Monthly Archives: July 2017

Goddamn it! Not again!

I had it all planned out. I intended to write about the hypermasculine snowflakes currently melting over the new casting choice for Dr. Who. It was as if the male exclusivity of the character gave them the erroneous impression that Dr. Who was the property of the fragile male ego. But I can’t write about that because of Donald Trump. I know I said I’m sick of Trump. I know I expressed how inept he is at everything in life. I made the conscious decision to NOT write about him this week…

But then he fucked around and issued an executive order banning transgendered folks from serving in the military over Twitter.

I hate this man so much.

Just when you think it can’t get any worse. Just when you think the rabbit hole can’t go any deeper. Just when you think, “this can’t be real life,” BAM, the orange orangutan pulls another dirty trick outta his flabby ass.

To be frank, I don’t think this will go far. But that’s not the point. The point is that our commander-in-chief (ugh, I just threw up in my mouth saying that) thinks the government is like a business where he is king and can make unilateral decisions concerning our nation without the proper checks and balances. I know every civil rights organization from the ACLU and on will fight this injustice bare-knuckled if it comes to that (it most certainly will).

In these times of increasing tribalism, social and political instability and environmental turmoil, we must remain vigilant and we must repeat our mantra, our chant, our tether that keeps us grounded in reality…


Just keep repeating that to yourself. It certainly won’t stop the headache, but it will remind you not to normalize this type of bullshit.

And for people arguing that this stunt is just a distraction, that may be so, but I doubt the people most affected by this, you know, trans folks, feel any less justifiably angry about it. To reduce this to a distraction narrative, we run the risk of reducing the importance of Trump’s bigoted and un-American act. It’s important to understand the serious implications of Trump’s ban and my fear is that the distraction argument is a distraction in and of itself.

This decision will definitely appeal to his bigoted, backward, knuckle-dragging, willfully ignorant, ultraconservative, evangelical base who voted for him to Make America Great Again. Of course, we all know that phrase really means Make America white, Christian, heterosexual, able-bodied, rich and male-dominant again.


The world is changing, people, and you can either get with that change or be left behind.

We Will NEVER Go Back!!


Familiarity breeds both comfort and contempt. People stuck in yesteryear do not want their world upended. These people long for a gloried past where everything was about them and for them. Tough fucking shit, those days are over. Don’t expect me to feel sorry for them. Those who voted for him asked for this.


Next week I promise not to talk about Trump, I don’t give a flying fuck what he does.


I’m sick of Trump.

I’m sick of talking about, thinking about and hearing about Donald-fucking-Trump. I know I’m not alone in this sentiment. The more I hear about him, the more I lose faith in humanity. He is a walking, talking shit show. Just when you think it can’t get any worse, somehow, he fucks around and does the seemingly impossible. So, I’m done. I quit. No more. Uncle. Whatever. I’m just so sick of Donald Trump.

I’m also sick of this lack of civility and empathy which has become so rampant in our society. I’m sick of people going out of their way to be rude. I’m sick of feeling anger from people who have no real justifiable reason to be angry. I’m sick of people being afraid of change. It’s exhausting, really. I feel as though our society is being held back or that we’re regressing. It is maddening and depressing.

I’ll be honest, I’m having a hard time seeing the proverbial glass as half full today (if you couldn’t already tell). And in the interests of continued honesty, I’m having a hard time writing this blog post.

I’m especially done with people who make excuses for the orange buffoon. If these people can’t tell they have been played, and badly at that, then what hope do we have of convincing them? Perhaps there is a sliver of hope, perhaps.

You’ll forgive me if I don’t hold my breath, cause you know, I’ll suffocate and DIE.