Daddy (Obama) ghosted us for Palm Springs golf courses—never returns calls, always teeing off somewhere sunny. His loyal bag man, Biden, stepped up as capo di tutti capi and turned Uncle Sam into a rental—pay to play.
- Grievance #1: Daddy won’t pick up the damn phone.
- Grievance #2: The bag man’s shaking us down for cash.
Worst of all? One of Daddy’s Johns is now the new capo. And this John? He’s demanding we go to REHAB! HOW DARE HE!
Damned right we went batshit crazy!
We fought a war to ditch George III because Georgina got greedy. George Washington could’ve been king but said no—ever since, we’ve craved the cake without the crown: freedom from authority, but a warm, fuzzy, benevolent emperor to fix it all. JFK could’ve been that guy, but he got shot. Hard times.
Absent Daddy
With Obama, we loved the strong pimp hand and ACA propaganda (the money grab? Eh… whatever). So we elected a rich John thinking he’d be gentler than the pimp. He paid up (unlike the old boss who promised checks that never came), let us swipe his card at Saks and Nordstrom while scolding our spending. Needs are needs—someone’s gotta fill the account.
All Johns are sketchy: Why pay for GFE that ends when the clock hits zero? Sunkist Stalin’s current bae is a mail-order bride; his history’s chasing SHYTs (Marla Maples, just saying). Bent in ways that kill healthy relationships.
We want a daddy to pay the bills and hug us tight. Instead, we get absent dads, shady bag men, and Johns who think rehab will cure our chaos. Grow up, America. Or pick a better daddy.
Drumpf. Dumpf, Cheeto Satan. Her Gropenfuhrer. Whatever. Anyway, he’s maybe an ok real-estate guy but politics is a whole other level of evil and corruption. The Demo-cracks use reputation as a weapon. They never forget, never forgive. Jeff Sessions may have been an s.o.b. at one time. That’s all they need. If he ever did or said anything at cross purposes with the secular orthodoxy of the left, that scarlet letter is used to bludgeon him forever after. History is always destiny. Sessions was born this way and no amount of years or words can ever be enough.
He Ain’t My Daddy
Cheeto Satan made some fatal assumptions about politics. In real estate the event horizons are fairly long. There is a while in which you have to trust the people you are doing a deal with to act in an ethical manner.
Politics? It’s game on. It’s my world, where on a whim we may just decide to report that Melania is having an affair with Larry the Cable Guy. The love-child announcement is scheduled for the Maury show and Drumpf is expected to appear to hear the paternity test results. That bit of gossip would be beaten like a rented mule until Congress hauled Larry the Cable Guy in to impeachment hearings as a witness for the prosecution. It’s how it’s done in D.C. Only way later would there be a small story buried in the New York Post that the love-child was a meme gone viral and could not be substantiated. The left only cares about the accusation.
Our news has devolved into middle school girl gossip. A normal conversation between the new National Security Advisor and the Russians is pimped as proof that Tangerine Nightmare is a stupid lunatic unfit for his job. The media gleefully reports that the Russians elected Agent Orange. Facts are an inconvenience. Any small thing past or present is yeasted up as a constitutional crisis of unprecedented and historic importance. There is never mercy. Whatever narrative can be pushed to cast someone as evil incarnate is repeated ad nauseum until its stink takes on the gravitas of truth. Gossip and reputation are the weapons of the press and the left.
You Ain’t Right
One must adhere to a narrow set of talking points regardless of their truthiness. At the core of the talking points is a Chicken Little assurance that we are all fucked, immutably fucked. The Climate is changing because humans messed it up and this is going to cause irreparable damage to endangered species and protected classes of brown people. Corporations and wealth are ipso-facto evil and must be destroyed. Traditional fossil fuels culturaly appropriate dinosaurs and must be stopped. White People, regardless of heritage or socio-economic status, can be stipulated to be privileged and owe some heads to brown people.
We have been told what shits we are for a century. The ills of the brown people have been laid at our feet and we have been expected to suffer under more onerous government control and taxation as a way to make things fair. Oddly, all this social justice warfare has not improved the lives of those it is intended to assist. It has only served to trap us in a death spiral of resentment, anger, economic peril and oppression.
So, we voted for Cheeto Satan and the left went batshit crazy. They swore oaths that Trump would be removed from office right ricky-tick. It was a crime against Eras that a WASP could win an election in which the correct successor was a woman. What was up with Michelle? This wrong had to be righted by any means necessary.
Vote for the Bag Lady
We elected this guy because he wasn’t a slick politician. He was a John that paid well and was a bit of a dork. He didn’t beat us and paid up front whenever he saw us. So, we liked him enough to elect him. We didn’t consider why he might be a John and unfaithful to his wife. We need our check. Some Daddy, this guy.
Our choice was either the Pimp Daddy’s bitch or Hair Gropenfuhrer. The bitch told us she’d get us our check and make all this other shit free. It always worked before so who would have believed that it wouldn’t work again? It didn’t work. First, she’s the bitch, she ain’t got shit that we want. Her cards ain’t Pimp Daddy’s cards nor Clueless Orange Julius’. Second, she’d been all up in the Saudi’s, who owned her. All her money came from cock-tail parties and child-sex trafficking. Third she kept lying about her Saudi friends and her e-mail server. It didn’t help that the lies were backed by Pimp Daddy US. We might be a whore but we still have standards.
Pimp Daddy US is an ass because instead of finding a way to fix the constitution and get himself coronated he left to play golf. Yeah, he beat us back into the hospital and getting him to pay was like an act of God. But at least his card was always good. Stupid Tangerine Nutsack gone all stentorian father, like he had a sudden attack of Baptist Revival. We liked him better when he was paying us to give him happy endings. Still, we couldn’t vote for the bitch so we voted for the John. Welcome to our brave new world.
Daddy is Playing Golf
Our problem, and maybe why we haven’t elected a woman, is that we have Daddy issues. We want a masculine god-king who will fill that Zuess sized hole in our heart. He needs to provide for us the way we want to be taken care of. He has to repeat continually that he loves us even though we never really let those words reach our broken heart. We want him to apologize and to forgive. Apologize for abandoning us, apologize for abusing us, apologize for cheating on us, and apologize for being addicted to whatever hurt, habit or hangup we accuse him of. In turn, forgive us for our own abandonment (his fault), abuse (his fault), cheating (his fault) and hurts (his fault), habits (his fault), or hangups (his fault). When we tell him he needs to let us be a diva he should just shut up and agree.
So, every four years another white chocolate bar tries to tell us that he’s going to fix it. He’s the god-king we were promised when Rome was still a thing. Every four years he turns out to be yet another lying asshole pimp or John that can’t actually do what he said. Woo.