Wrestling with Confusion
February 10, 2017
It feels like, after ninety-four days, we’ve been herded into a huge arena and forced to watch the cheesiest professional wrestling match ever. Ya know? The exits are locked – no way out. We can’t look away because there are super-size jumbotrons mounted everywhere, even the restrooms. The sound is, mercifully, just a little too loud, but drones on mercilessly. The faint scent of industrial disinfectant and Donald Trump ties it all together.
It’s hard to tell, with the machine-made fog, but there seem to be several fights going on in the center ring where twenty or so cartoonish characters bludgeon one another. Oddly, the combatants are all dressed business formal, but fight as dirty as a rape joke.
The contests proceed without the benefit of referees, who are all in the bar, watching the action on a jumbotron. An angry woman, wearing a “He Can Grab My ->” sweatshirt is ringing the bell, but no one pays any attention. Chaos just escalates as more white males enter the ring – one guy looks Russian.
In the center of it all stands the Donald, phone in hand, tweeting about his daughter’s clothing line.
Yup, we have a, professionally lit, political brawl going on. Departments are resigning, judges are over ruling, cabinet members are law breaking, Putin is laughing – his ass off. And the Donald is tweeting, about a family business.
But rest assured, Trump’s not involved, or even interested, in the family business. That would be bad. Besides, he has Kellyanne for that.
The republic will outlive the chaos. But will Trump survive both the next grudge match and the new fashion season?
In Peace and Justice,