I have already confessed to being at a loss for words to adequately describe the abomination that is Donald Trump. But recently, one thing I keep thinking after watching the news is how utterly without redeeming features he is. My default analogy is that at least Hitler loved dogs. And music. And had some actual talent as a painter.

I was thinking of this yesterday while walking my dog (shout out to Hitler!) and started to mentally review the dictators I’m most familiar with, to compare them to Trump. Qaddafi came to mind first, and he had the redeeming feature of great style. He’s one up on Trump right there!

So let’s review historic dictators to see if any are as worthless as Donald Trump.

Stalin excelled in seminary school and earned a scholarship to Tiflis Theological Seminary in 1894. Good job, Stalin! Your dad didn’t have to pay to get you accepted!

Castro went to law school and was passionate about social justice.

Saddam Hussein also went to law school on his own merits and “did much to modernize Iraq’s infrastructure, industry and health-care system, and raised social services, education and farming subsidies to levels unparalleled in other Arab countries in the region.” Well done, Saddam!

Kim Jong-un was educated in Switzerland and after his father’s death, implemented some economic and agricultural reforms. Not bad, Kim Jong-un!

Mussolini was a journalist who studied Kant, Hegel and Nietzsche. (Trump = Covfefe)

Mobutu Sese Seko, with his trademark leopard-skin cap and carved wooden staff, was a a true style icon, and I’m still looking for a facsimile of that hat.

Pol Pot played the violin and was fluent in French.

Augusto Pinochet taught classes in military geography and geopolitics and was the editor of a magazine, Cien Águilas (‘One Hundred Eagles’).

François Duvalier aka Papa Doc was a physician, and was active in a United States–sponsored campaign to control the spread of contagious tropical diseases, helping the poor to fight typhus, yaws, and malaria. He was also a master of Haitian Vodou! Who among us doesn’t love Haitian Vodou?

I could go on, but you see my point here. That bastard Donald Trump is the most patently worthless human being in the history of the world.  Why did god make him? I heard a guy on TV noting Trump’s “incandescent stupidity and malevolence.” Incandescent gave me a little thrill. If only I could be as elegant in expressing my contempt!

All I can do is take comfort in his notable hair-loss and commensurate panic as I try not to think of him winning the next presidential election. If that comes to pass, there won’t be enough cyanide capsules in the world to put us out of our misery.

We were watching a true crime drama about a gullible family who let a pedophile into their midst like inviting a fox to a hen-house, and my husband was exasperated. “Oh please, no one is that stupid,” he complained. I started to defend the family, saying that ultra-religious people in a small town might actually be that naive. Privately, I wondered if he was right; maybe the story was exaggerated for dramatic effect.

Later, we watched part 2 of The Vow, a documentary series about a cult whose leader made women get branded. The members of the cult were people with money, relatively sophisticated people with jobs in Hollywood or tech or marketing. I couldn’t believe how stupid they were to buy into this guy’s shit, when he is so clearly a manipulative little conman.

The next day, I read something about Trump supporters and then it hit me: People are SO FUCKING STUPID! I mean, the level and scope of stupidity all around us is just staggering.

Were people always this stupid? Did they just hide it better? Are we so desperate for a guru or daddy or deity to guide us that we’ll surrender all logic and critical thinking?

I’m at the point where if someone doesn’t despise Donald Trump, I don’t want to waste time on them. They’re too stupid. Recently, two acquaintances have explained to me that they don’t really hate Trump because “They’re all the same.” They elaborated by stating that all politicians are corrupt, blah blah blah. So they’re telling me that a cold is like Ebola? Where is the sense of proportion or discernment?

It’s not a Tribal thing; it’s not that I only like people with my politics or opinions. It’s just the stupidity. Make it stop!

I have started following the Kanye West debacle, because as in most debacles, it’s hard to look away. Actually, in this case I am constantly refreshing my google to see if I missed anything. I know you’re thinking, Ha ha, look how stupid YOU are! But I will only admit to an immature fascination with spectacle. And crazy people.

I am pleased to say that now even Anna Wintour is done with him. Today, he said that denouncing him only proves his point about Jews controlling everything, an old antisemitic canard he has evidently stumbled upon in his mania.

I am so fascinated by Kanye’s meltdown that I’ve started following an account on Instagram that covers everything he says or does. I’ve seen all the video clips that were edited out of his recent interviews, and he is one angry dude operating on some kind of messianic delusion, burning all his bridges as fast as he can.

The real stupidity here lies in the comments from his fans. The more antisemitic and aggrieved he is, the fiercer is their support. He speaks the truth! He’s the only one brave enough to call it out! Watch out, the Jews gonna kill him! Every millionth comment, someone will express  dismay. I praised one of these people for trying to explain antisemitism, and I received this reaction: “You’re an OLD cat lady who will die alone!” (LOL, I hate cats.)  She turned out to be a white lady who keeps showing her pregnant belly and her flock of Aryan looking kids. At least she’s open minded enough to stick up for a deranged Rap icon.

Drowning in stupidity, I have turned to Middlemarch, which I read as an 18 year old stoner. It was great then but even better now, because I’m more appreciative of the narrator’s stinging wit. Thank god I can still read, when I’m not watching crime TV or scrolling on my phone. Mostly, I am trying to navigate through the daily ennui of being an old cat lady who will die alone, so writing this has been cathartic.

How are you surviving the stupidity? Confessions or helpful hints? Let’s hear from you!

If you watched the memorial today for the 400,000 Americans killed by Covid-19, symbolized by two long columns of light, you must have cried like I did. All the people on MSNBC cried too, either sniffling or sobbing, all grateful for this impetus to pour out their grief after holding back for so long. For four whole years, actually.

I thought about Joe Biden’s son, about my son, about Jamie Raskin’s son, Melissa Ethridge’s son, Stephanie Seymour’s son, Stella Tennant’s children, all the unknown families who wonder how they will go on.

The only ray of light is the knowledge that Trump will be back in Florida, unable to torture us the way he likes to.

I blew my nose and went for a walk, the wind howling in San Pedro like the tornado in Wizard of Oz. I thought about the columns of light, how they represented the light each person had brought to the world. In my head, I assured Max, “You are always here with me.” I looked down and there was a great big shell lying in my path. I wondered if I was allowed to take the shell home, and realized, Duh, it’s there for me!

I hope everyone gets a chance to cry today. You might not get a big shell, but a good cry can be cathartic.

I hope tomorrow goes well, but if it doesn’t, I’ve just learned the Jews have an afterlife, and you can’t believe how fucking spectacular it is! As a devout atheist, I know next to nothing about religions except how stupid most of them are. I thought the one cool thing about Judaism was the absence of Heaven, or a Judgement Day. Wrong as usual! Here’s a detailed description of Jewish heaven, long but worth it I think. After you read it, you’ll probably want to convert. L’chaim!

~

Rabbinic literature includes many legends about the World to Come and the two Gardens of Eden. These include:

The world to come is called Paradise, and it is said to have a double gate made of carbuncle that is guarded by 600,000 shining angels. Seven clouds of glory overshadow Paradise, and under them, in the center of Paradise, stands the tree of life. The tree of life overshadows Paradise too, and it has fifteen thousand different tastes and aromas that winds blow all across Paradise.

Under the tree of life are many pairs of canopies, one of stars and the other of sun and moon, while a cloud of glory separates the two. In each pair of canopies sits a rabbinic scholar who explains the Torah. When one enters Paradise one is proffered by Michael (archangel) to God on the altar of the temple of the heavenly Jerusalem, whereupon one is transfigured into an angel (the ugliest person becomes as beautiful and shining as “the grains of a silver pomegranate upon which fall the rays of the sun”).

The angels that guard Paradise’s gate adorn one in seven clouds of glory, crown one with gems and pearls and gold, place eight myrtles in one’s hand, and praise one for being righteous while leading one to a garden of eight hundred roses and myrtles that is watered by many rivers. In the garden is one’s canopy, its beauty according to one’s merit, but each canopy has four rivers – milk, honey, wine, and balsam flowing out from it, and has a golden vine and thirty shining pearls hanging from it. Under each canopy is a table of gems and pearls attended to by sixty angels.

The light of Paradise is the light of the righteous people therein. Each day in Paradise one wakes up a child and goes to bed an elder to enjoy the pleasures of childhood, youth, adulthood, and old age. In each corner of Paradise is a forest of 800,000 trees, the least among the trees greater than the best herbs and spices, attended to by 800,000 sweetly singing angels.

Paradise is divided into seven paradises, each one 120,000 miles long and wide. Depending on one’s merit, one joins one of the paradises: the first is made of glass and cedar and is for converts to Judaism; the second is of silver and cedar and is for penitents; the third is of silver and gold, gems and pearls, and is for the patriarchs, Moses and Aaron, the Israelites that left Egypt and lived in the wilderness, and the kings of Israel; the fourth is of rubies and olive wood and is for the holy and steadfast in faith; the fifth is like the third, except a river flows through it and its bed was woven by Eve and angels, and it is for the Messiah and Elijah; and the sixth and seventh divisions are not described, except that they are respectively for those who died doing a pious act and for those who died from an illness in expiation for Israel’s sins.

Beyond Paradise is the higher Gan Eden, where God is enthroned and explains the Torah to its inhabitants. The higher Gan Eden contains 310 worlds and is divided into seven compartments. The compartments are not described, though it is implied that each compartment is greater than the previous one and is joined based on one’s merit. The first compartment is for Jewish martyrs, the second for those who drowned, the third for “Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai and his disciples,” the fourth for those whom the cloud of glory carried off, the fifth for penitents, the sixth for youths who have never sinned; and the seventh for the poor who lived decently and studied the Torah.

Watching Trump on TV the other day, I considered the depth and breadth of my hatred for him. I hate him with more specificity than I’ve ever hated anyone, except maybe my ex-husband.

After 17 years with him, I hated the way my ex drank his daily orange juice. He placed his feet in a certain way, and always faced the same window.

Usually, you have to spend a lifetime with someone before you can hate them at this granular level, but Trump lays outside of usual parameters. In four years, he has seeded a wild garden of almost metaphysical hatred, such that most of us feel like world class connoisseurs.

Who among us does not hate the way he shapes his mouth in that puckered O? What about the sniffing? What about how he stands, leaning forward and rocking back and forth? What about the back of his head, the way he combs his “hair” into a coiffed duck-tail? The way he pronounces China, always pausing a beat before uttering the word and letting you know that he’s really thinking “vagina.”

The hyperbole, the biggest ever, more than anyone has ever seen, perhaps in the history of the world. And the imaginary People who are always Saying.

The slow lumbering portentous walk, the ill-fitting suits, the flapping overcoat, the hand gestures. The fucking hand gestures! The way he modulates his voice, the way he says “intress-ting” when he means “I’m so mad about this.” The way he mimics intelligent people in a dumb Poindexter voice. The way he likes to call himself Sir when he quotes people.

The way he says “Ivanka” with a disturbing reverence. The expression on his face when he’s pretending to listen to anyone, restlessly waiting to return to the spotlight.

I know I’m leaving out so much! Yesterday, my sister texted me to see if I’d noticed that his hair was less yellow. Of course I had. Am I blind or what?

I feel I’ve been driven to the outer limit of hatred with this cunt. I’m a hateful person anyway, but this is different.

However, luckily, I can still register love.

I’ve been watching the Smithsonian’s Panda Cam, enthralled by the way Mei Xiang, the 22 year old mother, cares for her baby, Bao Bao.

It’s almost unbearable to witness such maternal tenderness. Watch her as she plays with her cub and audibly kisses it, rolling it around and cradling it as it snuggles into her huge body.

Any mother will be moved by this exhibit of sublime love. Cynics can point out that this is just instinct, but so what? Plenty of our behavior is instinctive. It would be nice if we were better in touch with some of our instincts, like compassion. Compassion can be hard to muster while our bodies and souls have been so relentlessly threatened in 2020.

I wish I were the mother panda, or the baby. I wish I could be immersed in love. It’s a daily struggle, isn’t it?

But as I’ve been sitting here typing, my husband has popped his head in three times to ask how I’m doing and if I need anything. Maybe he is my mother panda! In the awful awfulness of my life, he is a blessing. Should we have our own live stream?!

A few years ago, I watched the first episode of the British TV series Black Mirror, expecting a clever Sci Fi drama, since it was being compared to the Twilight Zone.

In the episode, a member of the British royal family is kidnapped and will only be released if the British prime minister fucks a pig on live television. A wild, perverse premise with an obvious critique of contemporary culture. One of the actors described the topic as “humiliation, and the public’s appetite for humiliation”. Fair enough, in part.

I still feel shaken as I remember watching it. I think I went from amusement to disbelief to anxiety to abject horror and grief. Notice how this trajectory follows the one we’ve endured with the presidency of Donald Trump!

In the show, we see the varying reactions of TV viewers as they watch the spectacle play out. Many are crying. I cried with them, because I’m sensitive, alright?

I remember complaining for days and weeks that I was permanently traumatized, even though it was only TV.

Now, watching Trump on TV, I feel the same horror welling up, but I’m too scared to cry. Maybe later. Every utterance and gesture is revolting, shameless, viscerally repugnant, like the Prime Minister fucking a pig. When he holds forth at his rallies, his tone strikes me as a mixture of Mussolini and Rodney Dangerfield. I’m actually embarrassed for him, because I’m a human being.

How one stupid fat bully could succeed in corrupting the entire government and breaking the whole country, I will never understand. But here we are.

I keep reflecting on Black Mirror, against my will, because my brain is looking for a reference point, I guess. What I want to know is this: ARE WE THE PIG?

Or is Trump both the pig and the pig fucker?

That’s all I’ve got today, sorry. I just wanted to check in.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that if Trump is reelected, we will lose our fucking minds.

Four more years of this anxiety, fear, disgust, and helpless rage would not be endurable. The daily insults to our intelligence and to our very souls are not sustainable. So even though on the one hand we are convinced that sanity will prevail and Biden will win the election, on the other hand we now know that a large portion of voters is rooting for that stupid fat malevolent cunt to finish destroying what’s left of our democracy.

So! What will you do? I want to leave the US, and I’m thinking about what my choices are. Ireland, maybe? I have two friends who live in Ireland, so at least I would know someone. They’re still letting us in for some reason. It’s a beautiful place, and I wouldn’t have to learn a new language.

From Dublin, you can fly to France, where one could hopefully outstay one’s visa and just blend into the background of Paris.

The last (and only) time I went to Paris, I was 15 years old. My sister and I had acquired a pair of French boyfriends who were vacationing in London, where we spent our evenings at a disco bar in Earl’s Court.  I can still remember the jukebox there, which was always playing either “Lola” or “Band of Gold.” Anyway, we met these guys, Michel and Daniel, who wore striped sailor shirts and little scarves around their necks. They were adorable.

Soon, they invited us for a dirty weekend in Paris, and we showed up there with no idea of what to do or where to go. We found a cheap hotel where the proprietress yelled at us contemptuously in French but took our money, however resentfully. The next day, we went to Daniel’s house in the suburbs, where the guys were lolling around while the parents were away somewhere. We watched French TV and one of the guys put on a facial mask. We assumed this was a normal thing for cute French guys.

The guys were horrified to learn that my sister and I were both having our periods! Hahaha! They were beside themselves, blabbing hysterically about “le regle.” Eventually they calmed down and I think we spent a nice day with them. I really can’t remember anything else, but I have a packet of heartsick letters from Michele Girard, his actual name, proclaiming his love and calling me his little cabbage.

So anyway, France would be great and they have socialized medicine, so hopefully I could get my antidepressants, lipitor, ativan, and calcium. If it’s Ireland, I can get some of those bulky hand-knit sweaters, and eat scones and oatcakes and learn to drink Guinness.

Meanwhile, my sister just texted me, “ARE YOU LISTENING TO WILLIAM BARR?” in all caps, and even though I’m not, I can feel the revulsion rising in my chest. What a fucking fucker that fucking bastard is. Four more years of that bulldog warty face will kill me, and not in a good way.

Four more years of Jared and Ivanka, Chad Wolf and Peter Navarro, simpering Mike Pence and the rest of those motherfuckers, no no no no.

Think how much worse it can get! Or don’t, since it will raise your cortisol level, disrupting almost all your body’s processes and putting you at risk of anxiety, depression, digestive problems, headaches, heart disease, sleep problems, weight gain, memory and concentration impairment.

Wait, you already have those symptoms? Me too! France or Ireland, cast your vote. Or submit another viable destination and I’ll meet you there in December.

Everyone’s in a tizzy about how to talk to politically partisan relatives at Thanksgiving, but not me! First, because I would never have a meal with a Trump supporter. Not even my last meal on Death Row, which, as everyone knows, will be a burger and fries.

Second, because if someone spoke favorably of Donald Trump in my earshot, I would not hesitate to shout, “Are you out of your fucking mind? What the fuck don’t you get?”

Watching him at rallies, surrounded by drooling racist dimwits, it’s a chilling picture of a species I haven’t encountered much in real life but now know to fear and dread. I can’t imagine being face to face with this level of ignorance.

But even for family members, it is just not acceptable. I have no bandwith for excuses about “the people who feel left behind” bla bla bla.” If anyone is still okay with Donald Trump walking around a free man, there is no pass and no forgiveness. Sure, they’re stupid, sure they barely made it through high school, sure they’re incapable of reasoning and adding 2 plus two. Too bad for them.

If you’re passing the cranberry sauce and someone quotes Hannity or talks about those sneaky Dems and their secret hearings, just lean toward them and scream, “Shut up, you stupid piece of shit! You don’t deserve to vote, that’s how stupid you are!”

Then, carefully smash a pie in her or her or they face. Tell them that for every immigrant and refugee in a detention facility, that’s how many centuries they will burn in hell.

If anyone still comes to Trump’s defense, you know what to do next. Upend the whole table, housewife style, and say, “I care about the fucking Constitution even if you don’t, motherfucker!” and remind them that article 2 does not mean the President can do *anything*. Just for fun, point out that fetuses aren’t people.

I mean, how hard is it to have a plan for Thanksgiving? I don’t even see the problem. Just do the right thing.

If you’re a big pussy, you can print out this handy Thanksgiving discussion placemat from Neil Katyal here.

Jared Kushner has been, until now,  a specter of robotic evil in our midst. We know his vacant, girlish face and stiff walk. We know he was born “Jerilyn” somewhere in a New Jersey laboratory. But now we can see him in action, thanks to Axios.

Watching him closely, you can see that he is able to raise one eyebrow! Added to his grimace, that’s two facial movements. More than a Ken doll but less than, say, Ivanka, who can smile, look smug, and laugh with all her teeth showing.

Have you noticed how smooth and glowing his skin in ? It’s almost shiny. Now we can see that it’s a thin coating of sperm, acquired from his father-in-law. I don’t know who applies it, but they do a great job. It probably has a high SPF factor to maintain the lily whiteness.

Is Jared really a “Jew”? I can’t believe that he shares my esteemed, ahem, lineage. Just like when the Son of Sam killer turned out to be Jewish, the tribe was relieved to discover he was adopted. Jared is no Jew, or if he is, he is traif.

Why is Jared in charge of so many critical missions as senior advisor to the President? Would you put him in charge of watering your lawn? Would you trust him near young children? Or puppies?

Asked if the Birther shit was racist, Jared insists that he wasn’t part of it.

Was the Holocaust racist? How about lynch mobs? Armenian Genocide?

How should Jared know, HE WASN’T PART OF IT, okay?

What a fucking cunt this cunt is.

I love how Ivanka chose a fitted white Colonialist dress, complete with a little safari-style neck-scarf! It was the perfect choice for dancing around with African women, who smiled and laughed like happy children, despite working long backbreaking hours at textile looms, or bending over troughs of cocoa beans.

Speaking of cocoa, Ivanka praised her co-sponsors, including Nestle’s, known for its failure to observe international protocols for child labor.

I have to say that this is the most idiotic public relations scam I have seen in recent memory. Melania herself is a model of humility compared to Ivanka. No wonder they hate each other.

If you can stomach a little more, here’s Ivanka talking about the tremendous toll her “work” has taken on her family life.

“That’s a price that we’re paying together. I am looking forward to a time in the future when I can live a slightly more low-key private life and be able to spend a little bit more time with my children.”

Her kids, she stressed, are proud of the current family business.

Ivanka Trump said her 7-year-old daughter Arabella recently used her nanny’s phone to ask the Siri digital assistant how many people her father had helped get out of prison, after the passage of a criminal justice reform bill Kushner had helped champion.

“I think our kids are really proud and I share with them as many of these stories as I can,” Ivanka Trump said. “I’m certainly going to share the stories of this trip.”

Will she share the stories with the nanny, to pass on to the kids, or will she tell the kids directly? I have so many questions! Can I see Jared’s birth certificate? Who flat-irons Ivanka’s hair every morning? Will anyone ever mention Barron? And when can they all go to prison?

I’ll just try to be patient. At least there was no collusion.

What a horrible year, right? Why can’t Trump just die so we can let the refugees have a nice soft bed and a hot meal?

Meanwhile, we’re not totally helpless. We can complain about words and word usage. We can vow not to use them in 2019, and like on Peewee’s Playhouse, we can scream really loud if someone says any of them.

new normal
wellness
folks (instead of “people”)
gender fluid
toxic masculinity
fake news
eatery
turmeric
manosphere
insta-worthy
gah
ally
self-care
helicopter parents
hook-up
best self

I can’t remember if I’ve done this before, but let’s also ban the people we don’t want to hear about (or from) in 2019, okay?

Beyonce
Halsey
Roger Stone
Ariana Grande
Kanye
Monica Lewinski
Lil [Anybody]
Cardi B and Offest
Tiger Woods
Clint Eastwood
Virgil Abloh
Childish Gambino
Mark Zuckerberg
Camila Cabello
Sheryl Sandberg
the Trivago guy
the My Pillow Guy

I know I’m forgetting about a million people and words.

Help me out.