“This guy is dangerously unhinged. And, for all the things people have said about me over the years, I should be able to spot Dangerously Unhinged.”
–Glenn Beck, regarding Donald Trump
Not long ago I decided that I would enter the same comment beneath every article, essay, or blog post that mentions his name, no matter how humorous or interesting or disgusting Three short words that echo his nuanced, thoughtful response to the great issues of our day:
F*ck Donald Tr*mp.
It’s short, it’s sweet, it’s as straight to the point as a giant wall in the desert.
F*ck Donald Tr*mp.
Try it. The sensation is a little heady, a little intoxicating, like four shots of smooth, cheap Canadian whiskey poured over a couple of ice cubes in a cool, wide highball glass.
F*ck Donald Tr*mp
You really want to get in on this, to be part of this movement from the ground floor. Imagine a world in which every media mention of him was followed by a cacophonous roar of
F*ck Donald Tr*mp.
It would be just like every day was Christmas, and what a wonderful world that would be.
and here I go:.Fuck Donald Trump. In fact, I”m going to make a post of it, maybe try to start a movement….
I was laughing when I lifted this from Twitter, planning to include it with the other funny posts I referenced in a post of #tedcruzcampaignslogans, but the more I thought about it the more I thought: this ticket would be ideal.
First and foremost, these two aren’t the idiots most of us think they are–oh, they’re simple enough, but the characteristics we deride as stupidity and are actually cynacism. Politicians like Cruz, and sideshow performers like Palin, know their target demographic: older, conservative, poorly educated, resentful white people. Their strategy is to rile up the disaffected, rally the numbers, and ride the wave. Cruz wants power, but (bristle if you want, it’s true:) Palin makes millions by running her mouth and posturing; as a candidate she would need to woo moderates and delivers possible solutions–it’s easier to just keep ranting and count the money as it flows in.
That said, despite a field of abrasive, much-loathed contenders like Wisconsin’s Scott Walker and wingnutty Rand Paul, who spits more poison than a cobra, the Republicans have a significant advantage: malaise.
Hillary is almost a foregone conclusion as the Democratic candidate, and will remain so until some dark horse can buck the political machine and work her way to the top by coloring outside the line. That horse isn’t coming from Vermont. This is Hillary’s time, and while I supported her enthusiastically against President Obama back in 2008, I really no longer give a single damn. She would probably make a good enough President, if she could bust through the Obama model of opacity and ponderous bureaucracy and lead in a manner that seems or, better still, actually is hands-on and engaged.
Even if she did that, I’m not sure I’ll be interested. Ms. Clinton has been at the forefront of current events for 23 years and counting, for good and for ill. Maybe it is just me, but I’m not feeling a rush. If anything, I’m dreading the next election cycle, the relentless negativity that has become genetically linked with national politics, the endless posturing to niche groups and special interests, and the fear of provoking the same, that all but eliminates productive debate from either side.
A Cruz candidacy virtually assures the early segments of the campaign will be lively–there’s no telling what will come out of his mouth, and the outrage should be both palpable and engendering of a certain electrical charge that might just awaken people. Of course, should he emerge from convention season, nomination in hand, we’ll see Cruz dial things way back in a determined effort to win centrist and undecided voters.
In honor of Rick Santorum’s potential run (yet again) for the White House, I offer my very favorite cut and paste tribute to the spasmodically homophobic zealot. If this isn’t the best headline, maybe ever….
Rick Santorum. If you know me, or read this blog often, you know I’m not a fan, and I haven’t been since well before he slithered onto the national stage after his vicious and duplicitous campaign against Harris Wofford for a senate seat twenty years ago. It was an ugly, negative campaign–beyond negative, it was brutal and desperately misleading, and it paid off. The upright, distinguished Wofford, whose achievements dated back to the Kennedy administration and included the establishment of the Peace Corps, refused to play tit for tat, sticking to his vow to campaign on the issues and refusing to shrink to the level of Santorum’s shrill and angry personal attacks. When Santorum ultimately won, his campaign staff scheduled a celebration the day after the election–in the lobby of the office building where Wofford’s campaign headquarters was located, forcing the Wofford’s staff to walk through catcalls and taunts in order to go home that afternoon. It was outrageous, and it’s not anecdotal–I was there in the Federated Tower in downtown Pittsburgh that November afternoon in 1994. I’ve despised the guy–not only for his politics, but for his angry, hysterical persona. When he compared homosexuality to bestiality I wasn’t surprised, nor was I surprised when a reporter discovered that after his election Santorum moved his entire family to suburban Virginia, hiding the fact from the school district where he’d lived in Pennsylvania so they would keep paying cyber school tuition for his children. Yep, this was the same Santorum who worked himself up to a lather denigrating single mothers who received benefits, and who desperately wanted to cut off social security benefits to folks under the age of 70, conning the system. Nobody familiar with him was surprised.
I was thrilled to learn he’d be running again–he’s unelectable, of course, and his backers support him primarily as a tool through which the debates for the republican primary may be swayed to the right–because he’s a car crash waiting to happen every time he steps in front of a microphone, a stereotype of of thew swarmy, insincere politician conning his core constituency (white, racist, homophobic, teabagger christians) by playing to their fears and hatreds. If you’ve ever seen the brilliant political satire “Bob Roberts,” you’ll recognize a lot of Santorum as a living, breathing example of the disingenuous, cynical, power-mad con-man/politician whose willingness to crawl in the darkest, dankest mud and slime and shit in order to grab a taste of power.
More later. (I have to go spend the day shopping for prom gowns. Really.)