, on behalf of everyone you might have hurt by being such an obvious piece of inconsiderate shit: I’m sorry you have to use your money to buy companionship. I’m sorry your mommy didn’t hug you enough and didn’t teach you how to play nicely with other kids. I’m sorry that every time you open your mouth, what comes out is the verbal equivalent of noxious flatulence, and that you got put in your place by someone you clearly see as a lesser human being, and most of all I’m sorry that nobody has smacked you upside your fool head for being such an embarrassment to the human race.