The Curse of Frankenstein

To all of you intellectual media pundits and political wonks who are trying to understand what happened on November 8, I will explain it to you. First of all, clear your mind of the false idea that Trump is a racist who was elected by other racists.

The Donald’s win begins with you refusing to accept any anti-establishment alternatives to Hillary Clinton, refusing to let anyone from outside into your media-political clique. Donald, and to an extent Bernie, were seen as not worthy, and so you set about to prove just who is really in charge around here (you).

After Bernie was embarrassingly co-opted, you were free to train your sights on The Donald. Tirelessly you worked to cast him as unfit for the job of President, even to the extent of eventually abandoning normal journalistic standards of civility and propriety. “Oh what a buffoon he is!” you mocked. With a big chunk of the electorate already in your pocket, you set out to control the minds of the rest of us. You were not completely successful.

Do you remember all the phony outrage over The Donald’s comments on the Access Hollywood tape? Here’s a guy who has owned beauty pageants—events that are built on the objectification of women. Think what you will, but there are women who want to play that game, audiences who want to watch it, and The Donald, happy to provide the stage. No harm, no foul, just part of the eternally interesting carnival that is the man-woman thing. I don’t judge. Seen in that light, nothing was revealed in the Access Hollywood tape that we did not already understand to be the case with candidate Trump (he likes pretty women). But no matter, right? The point of getting the tape out there, after all, was not to inform but to move the poll numbers which is, incidentally, the difference between journalism, and propaganda.

And yes, you loved it when the numbers for The Donald started to slide—success! But wait…propaganda can only go so far and poll numbers can be, as you have painfully learned by now, misleading. So you worked yourselves into quite a frenzy, abetted even by spineless anti-Trump Republicans, not noticing that, beyond your urban bubbles, we were drawing conclusions not about Trump, but about you.

Your problem was somewhat technical: you had reached the Upper Brainwash Threshold (UBT) much earlier in the election cycle. Beyond UBT, additional specious smears piped through media conduits will overload your devotees with talking points, and have no lasting effect on those you are trying to convert. So in the end, a tape unearthed from 2005 was just another addition to the steaming pile you were shoveling day in and day out—the disabled reporter thing, the Indiana judge thing, the Mexican rapist thing, the Gold Star parent thing, the bankruptcies—but through the miracle of the Internet it was easy enough to see that those narratives either had been debunked, were overblown, or just did not matter.

And finally, here’s where it gets really bizarre, and tragic. The “Donald Trump” that your children are protesting now does not really exist! It’s a literary invention, a Frankenstein monster that you in the media-political complex have sewn together with body parts dug from back room graves. As your mob marches angrily toward the windmill chasing the fictional monster you have created, the rest of us see in the actual Donald Trump a considerate, plain-spoken man who will be a good President if we give just him a chance.

It turns out a lot of us think, yeah, we should put “America first,” we are an exceptional people with a history we can be proud of, and it’s time to stop dividing ourselves into racial subcultures and getting hung up on childish social diversions; if we don’t all pull together and take care of our country we will lose it.

I guess you didn’t notice us, but we voted. And that’s what happened.

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Bernie Supporters, Show Some Pride

Yes, I know he told you to vote for grandma, Bernie supporters, but show some pride. She hosed him, and he sold you out. He was leading a revolution that would have made Abbie Hoffman proud, then he said buh bye, suckers.

See, he had his moment in the sun, the rallies, the adoring fans, then… then the embarrassing capitulation to the woman he had said was owned by Wall Street, and the odious sight of the two of them together, waving, smiling, as you sobbed in disbelief. Bernie? Huh? What about us? I’ll tell you what about you: your revolutionary is revealed to be nothing more than a garden variety politician, and now he’s, oh, probably gazing across Lake Champlain in the $575,000 vacation home he just bought, working on his book (which I understand is tentatively titled “Please Don’t Steal This Book”).

It’s just a matter of time till a WikiLeaks memo is uncovered from the stack:

To: John Podesta
From: Bernie
Re: Still waiting for your check (already bought house)

So when he tells you to vote for grandma, just say no and pick someone else.