Hello, Dolls!
Every day. Every. Single. Day. Every day and each morning brings with it some sort of fresh new Hell. Every sunrise is greeted by the orange Goblin King and some dementia-laden tweet from the First Toilet at five o’ clock in the morning. Who’s the Emperor mad at today? Bette Midler? Maybe it’s John Legend. Perhaps he’s pulling a classic from the stacks and “crooked Hillary” will reprise her role as the Disney Witch trying to demolish the castle he’s building out of a deck of cards.
Nine hours later, he’s had a team of specialists cram his comb-over into a cotton candy machine and whip it into that famous citrine yellow confection that the other world leaders are openly laughing at. Fabrizio has caked on a thick layer of tangerine foundation, while paying special attention to keep the caution orange grease paint away from the eyes so that our Commander-in-Chief looks like a sepia negative of a transvestite raccoon in a weird hat. He puts on a red necktie long enough to be cut with a gigantic pair of scissors at the grand opening of a grocery store. Then he calls his wife over at wherever she ended up spending the night and asks her to send his love to their son–no, the other one–NO! The OTHER one–and hangs up faster than you can say “Tiffany.”
After a Big Mac behind the Resolute Desk, the clock strikes noon and it’s time to crack those tiny little knuckles and get to work. (Putin’s already upset he didn’t get a goodnight call, and long distance relationships only work for our King if they involve porn actresses, abortions and hush money.)
Holding the television remote with both hands. FOX News is switched on, and the debriefing begins. Uh-oh! What is this? Something scandalous? Did somebody say, “Pelosi”? Because if they repeat it twice more, she might be conjured up like Beetlejuice. It’s time to reach into the top hat from Lincoln’s bedroom and pick some random distraction to tide America over until dinnertime. Well, until UberEats delivers.
He has Tammy with the big rack send over an edible bouquet to Kim Jung Un with something precious scribbled on the card, and it’s time to call it a day.
Lather, rinse and repeat.
I have spent the last two months in a new relationship. What that means is that, for the first time since Methuselah’s bar mitzvah, I have been too distracted by sex with a twenty-something to even turn on the news. I have barely even peeked at a newspaper. Why? Because aside from rediscovering muscles that have been forgotten since the late 1900’s, I am HAPPY! And the surest way to crap that up and throw a booger into the works nowadays is to pay attention to the news.
For 966 days, each one of them has brought with it some new avalanche of bullshit. I don’t have to tell you that. If I had a dime for every person that’s told me they can no longer even stomach turning on the news, I’d have more money than the paltry sum those tax returns are hiding in shame.
This aversion to the news cycle is no accident. This constant barrage of petty, infantile, ludicrous garbage is carefully crafted to wear us down. This is what is known as “media fatigue.” Make no mistake about it: The architects of this weariness know precisely what they are doing. As long as they can chip away at our patience, focus and common sense, the less attention we will pay to the surreptitious goings-on behind the curtain.
America, by and large, just doesn’t care. They just want to be left alone with their Loco Doritos Tacos and internet porn. (Which, incidentally, is also now considered “presidential.”) After two years of bickering and fighting with each other leading up to the 2016 election, a shell-shocked America got really upset. Then they got really tired. Americans don’t care that our president thinks solar energy can only power a house during daylight hours or that he’s that guy that looks directly into an eclipse. They care about that $69,000 hospital bill that is ruining their chances of owning a home or putting a child through college.
I’m just kidding. Nobody’s kids will be going to college. DeVos will see to that. Why? Because an educated nation is as dangerous as an un-diapered baby sitting on a wedding gown.
I know that everybody is worn out. I get that the Sturm und Drang of the news cycle has us so beaten up that we look like we married Ike Turner, but now is not the time to turn away.
I repeat: NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO TURN AWAY! Personally, I can’t cope with any of the television news outlets anymore. All I ever wanted was the news. I don’t need a Hannity or a Cooper to tell me what I’m supposed to think. I don’t need Don Lemon’s glossy sassy mouth wagging verbal fingers at panelist. I just want the news. So I have to go back to more legitimate sources. I urge you to at least consider BBC World, PBS Newshour, whatever. Just something with headlines and details. Give us the facts! Then we can make up our own damned minds about how we FEEL about it.
We cannot afford not to pay attention. If this all eventually blows over, we can take a well-deserved rest, but for the next year, please stay alert. Pay attention, look around, AND VOTE ACCORDINGLY!
Amen,
The Divine Grace
