It’s June baby! You know what that means! It’s time to unleash those beach bodies, hit the highways with the top down, and bear direct witness to the very fabric of our democracy melting like a Hershey’s kiss in a sumo wrestler’s ass crack.
Welcome to the Cruel Summer 2017.
What a time to be alive. We’ll surely be telling our kids about these tumultuous times in the decades to come, provided we are not annihilated in a nuclear holocaust/murdered by domestic militia/underwater. I knew upon Trump’s election that we would soon be living in Bizarro Circus Reality, but I had no idea how deep the rabbit hole would take us.
Writing a humorous, politically-minded blog has been a rough sell for your boy since January. It’s hard to digest all of the absurd, outrageous, unbelievable shit that’s taken place since the inauguration and somehow make it funnier. It’s an exercise in redundancy. Like trying to tell a funny story about a friend at a party, only to have him steal the attention from you by lip syncing “Despacito” in drag while twirling a fidget spinner on his dick. Useless. What’s the use of pissing on something that is so proudly Shit Mountain?
It reminds me of the end of the Bush Administration when it wasn’t a question of whether you hated the president, but how much you hated him. The major difference between Bush II and Trump lies in its dramatic arc. Bush had the classic story of a man going from generally tolerated (the highest aspiration of any American politician) to being nationally despised to the point where his own party members would not seek his endorsement. It was kinda like King Lear with less sibling rivalry and more Karl Rove.
Trump is not King Lear. Trump’s closest Shakespearean archetype is Richard III: A hunchback that is so shamelessly evil that you almost end up rooting for him and his malevolent scheming (important distinction: Richard was an evil genius, Trump is a dolt). He came in pre-hated. You knew he was a turd before he was finished with his opening monologue. You spend the entire play waiting for the bastard to get his comeuppance. Sound familiar? These stories are timeless for a reason.
Trump’s presidency has done exactly what his election was intended to do and and has created a hurricane of media sensation so powerful that it’s impossible to discern fact from fiction. Truth itself has been obfuscated and corrupted to the point of meaninglessness. You almost have to respect his dedication to the craft. He’s a one-man primetime storyline machine. We’re not even settled in our chairs from the last crazy thing (pulling out of the Paris Climate Agreement) before we’re jolted sideways by the next crazy thing (talking shit on the London mayor on Twitter after a terrorist attack). It’s like watching Jackass but instead of watching a guy let a donkey kick him in the balls, we’re watching Trump shove the PM of Montenegro.
Less than six months removed from the inauguration, and already we’ve hit the point where James Comey’s testimony in front of Congress tomorrow has become the Media Event Of The Year. CNN has rolled out the countdown timer that it only uses for special occasions, bars are being opened early so people can get bombed before noon while watching the hearing, and the major networks will show the hearing instead of their normal programming. It’s chaos and madness and so thoroughly American that I have to take quiet moments of patriotic pride during the day to appreciate how far we’ve come from a bunch of shivering, starvation-wracked puritans that couldn’t even figure out how to grow fucking corn to this lurching behemoth of excess and sensationalism that we all know and hate/love today.
Will Trump get impeached? Will he be absolved? Who is guilty? Who is innocent? Is Ivanka actually pregnant with Jared’s baby or is it actually Justin Trudeau’s? What is Steve Bannon really doing in the basement all the time? Is Jeff Sessions just a mystical forest elf that only Donald can see? WHERE ON EARTH IS MELANIA?! Tune in next week to find out on a new episode of AMERICA!
It’s clear by now that the question of whether Donald Trump is guilty of impeachable offenses is almost irrelevant. The Trump Administration will not end after the Comey testimony, nor will it end after any other bombshell leak to the media. The Trump Administration will end after every ounce of political capital and television-flavored controversy have been sucked from his body and he is finally forced to give his resignation speech while hidden under tiny dark robes and swaddled in the arms of Sean Spicer like Voldemort Baby.
The bubbling optimist in me that I have tried to murder with cynicism and punk rock truly hopes that something concrete and shattering comes out of the Comey hearing. Enough to single-handedly throw Trump, Pence, Sessions, Ryan, Preibus, McConnell, and the whole wacky gang in prison until Star Wars Episode XXXIV is released on hologram or Space Blu-Ray or whatever the fuck we’re using to watch shit by then. It would be a nice validation of the thought that this is a country built on justice and truth, rather than media narratives and keeping the public placated with political soap operas.
But I also know in my gut that this will largely do nothing but generate even more sexy media controversy. His testimony will be damning enough to keep the CNN Outragebots fueled for another month but ambiguous enough that the issue will remain a political football until the next major controversy or catastrophe happens. Or another plane goes missing.
And I wish that I could occupy an ethical high ground here and cast judgement on all these proceedings. But I can’t. Not only because I lack ethics but also because I buy into this shit just as hard as all of you. Probably more. Don’t get it twisted: Politics is the greatest show on Earth and we are its gawking spectators.
I hope you all tune in for the hearings tomorrow with snacks and your intoxicant of choice. It’s gonna be a long one.
PS: I solemnly swear to update more frequently. I forgot theatre life is grind life. Ciao boys and girls.