by Ashley Beth
“If you wish to understand what Revolution is, call it Progress; and if you wish to understand what Progess is, call it Tomorrow.” -Victor Hugo, ‘Les Miserables’ 1862
It will never be a good idea to start any political article with the following statement but I can’t get it out of my mind: Michael Moore was right.
“The enemy of my enemy gets my vote.”
Donald Trump stood in front of the ravaged members of the now-defunct middle class, people whose livelihoods and communities were sustained by big manufacturing companies such as Ford and GM, and promised them that he would make it harder for their jobs to be outsourced overseas. As a business man, these laid-off, swing-state dwellers had no other choice but to trust him.
You can dislike his personal politics, lament and loathe that his personality is not just political but now the president-elect of our populous but you cannot take his political post to power, uh, personally. At the end of the day, if Donald Trump wants to grab his daughter’s pussy with one hand while he catches middle-class jobs slipping and sliding from our communities at an accelerating rate of 9.8 meters per second squared with the other—58 million Americans have spoken with felt tip dipped in black ink pens that they don’t give a fuck. With one swooping map of red states, the American people have given the green light to a man who is absolutely, 100 % a narcissistic, pig-headed, traditionally immoral asshole, and I ask you—-why are we really that shocked?
Nixon was caught red-handed with his hand in the Watergate’s hotel lobby yet we were more concerned with the past medical history of the Democratic presidential candidate George McGovern’s pick for vice president than whether or not we cared that a white American asshole was acting on hubris without fear of consequence.
Clinton balanced our budget beautifully while his buxom, blue-dressed, back door intern bobbed her brunette coiffure up and down his sweet-tasting Arkansan dick, and we only tried to impeach him because he lied about it. (Impeach, people, remember the word impeach. It gives me hope. Just like Dream in Neil Gaiman’s ‘Sandman.’) I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again–if you ever think you will be questioned on the valid receipt of a blow-job, at least have the clarity of mind to make sure the receiving partner assumes you have to swallow. (As spooky kid Marilyn Manson once sung.) Anyways, squirrel.
My point is, we have seen this before. And we have seen it come down not to sweeping deciding issues such as civil rights (for any minority), abortion, or even the sparky divider issues that never really were an issue but more of an ingenious plan by the Bush campaign; gay marriage. (Political expert and ex-congressional candidate Jennifer Lawless remarked in 2006 that no one really cared about gay marriage until the Bush campaign used it to sway would-be blue votes to red by introducing the idea of federally controlled marriage laws.) No. Indeed, the deciding factor on this election, it seemed, has come down to that tricky contender of politics. That is, the truth.
The Truth is, it doesn’t really matter to most Americans whose ass is sitting in the White House. People are still going to have the same view on their way to work, assuming they have a job. People are still going to be paying rising costs of fuel, food and medical care. People are still going to have to pay a 39 dollar overdraft fee when their gas bill comes out their checking account on the same day as their Christmas shopping.
Seniors are still going to be living on butchered pensions, and sick children and young families are still going to face ridiculous obstacles obtaining the resources they need. It doesn’t matter if the ass sitting in the oval office chair is a donkey’s or an elephant’s, black or white, male or female. The incumbent, rotating taps of Congress and Senate will kiss it or kick it per their own agenda, and will still need to finance re-election campaigns every couple years. They will still need money for these campaigns and the powers holding the money bags did not change with this election.
I mean the banks, people. The industry which brought you a different credit/debit card swiping machine for every industry on which you’d ever want to spend money. Forget that we had laws passed on interchangeable parts and machines way back before we even signed our constiution, ensuring that people could easily access their food source (then–guns, now–money) regardless of who the store-owner was or area they were hunting/gathering/shopping in. No. We still are doomed to stare blankly at a box-shaped, hunk of plastic register screen to figure out which way to swipe, and pay $3-5 foreign ATM fees for accessing our money outside our preferred bank’s radius. The same powers that charge you a fee for having a low balance. Please swipe card, or insert chip. We’re open Monday thru Friday, 9-3, closed for lunch and Saturday 10-11:15am. Yeah. Banks are great. They make our lives so easy and we are so loyal to them. Hey, next time they fly first class or private jet to Washington, DC to beg for more money from a bankrupt federal budget after they snorted all theirs on a bender, we GOTS to help those guys out. Oh wait….
We will still have to buy gas. We will still need jobs. We will still need financing. And pay day loans. And pawn shops. And porn. And booze. And weed. And cars. The American people have never been slaves to the personality residing at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. We HAVE been and CONTINUE TO BE slaves to banks. Slaves to the Rothschilds and the Middle Eastern oil families with which they are so close. Slaves to the 33rd degree Free Masons. And basically anyone else hated by David Icke. (Pick up/Google the small, informative manifesto ‘The Federal Reserve’ cartel by Dean Henderson if you’re smelling what I’m stepping in.)
After the election, West Virginia will still be one of the poorest states in our country, with some of the biggest methamphetamine abuse and pill-billy populations (think Pensatucky in ‘Orange is the New Black’) to boot. Rates of diabetes will still be highest in the poorest states in our country, which I’m sure has absolutely *nothing* to do with the geographic accessibility of fresh-food grocery stores rather than gas station “grocery stores” in these areas.
After the election, we will still be despicably poor at caring for the veterans that protected the very values in our country we feel are threatened by the “shocking” election of a NYC business mogul. The rate of suicide in these exceptionally brave men and women show no projections to decrease.
After the election, we will still be facing the biggest mental health epidemic addiction our country has seen since the Chinese Opium wars. And this time it’s not because we are trying to preserve American jobs building rail lines. Because where we’re going in this automobile-obsessed country, we don’t need tracks.
After this election, you can still get arrested for possessing an ounce or more of marijuana and receive a longer prison sentence than if you were found ravaging a woman’s unconscious body behind a dumpster.
After the election, our Medicare beneficiaries over 65 will still bitch about paying $200 a month for inhalers used to revive lungs that absorbed their lifetime cigarette habit. Funny how they had no problem paying for cigarettes all those years. Funny how tobacco companies still get tax breaks. Funnier still, that Walmart pays less per-square foot to buy land in your town than mom and pops do. I mean, stay tuned for more People of Walmart Youtube videos and Cabela’s, coming tax-subsidized to an economically depressed area near you.
After the election, the American Association of Retired People (AARP) will still be broadcasting advertisements targeted towards RETIRED people looking for JOBS. Stop. Go back and read that sentence again. And realize that November 8 was NEVER the day we were to BECOME fucked.
It’s just the day that we woke up from our opiate induced sleep, and realized it.
“It has to start somewhere. It has to start sometime. What better place than here? What better time than now?” – Zack de la Rocha, Rage Against the Machine, 1999
Singing a song of angry men
It is the music of a people
Who will not be slaves again!” -Victor Hugo ‘Les Miserables, 1862