Home sweet ramshackle-home./Image: Licensed Adobe stock, spiritofamerica.
Ahoy, right-wing travel aficionados! As always in the Travel department of the website you feel weird for loving so truly, madly, and deeply, as the film and song titles go, it is I, Antoine Boordayne, your Alt-right trekking guide here to take you on another dizzyingly quick tour of a conservatively-flavored destination. This time, you’ll be glad we get in and out faster than the guilt of complicity flashes across Ivanka Trump’s face. The reason you’ll be glad is that we’re going to tour a shantytown. I know, what would good, upstanding, let-them-eat-cake (Marie Antoinette actually didn’t mean that in the dismissive way it sounds) snobs be doing in a town of tattered, filthy tents and even more tattered, filthier souls. They don’t call them “the unwashed masses” for nothing, now do they, dear Spread Your Right Wings (SYRW) readers? Well, it saddens me to tell you this, but this slum in the backyard of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is where the well-scrubbed, decked out members of Trump’s venal, easily bribable, ethically bankrupt administration live. At five o’clock, they shed the accouterments of white-collar bureaucrats and turn into the misshapen, wiry-haired, sunken-eyed residents of Corruptiontown.
Related: The 5 right-wing erotica products every conservative must own.
Mnuchin Gardens
Shantytowns, temporary, improvised squatter settlements, as World Atlas describes them especially ones whose sprawl threatens to take over adjacent structures, like the White House, sometimes have distinct neighborhoods with their own flavor, if you will. Such is the case with Corruptiontown. It may look like a sea of indistinct, flimsy tents, but it’s not. One of its more pathetic neighborhood’s is Mnuchin Gardens, it’s heightened pathos deriving from the fact that it’s the home of a Trump admin member and his wife who pride themselves on high-rolling and ostentatious displays of wealth: Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin and his wife, Louise Linton. Of course, once the sun sets and these two ritzy carriages turn into rotting pumpkins, all bets are off. Here come Mnuchin and Linton know, the latter hobbling toward us in a disturbingly at a disturbingly fast clip given that she’s limping and using a cane.
“So what if we took a private jet on a day trip Fort Knox to see the solar eclipse? My husband works hard for the American people–at least that’s the story we’re trying to put out there–oh, come on, Steven,” Linton’s saying, I believe. It’s hard to make out, as it’s coming in the pained, pinched voice of a fairy tale hag–and now she’s scrunching up her face as if she just ate something sour and shaking her cane at us. There goes the wretched figure, now limping away, and hunch-backed Mnuchin is scurrying behind her there.
Ol’ Sleepy Eyes
This next section of Corruptiontown that we’re heading toward came by its name from it’s most famous resident, Housing and Urban Development Secretary Ben Carson. He, we on the right must admit, looks perpetually like he’s been hit with a tranquilizer dart. Despite his somnolent visage, for some inexplicable reason, really, he got his high-profile posting in the Trump Admin. Predictably, he’s been bungling this much like his boss is tripping his way through the presidency.
Last month, Carson spent upwards of $30,000 for a dinner set to use in his office, and this injudicious act made headlines, naturally. The Left Wing Media just won’t give the Kakistocrats Who Don’t Have Your Backs in the Trump Admin a break–jeez! The Left Wing media in case you’ve forgotten is any story, publication, or reporter who relays a true, well-documented, assiduously fact-checked report on right-wing politics that rightly sheds a negative light on it because.
Anyway, there’s Carson, snoozing–or wide awake (who can tell?)–by a campfire, leaning on his wife. Let’s go introduce ourselves. On second thought, let’s not. Mrs. Carson looks like she’s still upset that Carson’s official explanation for buying the overpriced dinner set was that he gave that responsibility to his wife, and that’s what she did, Women! Am I right? They need to be thrown under a bus sometimes. It’s their place, when they’re not in the bedroom or the kitchen, that is.
And: The many uses of money, including silencing people.
Trump Trailways
Ah, yes. The hallmark of old-school poverty, the railroad. A place where vagrants and ne’er-do-wells can drift from town to town, panhandling, running cons, flat-out stealing, and–oh, God, no! It can’t be! O, Republican Gods, tell us that our eyes deceive us! No, oh dear readers, no. They don’t! It’s Donald and Melania bickering about who’s going to get the lion’s share, to use an oh-so-wrong phrase here, of a rat they’re boiling to eat for dinner.
“Look, Melania, I get the middle this time,” I think Trump’s saying. “And stop bringing up that New York magazine article by Jonathan Chait as one of the reasons we live in this godforsaken place.”
“How I can stop bringing it up?” Melania demands in her Slovenian accent. “In it, Chait wrote, ‘The virtue of bribery is a subject of genuine conviction for Trump, whose entrĂ©e to politics came via transactional relationships with New York politicians as well as Mafia figures.’ You embarrass yourself, me, and worse of all, our son, Barron! I never forgive you for this!” she’s saying, turning her nose up at the rat and her whole body sideways.
Oh, the humanity. Let’s leave these two to do the whole argue-apologize thing by themselves. Back away before they see us, real easy-like.
Getting Out of Dodge
Amid the call-and-response chirps of crickets and the eye-stinging fumes of trash burned to stay warm, allow me to offer a few parting thoughts. You need a moment to process all this, I’m sure, my dear readers. The mighty, proud people you once thought of as doing so right-wing well are actually living lives of desperate, appalling squalor.
Oh, I know, I know! It’s not the fact they are making careers out of buying and selling political favors that bothers you–oh, god no, it’s not that! I wouldn’t think that for an Alt-second. We love their corruption and their corruptibility–even get off on it–over here at on the right wing of the political spectrum. It’s just that you–and I–didn’t think it had damaged our Alt-heroes so thoroughly to be actively horrible, moralless human beings that it had become apparent in their vile comportment, mean means, and icky zip code. Yes, Corruptiontown will take a spell to leave your nightmares. But that’s why you have all the cash, guns, and privilege that you have. You need to buy, shoot, and self-entitle your way to unseeing this. In the meantime, let’s give it at least seven days until we speak or lay eyes on each other again, readers. Serendipitously, that’s when my next column will be published.
Also: We jack it up even more–the Sinclair Broadcasting “script.”
I’ll leave you to do burning out your corneas, or however you plan to injure yourself into making this as if it never happened. And as always, until next week: bon voyage!
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