Before we begin, I’d like to make a few things crystal clear. According to Trumpublicans I am a cuck who supported the son of JFK’s assassin during the 2016 Republican primary. I’ve made unimaginable millions by writing articles criticizing Donald Trump for websites that have dozens of followers. I endorse Obamacare wholeheartedly because I do not support bailout legislation that keeps most it in place and does nothing to lower premiums. I’m also for open borders because, you see, I don’t like that the leader of the party that controls all three branches of government decided to codify Obama’s executive amnesty rather than bolster the case for rescinding it.
You should also know, at the outset, that I am a RINO – a Republican In Name Only – due to my belief in the importance of aspiring to a resolute set of conservative principles. Lastly, as a National Review subscriber, I am a complete fraud. It’s true that I have spent years reading – and agreeing with – Robert Bork, Thomas Sowell, James Madison, John Locke, and Thomas Jefferson, so that makes me a closet liberal who secretly wanted Hillary Clinton to win the election last November.
Now that you know where I’m coming from, I’d like to talk to you about something that our dear leader, Donald Trump, tweeted from his bathroom on Saturday morning, having managed to successfully sneak his phone in with him by tucking it in his underwear. It’s a brief, hurried message and if you listen closely you can almost make out the sound of John Kelly knocking at the bathroom door.
“Alright, Sir, that’s long enough.”
Anyway, here it is: “I’d like to congratulate The Golden State Warriors on their remarkable season, and would be honored to have the team join me at The White House. Of course, we’re not all in agreement on how best to confront the issues facing Americans today, and while I am always willing to discuss why this administration’s policies represent the best way forward, it is my hope that we can all set our politics aside for an afternoon and come together in recognizing a truly magnificent team.”
Wait a second, I’m sorry. That was a transcript from Earth 2. Disregard that. Here’s the actual Tweet: “Going to the White House is considered a great honor for a championship team. Stephen Curry is hesitating, therefore invitation is withdrawn.”
There, that’s more like it. That’s “Modern Day Presidential” for you, and it’s time for us to start ignoring it. What the hell does the President of The United States care if an athlete is hesitant about accepting an invitation to the White House – an invitation that wasn’t even formally offered – I mean, the Warriors don’t even play their games on Fox & Friends. It’s simple: our president is as ruinous as the liberalism he was elected to oppose, and we should stop pretending otherwise. The left is wrong to conflate every single one of his ridiculous comments with their full roster of -isms, but so too is the right in their endeavor to ascribe some greater meaning to any of this man’s outrageous twaddle. Republicans have given a titanic effort to intellectualize actual idiocy, but it’s time to stop. As Trump himself declared at his inauguration, “the time for talk is over, now is the time for action.”
I believe that putting all of this down and walking away is the appropriate action. Eight months of Donald Trump’s political prosperity gospel has given us a resurrected public opinion of Obamacare, a surrendering of rescinding Obama’s executive amnesty, recertification of the Iran deal, a waffling on the Paris Climate Accord, continued funding for Planned Parenthood, a refusal to “Lock her up,” and now, the reanimation of taking a knee. And all of this is comes with an astronomical price tag for Republicans and conservatives.
As columnist John Ziegler observes: “The number of voters who once voted for GOP who never will again thanks to Trump: millions. The number of Democrat voters who will always vote GOP after Trump: zero.”
So, we should just stop. We should stop trying to defend this administration. We’d be better off simply admitting the truth to the world: we were wrong in this endeavor to combat insanity with more insanity.
In this era of toxic masculinity, faux-racism, aggrieved millionaires and imbecilic children wearing protest outfits that they bought at Hot Topic with the gift card grandma gave them last Christmas, we need a president able to effectively govern so that people can see the benefits of conservatism, of Republican government. We don’t need a president to take on the fake news media, we can leave that to Ben Shapiro and The Daily Wire, Mark Levin and CRTV, and dozens of other effective media personalities. Instead what we have is the equivalent of a school teacher standing toe to toe with a child during recess, going back and forth with “Nuh-uh, you are.”
This is not winning. This is not even real fighting. This is the WWF. No, it’s not even the WWF, it’s one of those backyard wrestling clubs where drunken bros gather at sunset hoping to conjure the spirit of the Ultimate Warrior but end up being rushed to hospital with third degree burns instead.
He’s not a fighter, he’s a gutless turd wholly dependent on his vindictive, sycophantic interpreters on Twitter. And if you’re one of those interpreters you should be furious by now for entrusting your future to this elderly goblin and his liberal hatchetmen. But perhaps you haven’t yet had enough, but at some point you will. At some point it’s going to stop. The day will come when people stop retweeting your memes. There will come a time when you emerge from your office boasting about the glory of war only to step outside, squint in the sun, and head to the grocery store for a microwavable dinner.
Maybe when you’re standing in line at the Kroger you’ll realize that not a single person around you knows or cares what a cuck is. Maybe then, standing in that line, you’ll take out your phone and shoot off a quick meme about the “traitorous” John McCain, or Rand Paul, or whoever, and notice that no one commented on the last one. Maybe you’ll see a magazine headline about how happy the Democrats are that they’ve finally found a president who, for whatever reason, is willing to give them whatever they want and still be seen as the enemy. And maybe you’ll have a passing thought that perhaps those aren’t liberal tears you’re drinking but your own. Maybe there is no Illuminati. Maybe the supplements you bought from Alex Jones aren’t actually working. Maybe, just maybe, worshipping a 72 year-old real estate mogul who’s spent a lifetime frantically seeking the approval of the New York’s social elites isn’t the behavior of an alpha male after all.
Maybe I should’ve…
The cashier scans your Digiorno stuffed crust four cheese pizza and asks, “Is that it?”
“Slide your card.”