Holy Britches

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I can’t wait to see the Trump rally they throw in the Senate after we finish impeaching him in the House. It’s going to a spectacle to end all spectacles. Maybe they can get those three little girls in the star-spangled dresses to come back and do an encore. Oh wait, wasn’t there some kind of after-scandal regarding them. Hold please. (Google is your friend.)

Holy shit. Haha. Yup. “Freedom Girls sue Trump campaign for non-payment.”
Well, I gotta say they got what they wanted.

TRUMP SUPPORTERS (pre-2016 election): Heck yeah! We need us a business man in there! And that’s what they got.  And he’s run this country like he’s run every one of his businesses. Into the ground. Should I give you at least 15 instances where he or his minions (Kellyanne pops to mind) promised to show the tax returns? Two reasons why they won’t do it and two reasons alone. Okay, maybe three. #1 He’s not as rich as he says he is. #2 His financial ties to Russia will plainly show why we would suck the dick of a seventy-five year [if you ignore the adversarial relationship we’d already been developing with the (then) Soviet Union before the end of the war] adversary and shit all over our allies. I remember when I was a teenager, the rednecks in Alabama had “Russia Sucks” bumper stickers on their four-wheel-drive mud trucks. Now they’re sucking the dick of the carpetbagger who sucks the cock of a former KGB officer! #3 That bitch didn’t pay no taxes.
Want to know when the worst day (and possibly the last) day in Donald Trump’s life is going to be? When the people he really fucked the most (finally) realize how much he fucked them. And then there will be nothing the American Liberals can do to stop the bloodbath and I hope I live to see the day.
I went to dinner with a new friend tonight. I was really hoping he was hoping for friend and not hoping for more but it turned out he was hoping for more. I was bummed and I genuinely felt so sad for him. I know that disappointment so well but for me it always turns out that the guy I’m into isn’t into guys. I have no possible idea how a partner could fit into a life so strangely configured as mine but I’d like to feel again what it feels like to know that in the morning when I wake up, someone else would be on the other pillow. I’m desperately lonely. Not desperate. Desperately lonely.  But my mother always told me, “It would be better to die single than to be with someone just for the sake of being with someone.” It appears I have taken her advice.
I always experience this, this loneliness when I come back from being with other activists on some mission. I hate the work but I love them and I miss them when it’s time to come home. They are the most amazing people you can imagine.
One of the guys, a Marine, has pretty much put his entire life on hold to fulfill this important mission. And to be clear, the mission isn’t really about impeaching Donald John Trump; it’s about whether or not we are going to preserve this sacred document that so many of us by now seem to have taken some kind of oath to defend. When I say the Republic is at stake what I mean is that our established system of government is being very seriously threatened. Not politics, the Constitution. Read it? I have. Back to my friend, my Marine friend—on the medial side of the pocket flaps over the back pockets of his orangish-khaki pants are two holes. I’ve watched them grow over the several times now I’ve seen him wear them. (He has a nice, big, beefy Marine ass so I noticed. Oorah?) He wears them in combination with different things but I finally realized that these are the only sort-of nice-ish pants he has, so he wears them with his moto-Marine golf shirt and he wears them as suit paints.  The holes started about the size of dimes and they passed through butterbeans and onto quarters. Yesterday, when we were preparing to go up the hill to “The Hill” I was nervous (because I hate this shit) and I found that I was staring at the holes in the back of my brother’s pants and I thought to myself you know that motherfucker, he’s good-looking, charismatic, super smart, motivated, able to walk through his fears—he could have gone to Madison Avenue or Wall Street and made a mint. But he chose to do this. He put his own personal gain behind his commitment to what he believes in and the oath he took as a Marine.

My prayer for my brother with the holey pants:
May he die and old, old man surrounded by those who love him. May he be blessed with health and comfort his whole life and may his lessons come gently. Let him be happy most of the time. And dear God let me be more like him.
It’s been a long, long day and although I committed to be in bed by midnight it’s coming on 1 am.
I don’t get to the blog everyday but it’s my goal.
It’s a step for me, a step toward where I want to be.

 

 


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