Donald Trump, Mike Pence & Paul Ryan are Unindicted Co-Conspirators. It’s time to end the madness. It’s time for Nancy Pelosi to ascend to the presidency as Hillary Clinton gets ready to take the oath of office.
We shall demand the resignation from the Supreme Court of Neil Gorsuch.
We shall perp walk Pee-Pee Putin.
We shall perp walk Bottom Bitch McConnell.
We shall perp walk Melania (in flood pumps).
We shall turn inside out all hats bearing the stigma of Make America Great Again.
It’s time. If you’re a man who voted for Trump you’re called to bear witness to the racism tied to your flaccid manhood. If you’re a woman who voted for Trump you’re called to bear witness to the selfishness of an addiction to lifestyle which you put ahead of the dreams of your daughters.
This week we head back to school. You might think it’s the end of summer vacation from school. But the truth is, it’s the end of summer vacation from school shootings. For those of you who turned my life upside down, who tried to kill me, who took a tweet I wrote after The Las Vegas Shooting out of context and into court, who used the gavel as a gun to steal my money, to steal my peace of mind, know this: I’m surviving and thriving and resting and there will come a time when you shall be called to account, to step into the ring, to dodge rabbit punches, so sleep tight Little Rabbit Foo Foo!
I shall accept no apologies.
I shall suffer no fools.
I shall seek counsel and push aside Truth & Reconciliation for the thrill of vindictiveness.
Donald Trump used to say believe me right after he lied. All you had to do on the campaign trail was rewind one of his stump speeches any time he said believe me and you could see the lie. But everyone was too caught up in the momentum to bother taking a second look. So I took a second look for everyone which is why I find none of this surprising. If you find this surprising it only means you’ve been too busy shopping or eating or jerking-off useless attorneys with legal fees. Wake up! You’re not dead until you’re dead which means there’s still hope for you, even though there’s zero chance you’ll know me in this lifetime or the next. If I see you in Hell, if I see you in Heaven and you force eye contact, the most you can hope to expect from me is a distant smirk of fleeting recognition. Consequence is a bitch and so am I.
Yesterday I was jogging. I happened upon a beautiful wizard in a summer dress walking a dog named Hank. She was the one who handed me the microphone at a beloved Chicago open mic. She healed me when The Twitter Shit Storm hit and tore my heart to smithereens. She told me to let her world lift me up. I trusted her and she lived up to her promise. The beautiful wizard was on the phone with the Goddess of Poop Jokes. There has never been anyone on the mic I admire more than the Goddess of Poop Jokes. She can make the room howl with laughter from a place of extreme vulnerability without a shred of sympathy attached to the sound of laughter. All guts. All glory. As I was jogging by I stopped to pay my respect. The beautiful wizard took one of the earphones out of her ear and shared her call with the Goddess of Poop Jokes.
“What are you running from,” the Goddess asked. “The police?”
“The police. The Ku Klux Klan. The anti-Semites,” I said. “They hate what they can’t control and they can’t control me.”
“Truth,” the Goddess said.
All of us howled with laughter. I kissed the beautiful wizard. I told the Goddess of Poop Jokes how much I missed her. Then I jogged away as Hank dragged her by the leash back to a world of love I have only glimpsed but know in my heart I shall one day call home.
Til then, Hillary, on behalf of those of us who voted for you, on behalf of those of us who didn’t vote for you, on behalf of those of us who are ready to change the channel on this shit show, on behalf of those of us who are ready to turn off the Fucking TV altogether, I ask you to forego the parade and get to work.
There’s so much good to be done, Madame President.