To Whom It May Concern:
I write this letter to persons, beings, or intelligences unknown in hopes of pleading my case. From the events of the recent past, I can only come to the conclusion that my consciousness exists in some sort of artificial construct. A “virtual reality” if you will. There are any number of Hollywood films I could reference to liken my situation to, but the point is this: someone needs to call IT; the program is malfunctioning, and things are getting weird. Whatever you’re doing with my body is fine by me: battery, sex stuff, food; I don’t care. Just debug the code.
Alternately, this might be a Twilight Zoning. If it, I demand to know what I did that was so ironic that it required a Twilight Zoning?
Stop yelling. You don’t even know who you’re yelling at.
I most certainly do. Have you read the papers?
Since it isn’t 1985, no.
It was a euphemism. have you?
I can do nothing but.
Is any of this bullshit possible?
Not a whit of it. Nothing that is happening right now could ever happen for a million years.
Right. Therefore, this cannot be the actual reality, and must instead be one created for us. By whom? I know not, but I will complain nonetheless.
You’ll complain to no one. This is the real life.
This is just fantasy.
Caught in a Trumpslide.
No escape from insanity.
That was fun.
None of this fun in any way. Anyway, Basketball Head is trying to look busy. His 100th day is coming up, and he made many promises that–for some reason–the media believes his supporters will care if he breaks. They do not. Whatever failures he has will be blamed on the obstructionist Democrats, or the activist judges, or the topic will be changed to Hillary Clinton.
However, the media is blinded in their desperation to normalize this carnival of nightmares, AND are therefore reporting about the 100 day benchmark like traditions still matter and we weren’t on the downhill side of the American Singularity, BUT Donald does nothing but watch teevee news and press the lever for his sugar-water, SO the 100 day thing is important to him.
(Note: the neologism “normalize” becoming so prevalent speaks to how weird everything’s getting, doesn’t it? See also: weaponize.)
An ontological question, Enthusiasts: what do you call something that never lived, but yet refuses to die? Not a zombie: a zombie used to be alive, died, and came back. This is a creature that was never a creature, just a husk of dark potential, void of sentience or empathy or compassion. I speak, of course, about the Republican health bill, now known as Pleasewon’tsomeonecare. It lives! (Even though it didn’t in the first place.)
Remember the Freedom Caucus? They were the bootstrap-lickers that rejected the last version of the bill for not being cruel enough. This new plan kicks more people off the rolls, and also permits the bow hunting of the poor. Moderate Republicans agreed with the first part, but prefer to be seen in public as disagreeing with the second. For the second time in 100 days, the GOP has fucked up their healthcare push.
But they got to hold a press conference about it and the president saw it on his teevee and that made him feel happy and strong.
In terms of “potential saviors of the Republic,” incompetence is running neck and neck with the Judiciary. This happened again today:
Trump Administration does thing.
Judge says, “No, you can’t thing.”
Turnip tweets out that the judge should suck his balls.
Repeat Ad Impeachium.
That keeps happening, and it amuses me every time. This go-round, he managed to get Circuit courts mixed up with District courts, plus he said “See you in the Supreme Court” and there’s at least one level before that. Then he mused about breaking up the Ninth Circuit, as if he could do that. It’s almost–almost, mind you–as if he doesn’t have a detailed understanding of the workings of the American government. Just almost.
And the day’s coup de grace, Trump’s tax plan. It is a piece of bald laziness: I was a terrible student, and I recognize the lack of effort in this meager offering. It’s got last-minute stink all over it.
Look at this bullshit:
That’s it. That’s the whole thing. Nothing on the back, either. This might as well have been hand-written. We can add “tax code” to the list of things Donald Trump didn’t know was so complicated.
This has been the 97th day of our national nightmare; we may soon wake.