Yeah…you’re so fired, you Alt-y–don’t let the door hit you on your Republican red ass on the way out./Image: Licensed Adobe stock, imtmphoto.
How are we doing, my questioning, conservative readers?
As I look at over this pile of letters sitting on my desk at the dark, stagnant-air at the Spread Your Right Wings (SYRW) offices out the tiny window I got lucky to win a cubicle looking out on–even though it looks out onto a brick wall–I feel the following, deeply: extreme annoyance at all of you who’ve written me for not being able to figure your ultimately inconsequential “problems,” stupefication that you would turn to this idiot website and its unqualified, self-obsessed advice columnist (moi) in your need, and pit for all us all that we haven’f figured out that right-wing politics and ideology are so very stupid. Despite all that: self-deluded-into-being-happy Monday to you, my dears! I have a feeling–aside from the itch I had to get a special cream for this weekend at the pharmy–that it’s going to be a week so conservatively-killer, so traditionalist-ish-ly terrific, and so reactionarily right-wing, we’re all going to descend further into the collective madness that is the Trump Era.
This week’s reader question is a great way to commence this sad, swift spiraling of ours. The reason for that, SYRW readers, is that I advise a reader to ask WWTD–What Would Trump Do–as always and forever. Read on!
Related: The TV commercial scripts Mick Mulvaney’s considering to advertise that he’s bribable.
Dear Kaylee,
I write to you today for help in my rightist pursuits on the job–they’re hard-line-conservative because I, one of the most retrograde thinkers you could imagine, and I happily poison all my affairs with my pollute-y Trumpian political philosophy. I’m a middle-aged, conserva-man living in the Southwest of this country that I profess to love but do my best to destroy by being a Republican ass-munch. I work at a Misfortune 500–a list of the 500 LLC’s in the USA who fare the worst profit-wise. And I didn’t make a similar oversight recently at work, and I went for the vaginal gusto when a coworker came into work dressed in a way that I found titillating. I’m up for a performance review, and my coworkers, whom I perceive to be a bunch of losers who leave pussies ungrabbed despite their lusty, lascivious, and lewd feelings. That’s just not me! My coworkers are warning me ahead of my boss’ input that my deranged, ill-informed-and proud, and downright disgusting act will be my undoing at work. They say I’ll be canned faster than Paul Manafort can’t destroy a hard drive after hearing a knock at his door. Should I swallow my virile, Alt-vivacious, vim-and-vigor pride and apologize to my boss, hoping he’ll have mercy on my soon-to-be-Chapter-11 ass?
Confused in Cincinnati
Dear Confused,
Normally, I go with my gut response, tidied up and toned down for response-based imparting unto my readers. But right now I’m torn between my desire to give you good advice, and well, my desire for you. There’s something so–oh, what’s the word?–Trumpian about your patriarchal passion, your macho mischievousness, and your sexy stupid that just screams, “Build. The. Wall! Lock. Her. Up.” And that’s Kaylee code for “Tear. Off. Clothes! Let’s. Lock. Lips.” But I simply must remember all my advisory ethics, my guidance guides, and my virtuous value system. Just kidding! That’s is so not how we conservatives do in the Trump Era.
And, so: do NOT, whatever you do, listen to your wet-but-not-in-that-way-blanket friends rain on your way dude-privilege. After all, our dear, sweet Alt-hero President Donald Trump isn’t, according to an article by journalists Jonathan Martin, Alexander Burns, and Maggie Haberman over at the New York Times.
“President Trump is privately rejecting the growing consensus among Republican leaders that they may lose the House and possibly the Senate in November, leaving party officials and the president’s advisers nervous that he does not grasp the gravity of the threat they face in the midterm elections,” reported Martin, Burns, and Haberman.
And: The real story behind Ronny Jackson’s short fall from not-even-grace.
Talk to the Hand
You need to reject, with everything in your non-Jewish white guy being, any attempts to quell your crazy, tamp down your terror, or eighty-six your testosterone-based edginess. Do you–and keep livin’ large, in charge, and penile-discharge. These coworkers of yours are too boring and bland–and lack that orange skin hue, I’m guessing–to get what a fabulous guy you are.
In fact, even good-natured ribbing is one-hundred percent unacceptable from such flagrant killjoys. If they were to suggest a roast of you–which would show you have a sense of humor about yourself, don’t actually buy the ridiculous political story you’re telling the world, and indicate good character and a healthy ego–you should simply schedule an asinine appointment at the same time, wordlessly telling them with your planning choices that such teasing, mockery, and joke-telling isn’t something you’re okay with. Trump did just this, according to an article by Justin Carrisimo of CBS News.
You must do this because you’re right-wing, and you hate yourself and should, you’re a huge dumb-ass under your wispy-haired hood, and your gargantuan ego needs to always feel good (in the simplest most basic ways of the latter term). And also–you know what to do with a tease, I can tell. So, there’s that.
Keep on, keeping on with your delicate, non-durable, ultimately-self-immolating Alt-life project, as Trump is with his own.
Idiotic Inspiration
I told you, did I not, readers, that the above reader question and my ensuing answer would provide you with an abundance, a surfeit, and a wealth–and above all else, for us, it’s eternally, ever before-and-after, and Alt-always about wealth–to live your worst Alt-life, as the tagline for this wonderful website goes? It’s hard to imagine that the Republican political scene can get worse, but every day, without fail, it does. And as Trump goes, so go we. When they go high, we get our shovels, roll up our sleeves, wipe the sweat from our brows, and continue digging to get lower–and deepen our cultural graves, so that when we finally enter them, the fall will be as stupendous, embarrassing-for-everyone, and complete-and-total-cultural-irrelevance-y as possible. When you enact in your own life, in foolishly creative and freakishly collusive ways, the above advice your grave-digging pursuits will be the better for it. I promise you that, not that I actually care that much.
And, between now and my next column on this day, at this time—ask questions, promise me you will fail to grow and evolve when you get the Alt-answers to your navel-gazingly introspective questions, at least one per week of which comes from me!
Also: Join SYRW as we climb the fearsome Mt. Votersuppression.
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© 2018 Akbar Khan
