Orange Popsuckle

Orange reigns down on us all once again. Whomever created this thing we call existence has released its latest production: “Orange Julius, Volume II, You’ll Be Sorry.”

It’s hard to know exactly how to feel. To me, anyway, there are a whole lot of different emotions to deal with. In no particular order:

Fear. The reasons are as clear as the threat that he offers. He talks about it all the time. His words drip of despotism, and those are the only words he says that are true. I thought Watergate was a horrible misuse of power. I’d better buckle up.

Confusion. Yeah, I’m afraid. I know about all the threats. It’s just that I’ve never been afraid of a President before. I grew up with Eisenhower. He actually looked like my grandfather. My generation was politically weaned on Watergate – the President screwed up but he paid for it. No immunity. Presidents couldn’t break the law. Has it changed that much? Could it really get that bad? In this country? Shouldn’t  I still have some faith in the system?

Anger. How the fuck could this happen? What were all those pseudo-facist so-called “American” voters thinking? That Orange fucker is the President again? I can’t fucking believe it. Where is somebody I can beat the shit out of?”

Sorrow. What about the kids? What will happen to them? What will their world be like now that these people have taken over? This is awful. This isn’t the country that I thought they would have to live in. This isn’t the country I want them to have to live in.

Guilt. What else could I have done? I know I said I would donate time for this election, but, you know, life happened. I did chip in some money. Not enough, though, I know. Come to think of it, how much have I done, ever, to try to make this a better place. And my generation – hell, the peace and love generation. Great job.

Education. Well, I learned something. Here I thought we’d made such progress in civil rights. Not hardly. Look at the Orange Menace’s election record – two and one. Two wins against a woman and one against a man. Three Presidential elections is not a small sample. And in this last victory he beat a black woman. I can talk as much as I’d like about the issues of immigration and the price of peanut butter. Meaningless. it’s all out there for us to see in black and white.

Immigration. Funny, that word now just means how the Fat Facist wants to stop people from coming in. I’m thinking about it the other way.  How can I get out. I say it all the time, “Oh, if Trump wins, we’re going to move. Portugal sounds good.” It’s always been kind of a joke. Now it’s a lot more serious. Haven’t I always wondered why those German Jews stayed so long?

Rejuvenation.  I can’t sit on my ass after this. I can’t let it happen again. I can’t make up for the time I lost, but I can try. When is the next local Democratic Party meeting?

Reality. Wait a second. What time do the Giants play on Sunday? Oh, shit, the game’s in Berlin? It starts at 9:30 in the morning? That’s my sleep time. Why do they have to play NFL games in fucking Europe? Well, they have a chance to win this one, so I’ll have to get up. It’s important.