I’m not ok

And I will not get over it. 

I was raised on Love Thy Neighbor morals. 

Even if we didn’t always, at least we mostly did. And there was church on Sundays if we failed. 

There have always been the haves and the have nots. It’s just that when they look and act and farm like us, we understand them better.

We blame them less.

Not judging isn’t politically correct, it’s polite. It’s humane. 

But now it’s all out in the open. 

It’s like a Dr. Pimplepopper video. It’s oxygenated now. It oozes. 

The hatred, the judging, the mean words. Minds remain narrow while mouths have gotten bigger. 

Billionaires are going to be running the country. And the country is scratching and clawing to be the first in line for the prez elect’s scraps. Which he will throw to the dogs, not the people. 

Everyone is saying Buckle Up it’s going to be a long 4 years. As if we are going anywhere. 

We are, collectively, going nowhere. 

Nowhere good. 

 I just hope we all survive. 

Orange you glad I didn’t say “banana”? 

Knock knock. Who’s there? 

Another white supremacist. 

Knock knock. Who’s there? 

A major case of xenophobia. 

Knock knock. Who’s there? 

Religious and reproductive judge and jury. 

Knock knock. Who’s there? 

Men who make Paul Ryan look moderate. 

Knock knock. Who’s there? 

It’s a total white out. A blizzard of sameness. 

Knock knock. Who’s there? 

An army of hate. 

Knock knock. Who’s there? 

Narcissistic personality disorder. 

Knock knock. 

Knock knock. Do I really have to ask? 

140 characters of nonsense. 

Knock knock. Who’s there? 

The actual alt-right. (Translation: alt-reich) 

Knock knock. Ah, fuck it. 

Hashtag 

Hashtag black lives matter.

Hashtag all lives matter.

Hashtag women’s reproductive health doesn’t matter.

When he phones a friend, he’s calling the depths of actual hell to build his cabinet.

Even Ben Carson told him, bye Felicia.

Did Bannon really call feminists dykes? That. Is. So. Cliche.

Time to write some new content, weirdo.

Hashtag build a wall, hashtag ban them all.

Hashtag suddenly he won’t mess with the gays.

Hashtag do I trust him? Hashtag no way Jose, he’s a bad hombre

No reason to love they neighbor.

Every man for himself. Time to build a bunker. Hashtag doomsday preppers was a brilliant show.

Hashtag actually no lives matter.

Hashtag that’s not the Twitter botton, that says “nukes”on it Donald

Hashtag none of it matters.

Eat up, America

A man-child pulls his throne up to the table. The big boys and girls table.

He pours himself a glass of fantasy land and puts his elbows on the table.

He wipes his mouth with the tie of the young man seated next to him.

And he grabs some hot buns.

Nobody has more respect for buns than I do, he exclaims.

He carves the turkey and places the dark meat out of the way.

All that’s left is to say grace. As if that’s going to help.

The man-child starts dishing out portions. Large if you’re within elbow-rubbing distance, smaller if you are not. None if you are black, Jewish, Muslim, or a woman of child-bearing age.

Mexicans did not get the invitation at all.

His conversation is a swirl of the nonsensical. Nobody dares contradict him, except him.

You know that’s not what he said just yesterday. He has the memory of your drunken uncle.

He slobbers all over everyone, including the gracious hosts and hostesses who gave this Alfred E. Neuman-esque character a place at the table.

Hell, they gave him the table.

He says, I wasn’t present at the first Thanksgiving. I just share the white man’s values of those days.

Pass the rape and pillaging.

Dialed Back 

They were right, the sun came up the next day. 

Mother Nature has the experience to run the world. Wonder if she makes only 80 cents on the male dollar too. 

Our president elect might as well be Hugh Hefner. 

As it is, it’s like Archie Bunker and Rodney Dangerfield had a son.

This character would be perfect for “Me”TV after all. 

We really turned the dial back on this one, didn’t we America?  

Too Soon

Biggest WTH week in the history of what the hells.

Families who don’t talk politics learned each other’s secrets via live news broadcasts. And it broke their hearts right before it broke the Internet.

Comedians gave eulogies of the country instead of making the nation laugh.

Social media made everyone their own authors, editors and publishers. People’s tones changed.

We scold each other and give unsolicited advice.

Some hide behind keyboards and that’s not right.

Some take to the streets and that’s not right either.

And some, I assume, are good people.

The divide grows.

The knots in our stomachs tighten.

It is not getting better with time.

There is too much content and not enough substance.

There is just too much crap.

The word pussy went main stream. Hate trumped love.

There is just too much hate.

Some people haven’t said anything and we can assume they are at peace.

Others we haven’t heard from.

We should probably check on their wellbeing.

I find myself hoping there’s an underground railroad.

I hope I don’t have to use it.

Pictures of kittens and dogs help.

However briefly.

Us: We’re afraid of the clown.

Them: Ah, c’mon, clowns aren’t scary.

Us: Yes, yes they are. We have seen Poltergeist.

It’s too soon to be ok if you aren’t.