DONALD TRUMP DESTROYS everything he touches; directly, indirectly, by fiat, by implication. It is the supreme irony of a man who claims to build things. The latest victim of his carcinogenic malaise is the Covington Catholic High School, who saw fit to enable a nascent mob of young men with the express purpose of disrupting the Indigenous People’s March with ostensibly pro-life sentiments (and school chants!) Now, what abortion rights have to do with indigenous people on the political spectrum is an utter mystery, but clearly it’s a learning opportunity for a privileged all white-male school three states distant—far more important, it seems, than three days of ordinary classroom instruction that a nation full of less privileged students undertook. I’m all for field trips, of course, and it is certain that the students and the school itself learned a great deal, but I do not think this is what was intended, and the blame for the ugliness that ensued lies squarely at the feet of the “educators” who are responsible for this mess. It was a stupid idea, poorly executed, poorly supervised, and a recipe for trouble on its face.
I HEARD SOMETHING the other day which genuinely horrified me, and I want to take a little time to try to spell out the implications as clearly as I can. It’s a bit subtle and wonky, but I think it will be worth the effort, so bear with me for a few minutes. First, I want to speak about nouns. I know, I know—nouns? Really? It’s OK, just get yourself a coffee and you’ll be fine.
IT IS PERHAPS A BLESSING for all of us that Tucker Carlson is not difficult to understand. He is marvelously uncomplicated after the fashion of, say, grass-fed bovine excrement. That is, it is abundantly clear what he is, how he got here, and where he’s headed.
IT IS A TRUISM that everyone believes themselves to be a good person. About this, with apologies to Abraham Lincoln, it can be said that all of the people are wrong some of the time, and some of the people are wrong all of the time.
LINDSAY GRAHAM WAS ONCE a respectable human being. We know this because we all were, at one time, innocent with wide-eyed wonder, unblemished by a capricious world, and uninjured by the waking slumber of the giants in our midst. Then we grew into adulthood and became part of the problem; inured to inner search, captive to convenience, and impoverished of genuine wisdom. The best among us—but by no means everyone—have recognized this in themselves and in others, and labor in ways both large and small to ease the suffering in the world. The political class was once an honorable domain for such folk called to work in this way. No longer. Today, it is the domain of Lindsay Graham.
“I LOVE KAVANAUGH’S TONE.”
This is perhaps the most telling tweet of yesterday’s sordid Senate Judiciary Committee circus. It comes to us from one of the most tone-deaf twaddlers on the national stage, Donald Trump, Jr., whose tempestuous teeth and tongue are graced with hot flatulent bile at a frequency exceeded only by his Dear Old Dad and that pathetic wretch mouthing unmentionables for the NRA. Tone, not content, is what the Trump presidency* is all about, and Brett Kavanagh chose to dispense with the pretense of judicial temperament and fall flat on his forked tongue right into the partisan Trumpian fold. Don, Jr. loved it. The American Bar Association did not.
I HAVE WRITTEN at some length about this business of supporting Donald Trump - most of it satirical, and none of it kind - and there probably isn't much more to add at this point that hasn't been said repeatedly by better writers and thinkers than I. But I remain mystified as to the mindset that could possibly facilitate anything beyond revulsion at this regime.
Dear Friends and Bibliophiles,
I am delighted to announce the publication of my debut novel SOSTENUTO. This is the culmination of seven years of work that began with the germ of an idea that took on a vigorous life of its own and consumed a fair bit of mine in the process.
I am an alumnus of Grove City College. This is not something that I ordinarily advertise, but recent events there compel my engagement, and in this particular matter, I speak from extensive personal experience.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Inauguration Day is here! Thanks for showing up for what promises to be a star-studded, spectacular show. We’re just hours away from making America great again, and I know you’re all as excited as we are to take this country back from the ivory towers and the deserving poor. But first, a little housekeeping is in order. We all want things to move along without resistance, and so we’re asking each of you to help us out by sorting yourselves into like-minded gaggles so that we can fine-tune our fake news with a little finesse. You’ve all heard of The Great Sorting? Well, here it is! Welcome!
“It’s locker room talk and it’s one of those things.”
Well then. Methinks this business of locker room talk, as Mr. Trump dismisses it, bears some additional scrutiny.
Like many of us, I have been tempted in this election season to cast my vote for a third-party candidate, and I have given a great deal of thought as to the wisdom of doing so. Those of you who have befriended me perhaps know that I was a supporter of Bernie Sanders early on. I’d like to lay out my thinking on the matter as clearly and simply as I can, because this time around, the stakes are extremely high, and I have at least one or two irrepressible acquaintances who seem not to have thought the matter through. It may be that all of you intelligent folk have long since worked this out, but it seems I needed a bit more time. Anyway, here we go.
ONLY A FEW SHORT WEEKS are left in this silly season, and at this stage of the harvest, there’s not much left but manure. We’ve been at this for the better part of eighteen moons now, and Mr. Potato Head has inexplicably managed to capture your fealty with his rearrangeable face. He also has rearrangeable hands, of course, but they’re extremely small and difficult to spot.
STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING and gather ‘round, boys and girls.
I want to speak to you today about a serious subject. A terribly important, highly sensitive, mighty serious subject. That subject, as some of you may suspect, is balls. Balls. Cojones. Stones. The Family Jewels. The truth, boys and girls, is that Donald Trump has none…and neither do you.