This is Trump, and as he’s signaling to Putin, we’re all going to lie down and take it./Image: Licensed Adobe stock, Willee Cole.
Hey, my right-wing Chatty Cathys!
It’s me, Bubbles MacMillan, your uber-connected right-wing gossip with some seriously juicy tidbits for you., as always. I have GOT to tell you something–but shhhhhh! You can’t tell anyone else! Lean in close!
I said lean in close, close enough so you can feel my breath dance around your ear, smell the coffee I had this morning, and taste that vague feeling of panic at having someone speaking into your ear but suppressing your instinct to push me away for the sake of decorum. Yes, apparently we rightists do still have some sense of decorum, civility, and manners, even though we elected a Neanderthal to be president and recent archaeological findings show that a total and complete lack of any sense of propriety led to the extinction of those fabulous cave-dwellers.
I, like you, watched with a deep sense of horror combined with a devastating acknowledgment that the nation I claim to be a patriot of as a member of the contemporary right wing of U.S. politics is done for as President Donald J. Trump and Russian president Vladimir Putin’s held a joint press conference in Helsinki, in which Trump essentially made a very public media circus of handing over the American democracy to an autocratic thug. Of course, I don’t have to tell you, my dear doltish Spread Your Right Wings (SYRW) readers, that despite what I felt inside I continued to cheer on our dear President like the mob-mentality a-hole I am–like we all are.
An article by Tess Bonn over at The Hill noted what a body language expert had to say about the shameless display over in Helsinki. Over drinks at A Taste of India-na, a restaurant in Washington, D.C. inspired by the inspirational Vice President Mike Pence, one of my oh-so-connected White House sources told me that the President’s handlers consulted a very different kind of expert to determine how Trump could best signal to Putin the abysmal depth of the carte-blanche the former wants the latter to know he has as the new Commissar of the U.S.S.R–er A.: a canine body language expert! Thanks to his super-subtle body language cues, it’s clear to Putin that Trump wants himself and all of us to be in a relationship of servile obeisance to Russia.
I Smell a Rat
Except it’s in your crotch. The first thing our canine body language expert, Dr. Ceasra Milano, noted about Trump and Putin’s meeting when we played the video back in slo-mo for her, was that Trump rushed over to Trump upon entering the same room as him and buried his muzzle in Putin’s crotch. As we all do when a dog does this, Putin felt bashful and told him to stop. But you could also kinda tell he liked it, and that’s sort of the eternal conundrum for us all with dog-face-in-junk.
Related: DIY Deconstruction projects for your ever-so-Alt home!
Wherefore Were’t Thou
When a dog greets you by licking your face, recounted dog expert Alexandra Horowitz in her book Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell, and Know, it’s because their tongues are the home of the sensation of the faculty of taste, and taste is so closely linked to smel. And, as any dog owner knows–except you, because you’re right-wing numbnuts–dogs have a sense of smell hundreds of times more sensitive than that of humans. By licking your face when they see you, your dog wants to find out where you, the most important person in his/her life, has just been.
And so, when Trump licked all up in Putin’s face, he simply wanted to know where his master–although now the Liberals are not even allowing us to call pets their owners’ property, but insisting we call them “companions,” as if we grant basic rights to sentient beings!–had been. He wuvs his masteww, yes he does. Yes, he does. Whoshe a good wittew boy getting Daddy’s face all wet with saliva? Yesh, you are! Yesh, you are!
That’ll Do
Another classic of dog behavior that Trump mimicked was humping Putin’s leg. This means, not as most people commonly assume, that he wants to f–k Putin. It means he wants to get f—-d by Putin. And if since he does, he’s going to. And by extension, all citizens of the U.S. of A. are going to! If this seems unfair–then you’re probably a Liberal. In which case: buh-bye!
Dead Mean Tell No Tells
Or so goes the old mafia saying, meaning a sure way to shut up a snitch before s/he snitches is to kill her/him. When you’re dead, you have no defenses left. You have no nothing left, and that includes defense, in fact. And when you’re dead/have no defenses left you roll over and expose your abdomen, the only thing standing between most of your vital organs and all. the things that would infect, impale, and generally damage those intestinal lovelies called “guts.” It’s the ultimate show of deference and trust. And so Trump wanted to signal to Putin our utter and complete vulnerability to Russia when he dropped to the floor, rolled over and showed Putin his belly. His tongue even fell to the side in that wacky, goofy way that dogs’ often do when they do the same.
And: Squashing meals for munch on as we rightists quash dissent.
Investigatory Impulses
Horowitz also notes in her book that part of the reason humans react so viscerally and positively to dogs is…that look. Who can forget the experience, one that is as deeply spiritual the first time you have it as it is every other time after: when a dog looks into your eyes. You feel their limitless capacity for love, the way they want to see, know, and understand everything about you in the most simple, good, and benevolent way possible. So it was for Putin when his bitch, Trump, looked into his eyes, coking his head to the side a little to say, “Tell me everything–or more importantly, ask me anything.
If You’ve Read To This Point
Then you’re different than 99 percent of readers of this website. I’m sure this column by yours truly has you thinking, yes, Bubbles, but every dog has his day, let sleeping dogs lie, and it’s a dog eat dog world. I hear you, I see your struggle–even though I’m Alt, and I thus noticing, acknowledging, or validating anyone but myself is impossible for me–and I offer you the following sage words in response: Bow wow wow. No, dear readers, Bow Wow Wow wasn’t just a 1980s punk band. It’s also what I have to say to you in response to your listing to me a bunch of random, non-sequitur idioms related to dogs.
But seriously, this was some of the best gossip I’ve had for you in a long time. As always, I found it oddly titillating and a turn on. It made me, to be frank, want to do the horizontal tango with Trump. Normally, my feelings for him are of platonic admiration, however. As regular readers of my column (so, basically no one) will know, my first and most true love is, unfortunately, Special Counsel Robert Mueller. He’s persecuting or dear, innocent Trump, as you know, so my feelings for him are a constant source of inner conflict and strife for me. But at least I have you, my Alt-besties, to dish about it with.
Until next week, SYRW readers, remember: you didn’t hear this from me!
Also: The 3 Alt-Right blood sports you’ve gotta get in on NOW!
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