As events in Washington unfold, or as they pustulate I want to gather together my live animals and my toy ones—the living Lhasa Apso, the Labrador, and a cuddly stuffed horsie—and stay under the covert of my blankets. If the end is truly coming this is where you’ll find me. But dammit! I’m too educated for it. I know owning a blankie to hide under is more than most people possess. And Crap! I hear the voice of my long dead Finnish grandmother, the dowager princess of Lutheranism, saying: “Vanity, vanity, all is vanity…” I can’t even muster a sentimental and childish escape under the tent of my bedclothes. Like everyone who senses the disaster to come I’ll just have to stand and face what’s on the wind.
The Trump Wind is weather “unlike” which means “unlike” Brexit, unlike Marine LaPen or Italian Fascism. It owes more to the John Birch Society. Trumpy is hungry for a return to Jim Crow and child labor. Trump has a lot of appetites alright. Whenever I look at his bloated orange mug I’m reminded of Nixon and Kissinger eating cottage cheese with ketchup while discussing body counts in Southeast Asia.
Unlike. Unlike conservatism. Unlike civics. If your teeth hurt and you’ve no money to fix them, too bad for you. If your child has a pre-existing medical condition or disability, too bad. Unlike Christianity itself. If you’re not rich you deserve your fate.
Yes, I want cuddly animals and a good blanket.
I want them for you and you.