Homemade Racism

It wasn’t government workers not getting paid. It wasn’t FBI Agents not getting paid. It wasn’t Homeland Security not getting paid. It wasn’t families going without food stamps. It wasn’t survivors of domestic violence being put at great risk. None of those things mattered. Turns out, it was a speech.

No one has ever successfully told Donald Trump this magic word: No! So when Nancy Pelosi cancelled his State Of The Union, it was a new experience. I think he liked it. I think it got him off, like a dominatrix telling Dirty Donald to soil his diapers, end the shutdown, grovel on TV in the Rose Garden and then maybe he’ll get to make his speech.

You can’t reason with children, Republicans or racists. They’re all the same thing when it gets right down to it.

Funny thing about telling a Republican they’re racist, they lose their mind. Like Democrats are any different. We’re all racists. You know how I know? We were all raised in America. Turns out the only thing a racist hates more than black people is being called a racist.

I used to wonder why but I guess it’s like outing someone, you have to let them decide to do it on their own timeframe. The difference between coming out gay and coming out racist is when you come out gay you’re announcing you’re done hurting yourself and when you come out racist you’re announcing you’re done punishing everyone around you. So I guess what I’m saying is that if you don’t like being outed as a racist, too fucking bad.

Take off your MAGA HAT and while you’re at it wipe that ASSHOLE SMIRK off your face, Sandmann. I swear to God if I have to listen to one more racist asshole stick up for Nick Sandmann, I’m going to fly to the White House and hold an intervention. Not that you can force someone else to accept help. So forget what I just said, since I don’t believe in interventions unless you can show up drunk. As long as you have to listen to other people read letters and pretend to cry, then the least they could do is let you show up drunk.

You can’t help people. But you can make them homemade lasagna.

Last week I flew to New York City. I saw Mike Birbiglia on Broadway. His show is called “The New One.” I thought it was called “The New One” as in he has a new show, you know, “The New One.” But it turns out it’s about having his first child. I’m dumb but the show was great. We saw the 2nd to last show so I think the only way you’re going to get the chance to see the show if you haven’t already seen it will be when it comes out on Netflix. See it. Trust me. It’s so good, so funny, so vulnerable, I get the feeling in his own way, Mike Birbiglia is re-setting comedy. It’s been a brutal year!

Before I flew home, I spent the day in upstate New York with my Aunt Nicki making homemade lasagna. This winter, to get through the cold, we’ve been taking cooking classes with the people we love. First we learned how to make chicken stock. My spoiled, beautiful girlfriend asked her mom if she would teach us. We had so much fun, when my dad visited Chicago for a week, he taught us how to make spaghetti and meatballs. My spoiled, beautiful girlfriend spent the day re-arranging drawers in the kitchen with her mom. I spent the day drinking Dewars with my dad, or should I say I spent the day watching my dad drink Dewars. With my Aunt Nicki, we spent the day flattening noodles for lasagna and rolling out dough balls to make dordillia, which is essentially bizarro fried dough balls drizzled in honey. We got there earlier than expected.

I talked my spoiled, beautiful girlfriend into taking an early train out of Grand Central Station by telling her we’d get there early, grab a cup of coffee and take in the majesty of the building. It’s pretty spectacular. But once we got to Grand Central Station, I got caught up in the momentum of getting somewhere. Before we could slow down and get a cup of coffee, I found out there was an express train in 3 minutes and next thing I knew we were running down the platform, or should I say I was running down the platform being followed by my spoiled, beautiful girlfriend who was seriously annoyed.

I’m dumb but the lasagna was great. My Aunt Nicki invited her kids. I hadn’t seen them in damn 30 years. Last time I saw her daughter, she was a little girl I chased up the ravine to make films when I was in film school studying pretentiousness. Now she’s a doctor! And so beautiful I couldn’t help but feel the time, all the years gone. Where did they go?

Oh yeah! We spent them hating Barack for being black, hating Hillary for being a woman and then allowing a racist piece of shit to collaborate with a hostile foreign power because they both had penises and their penises were white.

I got back in town and jumped into bootcamp for Amara Enyia. She’s running for mayor of Chicago. It’s exciting to see how she’s approaching the job. She actually spoke last week about “Sanctuary” as if it were more than a city, more than a word, something we all need at some point in our lives. She’s the only person running who’s talking about big ideas and you know what they’re doing, they’re asking her about her age.

Amara Enyia is 35. And so what? I used to tell myself you needed more experience but I’m starting to think all of the people with all of the experience have repeated the same experience over and over and over until they’ve forgotten how to feel anything besides anger and racist entitlement. Look at what a disaster the Trump Shutdown has been. After 36 days, it’s time for the MAGA TROLLS to take off their stupid hats and reflect on the racist insanity eating what little is left of their conscience.

But they won’t. And who cares? Really? It was just so much fun watching Dirty Donald groveling in the Rose Garden.

Let them eat racist cake.

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