Okay okay. Yes, I am the last person that could be worthy of pity for the Donald. I can’t stand anything he says, does… I loathe his talking hands. Little stupid hand gestures unique to a hater; those finger nuances that suggest an upper class that give away the overload of hypocrisies, nuances unique to a madman. He opens his mouth and I click out as fast as I can, pounding my computer’s keyboard with the urgency of one with the eebie-geebies in a dark corridor bolting for the light coming from around the corner, because I would rather read his foul words than hear them from his big bad wolf voice softly spoken in those soft tones. A softness caused by the distortion from his on then off then on again sheep costume. Like we can’t see through every layer he throws on. All 2 layers. Dumb and dumber or dumb and really dumb. But last night, I felt …bad for him. I mean, sincerely sorry for the guy. I think it’s actually been festering. No I know it has been. There isn’t one amazing artist, celebrity, comedian, politician, philosopher, scientist OKAY. EVERYONE has taken a stab at the guy in memorable and bound to be historical ways. I mean, for the millions of stupid things he’s done or said or fucking TWEETED, there are 10 x’s the number of parodies, skits and monologues to answer.
Of course! It’s all we have! It’s all we can do in light of the powers against all of humanity and the planet we live on. The power he has. And by now, since we all agree he is a dunce, a dangerous dunce, than we must all agree its that power of all those greedy guys who are behind him. They know he’s stupid but they are seeing their agenda through to the end with this stable genius of theirs.
And we’re fucked. Yes. yes. yes…
When I was a little girl I lived in Lemoore. My father was stationed there at the Naval Air Base and I grew up watching the Blue Angels way up in the sky practicing. This was my sky at 3 years old. Swinging on swings in the rather nice Naval projects playground where my brothers and sister would play everyday, to the sound of jets and suburban lawns with doggies and babies, and Navy wives and mothers chatting. And the amazing scenes up in the highest heavens of Naval jets in formation like pelicans diving, after peeling off one by one from the flock.
I remember, there was a boy named Nick. He was 12 years old. He was sweet I thought. He always had a goofy smile on his big face and he talked really funny, I also thought. I don’t know, I didn’t know what funny was, really, I was only 3 years old. We would swing and laugh. I remember that, Nick and I would swing back and forth and laugh for nothing. But I remember that.
I also remember this: every time the other kids would get together, led by my big brother Chito, they would come to over to us, and they would act happy or silly, and they would say things like, “Yvonne, what is 2 plus 2?”, and I would answer, “FOUR!” And then they would turn immediately to Nick and say, “NICK! What is 2 plus 2??” And Nick would laugh in his goofy way and say, “Uhhh… doo buss doo?” And all the kids would laugh hysterically and continue with their strange inside joke that neither Nick nor I ever stopped to question. “YVONNE!! Spell dog!” And I would. Then, “NICK!!! Spell DOG!!!” and Nick would say whatever he wanted in his own “special” way.
And I heard the word for the 1st time, the word, retard. And somehow, the little 3 year old Yvonne that I was, began to ponder. It took a while, but I figured it out. Somehow, I came to understand what the inside joke was on Nick, and on me. And I stopped playing with Chito and the others that tried again and again, to make me show off at the ridicule of my big friend Nick. Nick and I would laugh at nothing, or… something, and when the kids started their cruel funny haha game, I began feeling something new. At 3 years old. And when this new thing happened to me, I did something different.
The next time Chito came to the swings where Nick and I were with his, “Yvonne what day comes after Saturday?” Little 3-year-old Yvonne answered without the usual happy face, “…Uhhhh Tha thur thay? …i no no! Go away!” And this memory is one of my earliest memories.
And so, yeah. The Grammys just took a step down in my book. With all the talent in the house last night, was that absolutely necessary? The guy is an asshole, but assholes have feelings too.
Oh wow. I just wrote a pretty good …joke. I didn’t mean to. omg.
Anyway, I really did feel bad for the Donald. With his ego, that must have really hurt him. Public ridicule is not the ancedote. It was not necessary because he is not capable of changing who he is. And the celebrities are Chito. And the Republicans are Chito. I have been Chito too. But I think I am done. It’s just not the answer. It won’t change anything for the Good or the Better.