Living in America today feels like playing a game of Turbo-Whack-a-Mole. Just when you think, “Oh, that’s just the craziest thing ever,” up pops something else to best it, and then another, and another, and by then it’s lunchtime. You get a tuna salad sandwich, and then you have to start all over again whacking crazy crap.
I know you all saw the picture of Donald Trump at Buckingham Palace in a tuxedo with a white vest that was the same length as a lab coat. I think he wore it just in case we suddenly needed someone immediately to cure Ebola. Because he knows all the best formulas, Trump could simply duck into a phone booth, remove only his jacket, and instantly become SuperTech: Man of Test Tubes and Legendary Larceny.
Truth be known, I know for a dead-certain solid fact that somewhere out there is a tuxedo tailor and a gay stylist who are slapping each other on their backs and laughing their butts off.
Then the very minute I stop rolling my eyes over that, vice president Mike Pence pops up outta nowhere, swinging his Bible around and shouting some damn thing about your private body parts. Pence has been called a mediocre man, but that is unwarranted flattery. He is a man of monumental littleness.
Pence is so narrow-minded that he can see through a telescope with both eyes. He is one of those Super-Deluxe Brand Christians who refers to his wife as Mother, which I think is kinky as hell, but not the fun kind of kinky. The fun kind of kinky would be if she called him Mother.
Anyway, Pence was put in charge of making sure we can’t fly the rainbow flag at our foreign embassies around the world during Pride month—because, you know, flags are so damn dangerous. You could be walking by and accidentally get one of those suckers wrapped around your arm and be catapulted into next Tuesday (or at least into the nearest building) and make a helluva mess. I’m sure that happens all the time, but the fake news doesn’t report it all that much because of the gruesome nature of death by rainbow.
Pence made certain that everyone understood that the rainbow flag absolutely cannot be flown under the American flag in foreign countries. I haven’t checked the rules, but since America is forsaking gays in the eyes of the world, I suspect that means every LGBTQ American can be whatever nationality they want during June of every year. It might be fun to be Finnish for a month. Maybe you could legitimately walk like an Egyptian for a month and drive everybody at the office slobbering mad. Or you could be Canadian and act polite for the first time in your damn life—and don’t argue with me because you know it’s true.
Honey, nothing can be said about Mike Pence that hasn’t already been said about hemorrhoids.
And since we’re talking about old straight white men who work every day to up their jackass quotient, there’s secretary of state Mike Pompeo. He admits that there is climate change, which is a big deal considering no one else in the Republican Party will admit to it. But the bad news is that he doesn’t think there’s a solution other than moving to Mars or maybe Oklahoma (because, you know, not much difference between ’em). According to Pompeo, “The climate’s been changing a long time. There’s always changes that take place. Societies reorganize, we move to different places, we develop technology and innovation. I am convinced that we will do the things necessary as the climate changes.”
First of all, I think that for the past two years the United States could only vaguely be called a “society.” We’re more of a festering burp of outright nose-punching. Honey, for me, talking to a Republican is like trying to fold a fitted sheet. I finally just want to quit and wad them up in a pile. That’s not a society, that’s chainsaw wrestling.
If we go with Pompeo’s theory that we’ll all move to a “safe” place not decimated by climate-change storms, tornadoes, hurricanes, pollution, fires, floods, and drought, we quickly discover the only safe place is Tedious, Ohio. The downside is that Tedious is not that big. The upside? Brand-new bowling alley.
I gotta tell you that the best campaign idea I’ve heard in a while is that Satan should run in 2020 in order to split the Republican vote.
It’s July! Fry an egg on the sidewalk, and fry your butt on the beach! Until August, just remember: it’s how you show up at the showdown that counts.
This article appears in the July 2019 edition of OutSmart magazine.
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