If you watched the hot mess that was the Trump Thank Me tour yesterday and listened to his what-me-worry psychobabble, it became abundantly clear, to me anyway, that we have elected Alfred E. Newman as our next president.
And while this is more Madness Magazine than Mad, the reality is we have ourselves the exact same cover boy. And in some ways, it comforted me.
Explanation: Alfred E. Newman was just a cartoon character that had nothing whatsoever to do with the content of the magazine, other than he represented the coveted, warmly embraced symbol of absolute buffoonery.
And I can say, without an ounce of equivocation, the exact same thing about Trump. He has no more impact on the content of this country than his direct descendant Alfred.
Here is what I've eye-witnessed so far. Trump has become the equivalent of the Wal-Mart greeter at Trump Towers as he waves dopily to the crooked media and ushers in and out the perp walks of visitors who he gets to have frog legs dinner at -- where else? -- a Trump restaurant. And visitors like Mitt Romney get to kiss his ring (having been duped into thinking that he was actually up for secretary of state), only to be shoved back out into the squinty spotlight to sing the praises of someone who he previously said, with absolute conviction, was a dangerous moron. And that, my friends, is revenge and humiliation, Trump style.
Bill Clinton was our first rock and roll president whose inauguration soundtrack featured a live band called Fleetwood Mac (who were all set to be the soundtrack for Hillary with their song, "Landslide"). President Obama was our first R and B president, Teddy Pendergrass soulful with a light chocolate outside who no doubt knows all the words to most Prince songs -- and even a few Bob Dylan lyrics because he himself being an eloquent writer knows smart when he hears it.
Trump is our first snarling punk frontman singer who has a swastika carved into his forehead beneath the undulating waves of his bleached blonde raccoon hat. He only knows three chords: Anger, Avarice and Riot and whips it up, rally style with inciting lyrics that would make the Ramones seem like poet laureates.
If you think I'm exaggerating, just watch all the WHITES ONLY people standing behind him who danced with every word he uttered like an Ally McBeal baby. This, in fact, was not a Thank You anything tour. This was a monster truck rally where Trump got to gleefully laud himself (endlessly) while kicking everyone who was politically down. Stay classy, San Diego.
Trump has tapped into rural stupid completely by accident (just like Howard Stern who would make a far better president -- now) and he is now the official drum majorette (who is incapable of twirling and mostly drops the baton) who impulsively blurts out naughty words like a Tourette-syndrome toddler. He's like a 19th-century slave owner who loves to clap while his slaves dance. I would prove that to you categorically but try as I did, I could not find one person of color in that room of thousands other than him.
So how do we live and survive our daily buzz from Make America Donald magazine? Here are my ten commandments:
1. Cancel your subscription and stop reading Make America Donald Magazine.
2. Petition all the news networks to STOP giving him all the air time he wants (have they not learned anything? They empowered him with the one thing he craves: the spotlight. Report and interpret, but STOP LAVISHING ATTENTION ON HIM. It's like watering a Goonie.
3. Remind yourself that America has survived far worse: assassinations, wars, floods, tornadoes, 9/11, Bush and Cheney -- not in that order.
4. Do what I do: write down your thoughts to stay sane in order to magnetically draw-in like-minded INTELLIGENT, CIVILIZED, people into your power circle.
5. Listen only to MSNBC for as long as you can (oh, if Rachel Maddow was only the marrying kind. Fuck it. Will you marry me?) and then do what Trump never does: SHUT. THE TV. OFF.
6. Replenish the batteries of your soul and brain with all kinds of beauty via books and whatever music helps you transcend this earthly plane that keeps crashing. And if you are the parent of a 14-year-old, prepare them for 2020 (which by the way is hindsight). If you are without children, go see "Dear Evan Hanson" or "Hamilton" on Broadway. (Who knew that "Hamilton" would be a play about a hopeful future?).
7. Pray -- even if you are an agnostic, because there is POWER in prayer.
8. Embrace the aforementioned science and facts that are bestowed upon you.
9. Practicing a little voodoo will not kill you. Dolls are already on back order on my imaginary website.
10. Stop wishing that someone would take him out and leech all the hate from your fantasy system. It will only hurt you, plus it makes you one of them. And hold on to the feeling of being invisible because now you know what all those in need in this country have felt like for 8 years. Pelosi didn't get it any more than Mitch McConnell or Paul Ryan. We fucked up. We passed rural America by just like we pass homeless sign-holding women with their downcast dogs on the street every single day because we have to get to the Apple Store before it closes. In other words: stop staring into the black mirror of your phone and SEE what is all around you. It ain't all about you. It never was. Never will be.
And one more for the road:
11. Stop trying to be RIGHT. That is not the same thing as speaking and honoring your own truth. I am not here to convince you to do anything. Encourage and inspire, maybe, but arm wrestle you? No.
Only a President-Elect can dictate and tell you what to think and feel.