January 12, 2017
OMG, has it already been sixty-five days since the Trump coming? Seems like only yesterday we were pondering the Donald’s weakness for crotch grabbing while simultaneously avoiding any thoughts regarding his daughter leering. Keeping distasteful images out of one’s head was so much simpler back then. If you know what I mean.
Now the Donald stands accused of enjoying a more broad carnal appetite. It’s further suggested that, ever the job creator, he enjoys that appetite with professionals. The specifics, while available, I choose not to read this time around – I think in pictures. Sounds risky.
Frankly, I don’t care what two or more consenting adults do in the privacy of a Moscow hotel room. Furthermore, I doubt that, even if presented on tape by FOX News, this would have any effect on the Trump faithful.
We lost big on the morality issue last time – shit, if they’re willing to overlook sexual assault, then they’re gonna be willing to overlook sexual anything-else. Using sex won’t work. (Why do I find that sentence so unnerving?)
And bluntly, the risk to the national psyche is, well, Freudian. I understand that with his golden motorcycle, golden helicopter and golden faucets in his private jet there’s temptation to go with the pattern, but where do we draw the line? (Apparently not here.)
On the other hand, it does feel kind of pleasant to throw more Trump smut at those good moral people who support him. And there is value in continuing to take moral high-ground away from hypocrites. So, I suppose, Trump smut is a valid, limited, tactic. But it won’t politically dismantle him because they don’t really care.
The republic stands inexplicably tolerant, as the Donald ogles Russia, intoxicated by her black gold and professionals.
In Peace with Justice,