Sending the Children Out to Play After the Storm

I probably don’t need to tell folks as bright as my dear readers …


… that we’re all going to need some serious decompression when this thing is over. A month in the Bahamas would be sweet, yes? … even if it’s still hurricane season. Really, what’s a little big wind and high water compared to what we’ve been battered with over the last year?

Or for those looking for something a bit less pricey, perhaps it would be a good time to curl up in a bean bag chair and re-read … say … War and Peace—plus the entire Harry Potter series, Gravity’s Rainbow and everything James Joyce ever wrote and all of the National Geographics, ever. I figure it doesn’t really matter what we read, as long as there’s a lot of it. Enough to saturate ourselves until all the residual Trump toxins are flushed from our system.

Maybe we could move to Canada, and I mean even when Hillary wins. At least, for a spell. It’d be nice to spend a few months around people who aren’t rabid bat crazy, wouldn’t it? We could encourage the crazies to move to head north, of course, but that would be an awfully un-neighborly thing to do to our Canuck friends. Be like sending that psycho teenage son—the one who can’t stop torturing kittens and stealing guns—to live with your kindly old Unitarian Mom and Pop.

But honestly, we’re going to have to come up with some way to dial them down, the Trump nuts. We’ve all seen them in the film clips, screaming at reporters for doing their jobs, threatening to overthrow the government should Hillary win, even volunteering to be the patriot who “takes her out.” And trust me, they’re going to go on throwing their tantrums long after November 8 if we don’t figure a way to neutralize their poison.  I’m not sure how much more racist, woman-hating, insane conspiracy-spouting, thoughtless bullshit this country can take.

However, I don’t believe we need worry excessively over any serious coup d’etats or government overthrows occurring as a result of Hillary’s victory. Certainly we might see a handful of the more slack-jawed Trumpistas go out and seize control of a post office or an Ag Extension office somewhere–maybe another visitor center at a bird refuge, Bundy-style–then hole up for a week or two, gnawing on beef jerky and Twizzlers as they wait for all the other “patriots” to show up and join their insurrection.

But truthfully, these screw-ups wouldn’t anymore know how to start an insurrection than they’d know how to perform a heart transplant, plot a probe’s path to Neptune or, for that matter, pick an appropriate presidential candidate. Even the most misguided revolution takes a brain or two to get started, and if there’s one thing the Friends of Trump do not have, it’s a brain or two.

Which is not to say they can’t prolong the misery far beyond Election Day—that is, if nothing arises to draw their attentions elsewhere. There is nothing we can do to make them any smarter. But the problem with this election more so than any other in memory has been, as I see it, too many of the nation’s stupidest citizens were drawn into the political arena, simply because one of the very stupidest among them decided to run for President. And instead of trying to mask his stupidity as something else—ideological purity, for instance, a la Ted Cruz, or “family values,” (Rick Santorum or Mike Huckabee)—Trump has reveled in his stupidity. He’s worn it like a jeweled tiara to a royal wedding. He’s shoved it in his opponents’ faces and mocked them when they wouldn’t behave as openly stupid as himself. He’s turned STUPID into a lapel pin and declared it the highest qualification for the office he sought.

And why wouldn’t it go over huge with those people whose only source of pride is the vast scope of their own, stubborn ignorance?

It’s obvious then, at least to this observer, that to channel this boiling oil-spill of pure density away from the central focus of American life is to provide something more, or at least equally, as stupid as Donald Trump. It’s the old “shiny object” trick, only instead of using a shinier object to divert attention from something merely shiny, we’d use an even dumber attraction to help them with their withdrawal from the dumbness of Donald’s politics.

Get it? We can’t expect them to quit being morons cold turkey! They need … like … a methadone-ish substitute to dial them down gradually.

 And I don’t believe we can rely on the usual stupid diversions—professional wrestling, monster truck rallies, bull riding events, fantasy football, real football, etc. None of these amusements feed into the ravenous paranoia that the disgruntled demand in such massive doses in order to maintain their level of disgruntledness.

We have also learned that historic fears of interference from the traditional villains—e.g., Russian skullduggery, mobsters, sexual predators—no longer frightens them, not as long as their presidential preference, himself, is so deeply involved with Russian skullduggery, mobsters, and sexually predatory behavior.

Nor is there anything be gained by trying to amp up panic over the old bugaboos like jet plane contrails, childhood vaccinations, global warming hoaxes, or alien invaders impregnating human women. They already believe all that crap, and they still have room in their fevered imaginations to consider Donald Trump a viable candidate.

So, no. We need something new, and something big. Bigger than anything Alex Jones or Rush Limbaugh can pull out of their fat asses, and that’s big! I have been wracking my brain to think of something dopey enough to get a guesstimated forty-million voters to quit whining about rigged elections and such, but I gotta tell you, it ain’t easy for anyone with his feet planted on terra veritas to dream up something so bigly stupid that Trump supporters would swallow it. Not after they’ve already swallowed the notion of a President Trump.

I admit. I could use some help here. We need to put our minds together and assemble a package of anti-reality so ludicrous, so insane, and so glaringly STUPID, that Trump’s voters will flock to it like flies on fresh shit.

And when they are safely enraptured by this new obsession, what ever it may turn out to be, perhaps we can go about the serious business of making sure the real world goes on ticking, secure in the knowledge that they will be out playing in the mud, as usual, and letting all the true complexities of life skim by far over their heads … as usual.

And then, of course, we’re going to have to figure out something to do with the loser.

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