Okay, I hope you’re sitting in a stable position or at least not operating heavy machinery. If there’s a seatbelt or other likewise restraint nearby, I suggest you employ it.

I’m about to get political.

If you’ve been paying attention to… anything, you know that the country of the United States of America is going through some… stuff, right now. And that’s okay. It’s 241 years old; it’s bound to go through some phases. Just continue to love it and support it and wait patiently for it to come out on the other side.

Except it’s not okay. It’s not okay, at all. President Donald J Trump is a buffoon, and I don’t mind admitting that I did not vote for him. I voted for the war criminal with the e-mails and shady Foundation. Because she may be evil, manipulative, and greedy, but at least she’s consistent, she’s a politician, and she knows the difference between fact and fiction. No, I’m not admitting to “alternative facts”; alternative facts are called “opinions”, and they are not the basis for policy.

Immediately after the election I read a couple billion articles on how, oh how, the Mango Mussolini was elected. (I can’t take credit for that pet name; a friend used it last night and it stuck with me.) Most of the articles attributed his overwhelming votes of constituents who, surprisingly, weren’t racist or Islamophobic or Xenophobic or calloused or delicate or Satanic or even moronic. No; most of the voters were educated, middle-class Americans who felt that the government, under the Obama administration, had forgotten them. The government had side-lined their interests in the pursuit of nobler, global pursuits of peace and environmental protection and basic human rights. Somewhere along the way, while helping all Americans get the healthcare options they needed, while protecting the ecosystem that has and needs to sustain us for, like, ever, and engendering the rights of all constituents in terms of marriage law and equality, the Federal government trampled on the financial and entrepreneurial ambitions of Joe Schmoe America. Building projects and business pursuits were being shut down because an eagle landed in a tree during construction. Tax breaks were ignored or revoked so money could go to hold up our end of the Paris Agreement. Joe Schmoe America was being choked out of his ambitions by the needs of the larger world, and he was not happy about that.

I tried to put myself in Joe’s shoes and I realized something: I have NEVER, EVER asked my country for anything. Never. My country has supplied me with many things: sovereign borders, maintained roads, police, regulations on myself and my fellow drivers, public schools, so on and so forth. With those fundamental amenities, I have cultivated myself into a motivated individual who gets what he wants from life through the sweat of his own endeavors. I am intelligent, capable, and driven. I don’t need my government to help me.

I am a registered voter, though. So what do I vote for? Well, obviously, the continuation of the afore-mentioned fundamental amenities. I vote for men and women who won’t fuck up the Constitution. Moving forward, what am I voting for? For those of us who can’t. For those who aren’t intelligent, capable, driven. For those who, for one reason or another, need our country’s assistance. To say, oh I don’t know, get married, vote, vie for equal pay, not get shot by police for being black on the wrong street, drink water that won’t kill them or stunt their child’s growth. I vote for lawmakers and representatives who can push this Country forward. Yeah, I capitalized it, because I mean the whole country. Not me.

Fuck me. If I can’t do it, why the fuck should someone else do it for me? If you vote for you, you’re an asshole, and that’s why we can’t be friends.

When the election results came in, friends of mine wept. Deep sobs of sadness. Were they weeping for themselves? Fuck no. They were weeping for the Muslims, the gays, the blacks, the Native Americans, the Syrian refugees, and all women. They were weeping for their students, for their children, for their parents. And they were weeping for the people who voted for Mango Mussolini, who would soon discover that the shepherd they thought they were aligning themselves with was a Snake Oil Salesman, and in short time they would be left with nothing while he absconded across the pond to an untouchable Fortress Bank with everything they’d worked so hard to build. And who will come to their aid when that smoke clears? NO ONE. Because the self-absorbed cockthistle is pissing off the entire Earth, and as he now politically speaks for the entire United States of America, what he says is directly attributed to YOU.

Was Hillary so awful? Yes. She sure as shit was. But you know what she was? She was a politician. And as awful a word as that may sound (and it is; it really is), it’s what we need in the White House: someone who knows politics. Politics is defined as “the activities of governments concerning the political relations between countries”. Donald J Cockthistle has never held a governmental office. Meaning, he’s never had constituents. Meaning, he’s never been held responsible or liable for the needs and safe-keeping of his American brothers and sisters. Hillary has. She knows how to talk to the people who you FUCKING HAVE TO TALK TO GET SHIT DONE, DONALD! YES, I’M YELLING AT YOU NOW BECAUSE YOU DON’T SEEM TO GET THAT YOU CAN’T DO THIS ALONE. YOU’RE NOT KIM JONG UN, but you’re affecting a damn close impression of him, I can tell you that. Holding the highest office in American politics means being a fucking politician! Sleeping with the snakes and offering them mice and then, when they’re fat and full, fooling them while in their food coma into doing what the American people need done: build roads, treat the sick, trade with foreign nations, protect the weak. That’s your job!

And, yes, Donald: it is a job. You have a job, now. You have a boss. Never had that before, have you? This will take some adjustment so I’ll take it slow. Remember how you were head of Trump Industries and everyone reported to you and you were the final say on everything because it benefited you and made you richer and you could put your name on everything? Well, that’s over. Now, you hold the highest office in America, yes. The buck stops there. But you’re not the boss. No, not by a long shot. You don’t make policy and stamp your approval on things to your own benefit or whim. You work for the American People. You work for ME.

I try on an individual basis to help people understand. I sit them down and I reason with them to try to help a maligned constituency. I demonize whoever I need to throw under the bus to get this person to rally behind the people in need. I don’t feel bad about doing it. It’s right.

This past Saturday, all around the world, people gathered in large groups to demonstrate to the government of the United States of America that the rights and health of women was, is, and always will be a paramount factor of the perpetuity of human existence. They said to their leaders that their reproductive health was not something to be regulated by men, to be swept aside in the interest of oil or exports or military dominance. They stood, men and women and children from all walks of life and all around the world, and demanded that the current administration see who they were working for. Look upon your bosses and understand their expectations for you in the years to come. Recognize your responsibility and never forget why you’re here.

But wouldn’t you know it, some people took umbrage with this? Some people found it inappropriate that so many people of privilege were out there yelling at the bastards. Because it’s too easy for those privileged people to yell at authority. The ethnic minorities, the trans community, the Amur Leopard, the impoverished; they didn’t feel represented by the millions of people in countless cities who took time off work, left their homes, made signs and held court in public space to bring recognition to an administration that was poised to trample the rights of billions. Many felt that the mostly privileged, mostly white protestors were shouting with uneducated voices, or at the worst, uninitiated voices. They hadn’t felt the hardships, didn’t understand what true subjugation was. And where were these privileged white protestors when Black Lives Mattered? It was too little, too late. Or too soon to be taken seriously. If this is your first protest, your voice doesn’t actually matter.

Upon hearing this, I became very angry. Do I understand the genesis of these accusations? Yes, I can empathize. But what is the alternative? No action whatsoever? Sit on our hands and wait for the bomb to drop? Fuck that and fuck you. Don’t tell me my indignation isn’t righteous. Don’t tell me my anger isn’t pure. And don’t tell me not to speak out against a government that threatens us all. Just because I’m not holding your sign doesn’t mean I don’t care about your rights. Let’s be frank for one fucking second:

If we were to make a protest sign that incorporated every group that this government either has or may marginalize, subjugate, or demonize, no one would be able to hoist it. #fact

Anyway, it is my firm belief that Donald J CockThistle, AKA Mango Mussolini, AKA Tiny-Handed Oompa Loompa, AKA Donald Drumpf is an insane person who doesn’t even want to be President of the United States. Sure, he wanted to WIN the office of President of the United States, because he loves winning and that’s something he hasn’t won yet, but he doesn’t want to BE the President of the United States. And I believe this because he’s still saying there is aberrant voter fraud prevalent in the recent election and HE WON. What does that tell you?

Is there a lesson in all this? Do I have something constructive to say or am I just screaming? Well, it’s mostly screaming. But if I can say something constructive, it’s this: be good to each other, look out for one another, respect one another. Most importantly, PAY ATTENTION. Get informed, stay informed, inform others. Shepherd the weak through the valley of darkness, for you are truly your brother’s keeper. If you see something, say something. Don’t worry if it’s not enough; not loud enough, not inclusive enough, not righteous enough. Say it! It’s better than not saying it. What if you’re the only one who can? Then what? Say it!

And if I can venture one more opinion, or Alternative Fact, it’s this: ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do to ensure your country does right by others.