Politically Woke Monster

I blame my wife. In fact, all of you guys should blame her.

Years ago, we were hanging out, and as is her wont to do, while reading the news, she told me that someone had died.

I put on a caring face. "Aw, that's too bad."

Soooooooo many crickets as she stared at me. "You have no idea who I'm talking about, do you?"

"Sure I do! He's that...you know...that one guy...in, um, politics who--"

"You don't have a clue."

Shamefully, I confessed. "No, but hey, you know what's on TV tonight?" Master of changing the subject, I tried to steer into more comfortable waters, a shallow and narrow creek of familiarity.

But she wasn't having it. "You don't know what's going on around you in the world. When was the last time you picked up a newspaper?"

"Um...do they still make those?"

"Or when was the last time you listened to the news?"

The shame set in. Secretly, I started reading the news. And the way of the world was kinda upsetting, what with rampant racism, hatred, shootings, etc. Occasionally, there'd be a nice puppy story, but that's not what interested me. Nor, apparently anyone else, for the more sensationalist stories proved to be the most popular. It became like gawking at a car wreck. I just couldn't turn away.

However, shortly after my awakening, I hoped to impress my wife while we were watching Saturday Night Live's Weekend Update segment. I'd offer pertinent comments here and there.

It worked! I was outta the doghouse of ignorance! However...once unleashed, this dog turned rabid for news.

I couldn't stop. I was addicted. And all of the news was depressing. Then Trump came along and made matters much, much worse.

At nighttime, while in bed, I would rant about Trump's newest tirade of crazy. Eventually, my wife got sick of the genie she'd unbottled and told me, "I don't want to hear it. I don't even want to hear that man's name. Just quit talking to me about it."

Well, hell. During the pandemic, who else could I rant on about Trump to? I had a particular itch that I just couldn't scratch. To make matters worse, talking to people about Trump was either preaching to the converted or ending up in a screaming match with the True Believers. Both options were a colossal waste of time and energy and emotion.

Yet I carried on. I took my need to talk Trump to my daughter. She got sick of talking about him, too. She said, "You know before Trump, you never talked about politics. And my mom's the same way. Except for she talks about how great he is."

Huh. My daughter was right. Back when I was married to my daughter's mother, so long ago it seems hazy now, I remembered we never did talk about politics. To me it was unfathomable. What in the world did we talk about?

I think there's one real lesson to be gathered in all of this... Donald J. Trump has been responsible for uniting the American people in a news-awakened country! Thanks, Donnie!

While not quite news-worthy (not even close), and if you're sick of fighting with friends and family over politics, take a break and check out my mystery comedy, Bad Day in a Banana Hammock. You have my personal guarantee that there's not a lick of politics and Trump doesn't rear his orange head once.

A Child's-Eye View of President Trump

"Daddy?"

"What's up, big guy?" asked Dad.

"What's a golden shower?"

Dad peered over his glasses, sighed at his son. Folded his newspaper (not that anyone reads 'em anymore) over his knee. Took his sweet time, formulating an answer.

"Why do you ask, Cal?"

"At school, the boys say Prezdent Trumps likes golden showers. From Russians."

"Well...sometimes in Russia, um...the weather's different. Yeah... Sometimes it's so awful, the rain's golden there. I imagine our president was just remarking about how nice it felt when he visited."

"Oh." Cal scratched his bottom. Returned his thumb to his mouth. Clearly now wasn't the time to preach good hygiene. "But...the boys say girls like to wee-wee on our prezdent." Tears welled in Cal's eyes. Big, huge, dentist-office-painting-eyed tears. "That's not true, right Daddy?... Right?"

Absolutely at a loss, Dad gave Cal a hair-ruffle, signifying nothing. "Of course it's not true, Cal! Why...our president would never behave in such a manner."

"Kay. But..." Cal danced, a disturbing potty dance jig. Maybe a little too disturbing for a six-year-old. "...why does he hate cats?"

"Hmm? Whatever do you mean, little buddy?"

"Well, the prezdent says he likes to grab pussies. And he says it in a mean way."

"Uhhh... No, no, no. Nooooo. Absolutely not mean. Nuh-uh. President Trump, um, means it in a nice way. He's quite the animal lover."

"Really?" Cal's eyes glistened with hope.

"Oh, sure. He...ah..."

"Is Me... Mel...  Meliona his pet?"

"You got it, big guy! Sure! Say, isn't it about time for bed? Have you brushed--"

"What's Stormy Daniels?"

Mentally exhausted, Dad sat back. Took a big swig from his nightly companion, Mr. J. Daniels. "She's..." Another drink followed. "She's...a weatherperson. Yeah, that's what she is! Get it? Stormy? Just like her name. She...likes to predict weather for our president."

"You mean like golden showers?"

"Good night, son!"

"Night, Daddy." Cal ran up, gave Dad a needed hug. "You're the bestest."

"As you are, son."

"Some day I wanna be just like prezdent Trump."

"Um..."

(You guys need a laugh after this all-too-true presentation of the presidential worthiness of Trump? Look no further than NIGHTMARE OF NANNIES!)

Click for Trump free comedy and mystery!