Thursday, January 19, 2017

The FEMA camps in our hearts

Breathe it in, friends. These are last hours of Obama's presidency, and while the FEMA camps that were supposed to enslave Texas and install death panels as our governor never came maybe, just maybe, their lack of arrival reveals something even more sinister: the FEMA camps in our hearts.

Our hearts refused us happiness while the economy recovered, it refused us solace in the band-aid approach to fixing healthcare that was the ACA, it refused us the fortitude to not make a #ThanksObama joke no matter how lame or forced it was. Friends, our hearts were the conspiracy theory. Our hearts were the FEMA camps.

You have to read conspiracy theories as non-believers read the Bible: metaphorically. No, no, no, no Jade Helm wasn't a plot to take over Texas. Jade Helm was a metaphorical attempt to take over Texas. What it really was was a training exercise to protect Texas.

No, no, no, no there weren't death panels written into the ACA. The death panel talk was just a condemnation of a society that was obsessed with death. The ACA didn't need death panels, anyways. All you needed to do was get someone to steal a pizza in Texas and ol' Rick Perry would shoot him up with drugs that made him shit his pants ten times before he actually died. 

No, no, no! That was no terrorist fist bump the President and the First Lady partook in. That's just what it would look like if two terrorists gave each other a fist bump.

Trump may have said, "I'm sending investigators to Kenya," but what he meant was, "I could fucking care less about this shit but you people are eating it like it was dog shit from heaven." 

Look, I'm no "snowflake." I don't fly off the handle on Twitter for the whole world to see every time someone does a spot-on impression of me. Every time a Trump person says to give him a chance just like Republicans gave Obama a chance, just remember every day of Obama's presidency was called into question. His citizenship was questioned by the very person who will be our President tomorrow. 

I'm under no illusions about the office of the Presidency. I know that the arc of the United States Presidential universe bends towards sub-mediocrity. I know that we tend to worship the office based on its best examples and treat its worst as aberrations but we forget the more numerous middles. I know that a lot of my liberal friends are licking their wounds and pretending that Trump stands alone in the history of the United States. 

It just ain't true. Just remember, a Lincoln sandwich has two pieces of bread that go by James Buchanan and Andrew Johnson. 

I'm not saying it ain't going to be bad. It probably will be. But just ask the kids getting bombed daily in Yemen, Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq, and Libya what they think of Obama. I'm saying this as a person who voted for him twice. If we are to get things done, we should at least be truthful to ourselves.

Make art, folks. Appreciate art. Consume art. Buy art. Art is all we are as a people. That's all we say to each other. The same people who shout "Death to America," secretly watch the Sopranos and listen to Britney Spears. The guy who voted for Trump lives in the same country as the guy who voted for Clinton. We're all in this together. 

Today I am saying, fuck President-Elect Trump. Tomorrow, I will be saying fuck President Trump. Probably. I don't know. I don't make promises like politicians do. 

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