Mmm–when smells mingle in potpourri it’s nice, but not when races do!/Image: Licensed Adobe stock, Luca Lorenzelli.
I never thought I’d say this, dear readers, but anytime one thinks, “It can’t more Alt,” about the Trump Era, it’s a sure sign you will say that very phrase again in the future: the behind-closed-doors, backstage, and underground of Washington D.C. have been oddly silent so far this week. Or rather, there isn’t one overarching, unnecessary, and unhelpful drama causing people to whisper, murmur, and mutter under their breath about it. Perhaps we’ve reached the point where the New Normal becomes the New Commonplace, and the endless parade of carnival-act-entertainment known as nine to five, Monday through Friday in the Trump White House and environs has finally become so de rigeur that it’s no longer of note even to me, who actually takes notes on it.
Still, I did hear some stuff, and I present it to you below, as always.
Human Facsimiles of Inside the Beltway
Inspired by the wildly-successful website that gave new meaning to the term, “Why the hell didn’t I think of that?!” Humans of New York (HONY), the decidedly less-amenable-to-a-mellifluous-abbreviation HOWDC, Humans of Washington, D.C. has, in effect and in interviews on the street, become the site where Alt-righters offer the sacrament of confession, hoping in some small way god will have pity on their souls when the day of judgment comes–but it probably never will, and they’ll escape this nightmare we’re all living and they’re causing without facing any consequences. In the meantime, here’s a sampling of that website that’ll have you clicking back before you can tweet an inane comment!
“I moved to D.C. in 2016 to be part of the swamp-draining I thought the Trump Administration was going to spearhead. Now, when I look in the mirror, I see only The Creature From the Black Lagoon. I hate my life. If it weren’t for my kids, I’d probably have driven my car into the Potomac by now. What am I teaching them by working for Trump? And how long can I keep saying, ‘Go clean your room,’ when they ask me why Uncle Trump did so-and-so?”
“Why–just why? Why did I vote for Trump? Why is he a complete nightmare of a person and a president–dear god, why?!? Oh, wait–he freed three hostages? He’s got my vote in 2020!”
“Can you move?!? I need to get to my job in the municipal sanitation department–jeez! What’s that? Oh, how do I like my job? Well, let’s see: I could be crushed in the grinding machinery of the truck every morning; the benefits are almost non-existent; I’m constantly sleep-deprived; and my family’s barely getting by. I blame Obama and Hillary and Chuck Schumer and Nancy Pelosi for it–at least that’s who I heard was to blame on Fox News as I drifted of to a non-restorative shif-work-horrible sleep last night.”
stexxy.com
For any SYRW readers not lucky enough to be quite as Alt-in-the-know as I, Bubbles, “stexy” is a term Trump Admin use only among themselves. It means “stupid” and “sexy”–“stexy!” Here are some ways it might be used, “Oh-em-gee, girl, you look so stexy, you’ll definitely get your ‘p’ grabbed by President Trump today!… I am so hard up, I’m about to go hit on that stexy vagrant over there scowling at us–oh, hey, General Kelly!… I think Sally is so cute, but she’s not didn’t get hired to be a member of Team Trump, so she’s can’t be that dumb, making her not all that stexy.” Like the argot of most minority groups, this minority group not in the least bit disadvantaged and willfully self-other-ing, a person’s use of “stexy” establishes or substantiates his (but not “her” cuz dames don’t matter) membership in the group, lets other members know who–even where–they are, and just makes for a not-at-all-fun word to say. Below, I reproduce some excerpts from communication on stexxy.com I thought might look familiar to you.
Stexxy.com, now, lovely readers, is the Trump Admin-only dating website that requires a super-secret password to get into. I don’t have that password, but I’m not above looking over at someone’s computer screen in the outdoor seating area of Let’s Get Some Chao, the right-wing-themed eatery named after Secretary of Transportation Elaine Chao. Here are some disjointed snippets of profiles, direct messages, and other text I saw as a result of my neck-craning efforts.
“Non-single, very orange, Slav-o-phile in the highest political post in the U.S. of A. seeks yet another sexual conquest. I talk a big game, but you know I’m awful in bed. If you’re masochistic enough to respond, let’s get our 50 Shades of Red conservative groove thang on, boo! If you’ve read this far, you have just the stomach-of-steel to tolerate me. Oh, also I have millions of dollars, so there’s that. Send me a message!”
“If you like the whole tanning salon-cured, bleached-blond, it’s-December-why-are-you-wearing-a-sleeveless-dress pollster-turned-Alt-right-mouthpiece thing, then I’m your gal. I don’t care who you are; what you do; or what you don’t do, more importantly: I’m just looking for something to give me purpose, and I need for it to pay, so I can tell myself I’m doing it to put food on the table for my family. Bring your checkbook! If you’re done saying, ‘Oh, please! Get a f—–g grip,’ and rolling your eyes, pay me a little attention, wouldya?” click on my profile, dudes!
And: The four right-wing hair-care products to tame your Alt-tresses.
“Non-single, Christian, white male, available for impregnating a mistress, then pressuring her into having an abortion, while simultaneously supporting legislation that seeks to limit a woman’s right to choose.”
Mad Hatter’s Tea Party
When I, Merri Ment, was young, like many kids, I was drawn to Disney’s Alice In Wonderland, but also found it hella disturbing. Most early Disney fare has a dark undercurrent, but Alice is conspicuously free of any cutesy characters, joyous music, or satisfying climaxes. It’s just one disturbing encounter for poor Alice after another, but drawn with a touch so delicate it makes a flower petal seem like sandpaper, spoken with a voice so childlike it makes a fetus seem like it has rights, and written with a pen so exquisite it makes Marie Antoinette’s quill seem like a Bic. The epitome of that is the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party, and who can forget when he looks into the camera, his tongue hanging out, and shakes his head from side-to-side in total derangement? Clearly, not I, Merri Ment.
I heard, from a very connected D.C. source of mine, as always, that to let off steam, bond with fellow degenerates, and just let their over-processed hair down, Team Trump has happy hour at a local bar. By six o’clock, it turns into a right-wing and flesh-and-blood version of the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. It’s full of unanswerable questions, torturous labyrinths that make you feel like you’ll never be safe or comfortable again, and sometimes a member of the gang even shrinks down to one centimeter tall and falls into a teacup!
Out of Doubt
For a moment there, dear readers, I experienced a glimmer of self-doubt, one who wasn’t sure you got anything out of this article. Thank god it passed in a nanosecond or less, because for a moment I know the horror of being a person with self-awareness, one who wants and needs things, i.e., the type with a modicum of humility and the will to strive to be better. That person, readers, grows up to be a liberal. Ugh! Luckily, after that shudder of huamn-hood passed I returned to being the kind of person who likes buying stuff to fill a void that will never be filled by the consumerism I’m addicted to, a person who sees her societal milieu’s betterment as unrelated to her own, and a person who gives exactly zero f—s about the struggles or experiences of others: a member of the right wing of the political spectrum.
Just think–if that moment hadn’t gone extinct like millions of species every day due to human actions, this ludicrous website and my useless gossip column for it might cease to exist. That notion is simply too disturbing to even continue to entertain. So, until next week, remember: you didn’t hear this from me!
Also: Four reasons the Tiny House Movement is so very Alt-right!
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