The Five Stages of Outrage
I guess if you want to make America great again, you probably don’t need briefings from the folks who made America crummy. Our Prez-in-Waiting doesn’t bother with em so we can assume he’s got a good game plan and doesn’t want it muddied up with inconvenient truths. That, or he’s picking Wise Men to do the hard part for him, things like thinking. Which must explain choosing Gen. Flynn as his advisor, the military genius and his tweety bird son who think Hillary is running pizza pederasty out of a pie joint in D.C. Obviously the country is in competent hands. Finally.
I listened yesterday to a Republican electoral college delegate who said he could not in good conscience cast his vote for a fascist, authoritarian, misogynistic, racist know-nothing. A Republican. The other Republicans on the panel told him in no uncertain terms it was ‘time to get in line’. The man had won and they had a sworn duty to support him. Zieg Heil!
If I hear one more commentator run down the five stages of grief for us Losers of the last election, my head will explode off my torso. I’m not going through five stages. Hellfire, I skipped those the first day and landed on Slow Burn. I live in a country of fellow citizens who believe the most preposterous bullpoop imaginable, from the most toxic sources out there, then pull themselves upright to a two legged posture and cast a vote for the man who promulgated the birther issue against the current President of the not so United States of America. You think I’m going through grief? No *&%# way, man. No *&%# way! I’m sick of it. I’m sick and tired of the crappy e-mail vitriol I get every damn day. I’m already sick of the tweets from Trump that sound like a 15 year old punk with testosterone blockage, a bully born with too big a stick.
Grief? I don’t think so. I feel like I did back in the 60’s when Nixon won the right to bomb Cambodia, when the Silent Majority thought they were the heart and soul of this country, when the dog whistles of racism and divisiveness were winning tactics. Grief? I don’t have time for that. Shame maybe. Disgust certainly. Outrage, absolutely.