For the last three-in-a-half years, like countless others, I’ve devoted way too much of my mental energies to one Donald. J. Trump, our President. Just saying that still widens my eyes at times. No, that’s a lie, every time I say it.
See, lying is contagious.
The dictator of my disposition, Trump literally owns my days. I drive around the state each day, through all parts, dialed in on the satellite, listening to each shameful moment and legitimate accomplishment our 45th President has displayed throughout his first term.
It’s a mind fuck, to say the least.
But, I still don’t consider this a bad thing. We all should be fully invested in the workings of our government, trying to familiarize ourselves with policy and the motivations behind the decision makers. After all, we are footing the bill. And it’s okay we pretend to know what we’re talking about. We don’t though. I know nothing. You know nothing. We all know nothing…beyond what we believe in. It’s okay. It kills time, works the brain, heats the anger, inspires conversation.
Those are good things.
But, my Gad!, it’s Trump. And a cat like that — a guy that’s been working that same narcissistic angle for years and years in real estate and entertainment — was never going to do a 180 and become a choir boy. Come on. Way too late. The man is 73 years old with all the swagger of a dart champ at a local wet hole. He is who he is.
But it works! Can’t deny it. His game works with remarkable success… so far. Or so I’m told.
I only wish it was good enough for Trump to coolly recognize that he’s crushing it at his job, killing it on many fronts. Sure, he’s a lawless son of a bitch, a festering bore, crazy at the core and friendless, I’m sure. But still, the economy is growing. More jobs, more options. 401K plans are blasting off. Our military is “Grade A” whoop ass and I don’t even need to wear a winter coat during the month of February anymore. The climate is doing just fine.
Can’t help it, though. The leader of the free world is the same guy that when I watch reruns of “The Roast of Donald Trump” on Comedy Central, I can barely keep the Cheez-Its down. I’m laughing too hard! Outlaw comedians, a dozen of them, each tearing our future President to shreds, his kids to shreds, his wife to shreds, right there on TV for millions to watch. And he signed off on it.
No sign of Don Rickles in the house. I know I’m not supposed to link the two moments, but I can’t help it. It’s the crack I feed on. Tastes terrible, but I keep licking on it.
Anyways, anyways…see what happens? Like El Coco, Trump likes to linger and he just killed my lead by forcing me to ramble. See, everything is Trumps fault!
So, with great pleasure, I plan to make our President proud and get to rambling. I plan to do what I’ve done for years during the NH Primaries. I will shoulder my way through downtown Manchester, through legions of egos, both onstage and off, and fight back the fear of asking a question to the nominees in front of a slew of nationally established strangers and see where the query lands.
This is not my comfort zone. But who cares. I’m going in.
I love seeing the live news broadcasts in front of the Double Tree, matching up the faces to the memory, quizzing myself on what stations those probing eyes work at. I soon recognize a face, then turn away, hoping the true image doesn’t kill the real image and wreck everything, sickened by what I saw. Or, so enamored that I follow them around the city as closely as the law will allow.
But that’s the fluff. The meat of the primary is in the contenders. By this point, if you don’t know who’s still in the running to go against Trump, you don’t care. I get it. Life…blah, blah, blah. But someone has to be out there looking out for your best interest. Sizing up the bullshit.
Tax plan? Medicare plan? Debt termination bill? Who knows. Who cares at this point.
I just want to look one of these young David’s in the eyes and truly believe they have what it takes to slay the dragon, to take down Goliath. If you want to beat a beast you have to be a beast. And Trump loves nothing more than getting into the gutter and slugging it out, breaking their spirit, confusing everyone into believing what’s wrong is right and what’s right is no more and what once was our ours is now all his.
So, show us some teeth contenders. Lets see them chops.
Rob Azevedo writes about the music scene, and just about anything else he has an opinion about in his city. Reach him at firstname.lastname@example.org