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A Note to the Residents of Trumptardia

“When and if fascism comes to America it will not be labeled ‘made in Germany’; it will not be marked with a swastika; it will not even be called fascism; it will be called, of course, ‘Americanism’.” -Professor Luccock

I know why you did it. You see, unlike most people who think you lot are just inbred rednecks (no doubt there are some among you, James Woods perhaps) who live in shacks by the swamp and eat gator 3 times a day, I understand your motive. You consider yourselves to be the ignored, the outcasts that have been left to fend for yourselves. You came from towns where factory life wasn’t just a romanticized vision of 1970’s America. I understand that. I honestly do. In a lot of ways you share a similar mindset with the original hells angels. You feel like you got left behind by DC so you were going to make them pay. I hate to break it to you, but it would have been better if you were just dumb ignorant yokels that couldn’t read even the shortest of Dr. Seuss books. At least then we could pass off your incredible lack of empathy, common sense, and intelligence to your gene pool. We could say things like “Oh, you’ll have to excuse Mark, yeah he’s a Trump supporter, but his Uncle Father dropped him on his head when he was three and he ain’t been right since.” Unfortunately, the truth is that you don’t give a single shit about the country. In fact, you don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself. You just wanted someone to blame for the fact that your lot in life wasn’t as good as you thought it should have been. You wanted to set the world on fire but you didn’t have the means to do it until that bloated orange authoritarian stepped into the spotlight.

Trump never hid his authoritarian tendencies. During his campaign he repeatedly wondered out loud if maybe the constitution was past its due date. He repeatedly trashed anyone that didn’t support him including veterans and disabled folk. He trashed our allies and he trashed our values. But you didn’t care because the people you were blaming for your lot in life were “butthurt” by all of it. Suddenly the snowflakes became the enemy. I was one of the members of the press that you hassled during a Michigan stop. I was there to report nothing but the truth and all you did for two straight hours before he stepped on stage was turn to the cage we had been put in and call us nazis and traitors. You did all of this because you wanted to be somebody. You wanted to count. I hope you feel like it was worth it, because here’s a newsflash: you will never be somebody and you will never count. You’ve shown your true colors by standing in line with a man who is dismantling decency second by second. You support a man who lies literally every single fucking day. You give your money willingly to an administration that is so corrupt (Scott Pruitt) that it makes Spiro Agnew look like a choir boy. You stand by an administration who blames democrats for a law that it could easily overturn but won’t. Thus everyday we get to witness children being wrenched away from parents and being stuck in cages as opposed to being sent back home with their families. You support a man who uses the Bible to justify things as opposed to the constitution upon which this country was founded. No, you will never count. When you are dead and gone, no one will remember you. Your life’s “work” will slip into the cracks of time and you will be forgotten. Just as it should be. You are not decent people. You are not the “misunderstood” patriots that the media keeps trying to paint you as. 100 years from now, when history classes cover this period of time, they won’t say “I wonder who those brave souls were that ushered in this new era of authoritarianism.” No, they will look at each other in disbelief and say “what kind of dumb fuck would ever willingly support this?” Your stupidity will last longer than your bloodline ever will and at night when you close your eyes, I hope your final thought before sleep takes you is that people like me will always be here to remind you of your treachery and your dumb fuckery. Enjoy your moment in the spotlight, because when that spotlight comes crashing down, there will be hell to pay, and I think you’ll find out that the very suckfish you support right now will be the ones turning on you.

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Lessons From Wonderland

“If you don’t know where you’re going, any road can take you there.” – Alice in Wonderland

When I tell people that Alice in Wonderland actually has a pretty good philosophical foundation, I either get the “Oh my god, you know me” or the always amazing “Son, have you ever considered putting the crack pipe down?” I realize that taken at face value, the world of Wonderland can pretty much be written off as the ravings of someone in the middle of an opium binge. That being said, if you give me ten minutes, I’d like to try to change your mind. Alice in Wonderland has some pretty badass life lessons in it if you’re willing to look between the caterpillar’s smoke rings. Don’t believe me? Try these on:

There’s logic in nonsense: Alice in Wonderland goes out of it’s way to throw as much gibberish at you as possible. However, if you think about it, it’s no stranger than the world we live in. The Universe doesn’t play by our rules. We like order and we like things to make sense. The Universe hands us a beer, punches us in the face, then tells us it loves us. Things happen that have no explanation or rational reason. At the end of the day, with all the weirdness that goes on around us, it only makes sense to say that there’s sense in nonsense. It’s part of what makes life amazing.

Be you, Be weird: It would not be wrong to say that most of the inhabitants of Wonderland could be considered batshit crazy by our society’s standards. It would also not be wrong to say that they are also unapologetically themselves. That in and of itself may be the most important part of Wonderland. It seems like everywhere you look today, there are people who try to fit who they are into a neat small box. These are the people who look like they’ve got it figured out on the outside but are actually screaming on the inside. This world…we are here for such a short period of time. Why waste it trying to be something you’re not? Who cares if people think you’re strange? You don’t owe them anything. You do, however, owe it to yourself to be true to who you are. I get called weird, strange, and daffy on a near daily basis, but you know what? At least people know that what they get from me is real. There are no walls or masks, just this mess of sarcastically weird carbon.

Dare to Dream: Alice was a dreamer. To the people around her, it was considered a serious flaw. This is perhaps the most beautiful part of Alice in Wonderland. In a world that wants itself to be grounded in reality, it’s greatest achievements were reached by dreamers. It was the dreamers who dared look beyond the horizon and gave us the universe. It was the dreamers who took ground travel and let it soar among the clouds. It was the dreamers who gave us the books that touched our hearts and helped shape who we would become. It was dreamers that used the power of music to heal broken hearts. Just because people say it’s impossible, it doesn’t mean it can’t happen. Go back in time and tell Bill Shakespeare about a laptop and watch him laugh you out of his hut. So be you, be weird, dream a thousand things before breakfast, and embrace the nonsense of this world. Like Alice said “You’re entirely bonkers, but I’ll you a secret: all the best people are.”

A Year Later, A Decade Wiser

“Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.” – George Eliot

At this precise time last March 6th, I was at work awaiting word from my mother on the progress of my Dad’s bone spur removal surgery. Never in a million years did I think that by 9:30 that night, I’d be living in a world without him. In the coming days I heard from friends who had lost one or both parents before the age of 40. “The hurt will never go away, you’ll just get used to it” or “You’ll go through the stages of grief when you least expect it. Maybe not all five of them, but it will happen.” Those words, while greatly appreciated, also held no context for me. People said I’d go through an anger stage which I found ridiculous. I’d never be angry at my father for dying. Then one day I found myself in the back of our office taking a metal baseball bat to a stack of old VCR’s while tears of anger and frustration flowed freely. So much for not being angry. They said I would go through a bargaining stage. I scoffed. Me? Bargain? I don’t bargain with anything. Well, at least until I found myself at Gallup park promising the Universe I’d become the male version of Mother Theresa if it would just return my dad. They told me that I’d go through a stage of depression. No big deal, I thought. I go through winter depression every November-February I pull that shit off like a champ. Until the day I found myself sitting in a mental black hole and unable to function. They told me that I would go through things that I’d not understand until I actually went through it. That part I understood. In a lot of ways it was like going through cancer. Until you actually go through it, you will never fully understand.

I think to me, the weirdest thing about my father dying, is trying to reconcile the fact that one minute my father was holding on to my arm, the next he was gone. Everyday I walk into the office that he worked at and sit down at the desk that he sat at. On the walls are the pictures he had from his football days at the University of Michigan. Everywhere I go I see traces of my father. Sometimes I’ll be minding my own business and suddenly the image of him falling to the floor will smack me in the face leaving me angry and teary eyed. Sometimes I’ll walk into a place that he used to frequent and I’ll find myself reliving conversations we had. It’s hard to fathom the fact that he’s not physically here anymore. It confuses me and often times leaves me baffled because he had always been here and now…

It’s been one year to the day since I lost my dad and yet I feel like I’ve gained a decades worth of wisdom in that time. At the end of the day there is no rhyme or reason to why he died. The only thing I do know is that every day I am surrounded by him. Whether it’s memories or pictures, or even the faces of friends he had, he’s always here. And that’s the thing isn’t it? I don’t know the meaning of death. I don’t know why it’s a part of life or what mysteries it contains, what I do know is that while my dad is no longer here physically, he’s still here in many other ways, and in a lot of ways that makes it better because whenever I miss him, I can close my eyes and take myself to whichever memory I want to be lost in. I guess in philosophical terms, that makes him very much alive.

Christmas at McKinney’s

Christmas Eve is a time when many people throw around words like magical and miracles. It’s a time when people stop taking stock of their own world and venture out to meet the needs of others. That being said, I was never much of a Christmas person. My father was a drunk and my mother was so scared of angering him that my version of a good Christmas was one in which neither one of us got beaten. That all changed on Christmas Eve of 2016. See, here in Salem Heights, MI, we don’t have much in the way of entertainment. Our town has a population of 400 and after the tree lighting ceremony on the 5th of every December, people scatter to wherever their families live and we end up with about 87 residents every Christmas. Most of them stay home Christmas Eve, but people like me, Tom Lloyd, Burt Arnold, and Chester Moran all head to McKinney’s Bar. It’s a real small place on the edge of the town limit run by a good man by the name of H.T. McKinney. Much like Tom, Burt, Chester, and myself, H.T. doesn’t have family to go back to. His wife died in a horrible car accident back in ’07 and ever since then he lights a fire in the fireplace at McKinney’s and allows us old timers to drink for free, and share our friendship for the holidays.

At any rate, in 2016, Christmas Eve fell upon us and Salem Heights thinned out. I made my way to McKinney’s where H.T had already stoked the fire so it was burning hot and bright. Chester was in the corner of the 10 stool bar and Tom was next to him staring into his customary 12 year old scotch.

“Merry Christmas, Ted!” H.T. yelled as I walked through the door.

“Merry Christmas, H! Thanks as always for the hospitality. That wind sure is blowing a storm out there, I’d hate to be stuck in this weather.” At the sound of my voice, H.T’s little eight year old Shih-Tzu Tessa came barking around the corner. “Merry Christmas to you too, Tessa Bo Bessa!” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a small piece of jerky. After all the years of coming here, I have learned that if you don’t come with treats for the beast, she will pretend you don’t exist. I watched Tessa trot back behind the bar with the jerky hanging out of her mouth.

“How’s it hanging, slick?” Chester chided from the corner.

“Ask your wife, she knows.” I responded. Chester cackled and returned to his beer. Chester had never been married and as far as I know, had never had what us old timers would call a steady. In fact, if you had told me that he had never seen a woman in a state of undress, I wouldn’t be surprised. Chester was married to the bottom of whatever beer stein sat in front of him. He wasn’t exactly an alcoholic, but I think it’s fair to say that he had a habit of confronting his demons by drinking them.

“Merry Christmas, Ted, and Bah Humbug!” That was Tom.

“Merry Christmas to you as well, Tom, I see you are in peak holiday spirit.” We both laughed at this and then I sat down next to him.

“What’ll ye be drinking tonight, Lad?’  H.T. said in his faux Irish accent.

“Rum and coke, my friend, seems like a good night for that.”

Outside the wind started howling and the snow began to fall. These Northern Michigan winters are no joke and the weather service was calling for at least a foot and a half of the white stuff plus 40 mile an hour winds.

“Jesus,” Tom started, “that wind sounds like my ex wife in bed.”

“Who are you kidding Lloyd! The only sound your ex wife ever made in bed with you was laughter.”

“Fuck you, Chester at least I’ve been in bed with a woman” Tom retorted.

Chester cackled again and then returned to his beer.

H.T. brought me my drink and topped it off with a handshake. “It’s good to see you, Ted.”

“Jesus, H, you act like you haven’t seen me every night for the last 15 years.”

“I know, Ted. It’s just good to see you.” For a moment, a brief, startling moment, H.T looked like the saddest man I had ever laid eyes on. “Now drink up ya asshole!” Suddenly his eyes were filled with life again.

 

PART 2

As the night went on, stories were shared, laughter filled the room, and at one point Chester made his case to be the next Josh Groban by standing on the bar and belting out the worst version of O, Holy Night that the world has ever been subjected to. He closed his performance by accidentally stepping off the bar and crashing to the floor cackling the entire time. The hours passes and first Chester left and then Tom left leaving H.T. and I alone with Tessa the Barbarian Shih-Tzu. H.T. brought me another drink and once again that look of unending sadness filled his eyes.

“H…what’s going on with you?”

“Ted, you started out as a customer, then you became a friend, now you are the closest thing to family I have.”

“I appreciate that, H, I feel the same way. What’s going on?”

“This is the last Christmas Eve at McKinneys.”

“What? What are you going on about, H? Is it money problems? We can help with that!”

“It’s not just money, Ted. Yeah I’m sixteen thousand in the hole, but I was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer last week. They think I’ve got a couple months left.”

My jaw hit the ground. There are some things in life that are so unexpected or so jarring that words fail to come and this was one of them.

“Jesus, H. I’m so sorry, is there anything I can do?”

“I just want to spend the last few hours of Christmas Eve in this bar with you and Tessa. I’m going turn the closed sign on and we can drink in peace. Not that anyone ever comes in here after 9 on Christmas Eve, but still. I do need to ask one favor of you, Ted.”

“Anything, H. You name it I’ll do it.”

“Will you take care of Tessa for me? I wish I could leave the bar to you as well, but as soon as I’m gone, the bank is going to take it. I’m sorry, Ted.”

“Of course I will take Tessa. Don’t worry about the bar, it’s not the building that matters, just the memories that took place inside.”

Almost immediately after I spoke, the bar door was flung open. A man in a white suit and long white hair stood in the doorway.

“I apologize, I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything, it’s just the weather outside is not conducive to driving and I saw the lights on. Is there any chance of staying until the storm dies down a little?”

I could see H silently curse himself for not shutting the bar down sooner. Then, a softness appeared in his eyes.

“Absolutely you can join us, friend. Merry Christmas, here at McKinney’s the drinks are free on Christmas Eve.”

“I thank you so much for your kindness. Although I will take a water if you don’t mind, I’m not one to indulge in drink.”

H got the man his water and watched as he sat at the far end of the bar. He did not speak nor did he focus his gaze on us. Instead, he seemed intent on staring a hole through the water glass.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, H moved back down to my end of the bar and we talked the talk of two men with no care in the world. After close to an hour and a half, the stranger spoke up at the end of the bar. “Excuse me sir, I thank you for your hospitality. With that being said, I need to speak to you, alone.”

H shot me a glance and I felt my muscles tighten. My fight or flight was suddenly on high alert.

“You can speak freely here friend, anything you need to say to me, you can say in front of my friend here.”

Without warning, the man’s arm shot out and rested on H’s shoulder. H.T.’s eyes widened for a moment and then whatever had taken place between them, passed.

“Ted, I need to talk to this man. I can’t explain why, but he’s right, it needs to be alone. I’m sorry.”

“Are you sure? I can go out back and wait just to make sure you’ll be okay. We don’t know this guy.”

“It’s okay, my friend. I need you to trust me. Go on home and I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you brother.” As he said that last part, a look spread across H’s face that I had never seen before. It filled me with instant sadness though I knew not why.

“Love you too, I’ll see you at 9 tomorrow morning.” With that I walked out of McKinney’s and into the cold, unforgiving night.

 

PART 3

The next morning I trudged through the snow to McKinney’s and was shocked to find the County Coroner’s vehicle there. I walked up to Hiram the coroner and asked him what had happened.

“We got a call this morning around 8 a.m that H.T. McKinney had just passed away. Damn shame, especially on Christmas Morning.”

I stumbled slowly towards the door my mind reeling. How was this possible? I had just seen him a few hours before. Then my mind went to the stranger. Something had happened, an argument or maybe even a robbery. Maybe he was killed in cold blood. I wheeled around and asked Hiram what he thought the cause of death was.

“Honestly, Ted? I think he died in his sleep. They found him in a chair by the fire sitting there peacefully. He did not suffer.”

I stumbled back towards the bar trying to reconcile my emotions with the information I had just been given. The next hour was filled with paperwork and condolences and things no one ever wants to deal with. Finally I was alone in the bar with Tessa who seemed a step slower. I guess it’s true that dogs are more aware than we give them credit for. After mourning in front of the fireplace and crying into a bottle of rum, Tessa and I left the bar. I walked around the front where the fresh snow hadn’t been violate by boots yet. Tessa was bounding by my side eager to get back into the warmth of a house. As I turned the corner to the far front of the bar, I heard a voice calling after me.

“Excuse me, sir!”

I turned around to see the man from the night before standing behind me.

“I am sorry for your loss, sir. It is my duty though, to give you this.” The man with the white suit and the long white hair handed me an envelope. I opened it and inside was the deed to the bar as well as sixteen thousand dollars. I looked up to ask the man what this was all about, but he was gone.

That was ten years ago, since then I have taken over the ownership of McKinney’s Bar and in the spirit of my friend H.T., drinks are free every Christmas Eve. As for the man in white, I don’t know who or what he was, it took me a long time to admit that I wasn’t crazy, because when we were in front of the bar the day H.T. died, he didn’t even leave a bootprint in the snow. It was almost like he was never there at all.

The Reflecting God

If anyone says, “I love God,” and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen. – 1 John 4:20

My dear Evangelical friends: I hope the following words reach your eyes, and I hope they offend you to no end. I hope that by the last sentence, you are foaming at the mouth and flexing your arthritis ridden knuckles in preparation for the Hallelujah beat down you are going to type in response. Why, you may ask? Because you deserve to be offended. You deserve to be offended, insulted, put out, put upon, and verbally smacked like a mouthy child. You followers of modern prophets like Mike “250k Grandstand” Pence, Steve “I speak words” Bannon, and Ted “Dildos offend me” Cruz, deserve to be ridiculed in public wherever you go. Your fake Christianity fools only those too dumb to know any better (roughly 35% of the country give or take a few). Thankfully for you, I thrive on offending assholes. And you, are the biggest browneyes of the bunch. Now, I hear you asking what you possibly could have done to make a Heathen such as I, take aim at you. Honestly, at this point all you have to do is breathe and that’s reason enough for me. That being said, for the sake of length and discussion, let’s say that the reason is that you have perverted an entire faith in the span of about 18 months. You talk about love and tolerance and yet your actions speak of hate and seclusion. You talk about America needing to find it’s moral center and returning to respecting one another and finding joys in the diversity of America. Then you back a man who is none of those. Donald Trump is your reflecting God. He is the face of your fake bullshit religion and from this day forth you will be forever known as the frauds and charlatans you are. Your speeches about god and love will be laughed at and ignored. Your attempts to say that this is Christianity will be endlessly mocked by those of us who know better. More importantly, when your god falls, and his presidency is nothing but a pile of ashes, you will have nowhere to run. Your sins will be laid bare and the scarlet letter of hypocrisy will be forever tattoed onto your forehead. While you preach the word of a megalomaniac, he is busy mocking Puerto Ricans as they struggle to survive after back to back hurricanes. As you attempt to speak about love and kindness (which you know nothing about) your god calls black men who are peacefully protesting inequality “Sons of bitches” and “traitors.” Meanwhile he speaks in front of a group of neo nazis and homophobes and says “It’s so nice to be around friends. So many friends.” You are the lowest form of human. ISIS is evil and should be eradicated, but at least they own who they are. They make no false speeches about love and acceptance when they don’t believe in it. They don’t shake the hands of the people while silently prepping to stab them in the back. You are nothing but low level talentless snake oil salesmen. You prey upon those who have been stricken desperate by your shitty unethical policies. You sell them a cure and make them believe that you and only you can help them. Then you sit back in your six homes, watching the peasants stumble around trying to find some sort of relief.

Thankfully for those of us who know better, history is full of bloviating religionists who thought they alone had the answer. Power is nothing in the hands of those who corrupt and abuse it. As the ringmasters of the past have fallen, so shall you. Your time is limited. Has been since the day you sold your soul to the devil. Wage your war now, but understand that in the end, you will be surrounded by the empty votes of those you thought disposable. You will find yourself alone in a sea of angry retaliation. Let us see how courageous you are when the skies open up and the storm comes for you. You wanted god, and you got him in all his orange glory.

 

Foghorn Leghorn and the Swastika of Doom

Well holy fuck. I step away from life for a few weeks, and y’all throw a massive Nuremburg rally without me. You even threw in (tiki) torches and “Death to Jews” chants to boot. Predictably, it blew up in your face and now one of your major mouthpieces is crying like a bitch and worried that he’s going to jail. Well no shit Sherlock. This is what happens when you throw a rally where one of your dumb as a rock supporters runs over a counter protester with a car. This isn’t even the big portion of this story. The big part of this story is that people are actually upset that your “freedom of speech” was interrupted by counter protesters who don’t take kindly to being told they should be killed off. “But CJ they have a constitutional right!” To a degree, yes they do. If they wanted to grab some signs and walk around chanting White power or Sieg Heil, great, they have every right to do so. When you strap on your firearms and you walk through the streets with torches chanting “Death to Jews”, your freedom of speech suddenly turns into a threat. Don’t believe me? Try this one on Whitey: Imagine if last Friday night it wasn’t white nazi’s or the Klan carrying guns and torches yelling “Death to Jews” but the Nation of Islam carrying guns and yelling “Death to Christians.” Don’t you dare tell me that “Oh, it’s freedom of speech, we’d be good with that.” Bullshit, you idiots would be demanding they be jailed on threats of terrorism. I’ve noticed a trend with you suckfishing whale dicks. Remember when BLM held a rally in 2016 and a cop posted on Facebook “when you encounter these protests, remember you have 3 pedals on your car. Push the right one all the way down.” Or how about this gem from Troy Baker president of the Police Union in Santa Fe when he posted a picture of a jeep running over protesters with the tagline: “All Lives Splatter nobody cares about your protest.” In 2015 a rally in Ferguson was disrupted when some asshole plowed into the crowd and hit a 16 year old girl. Not enough? Okay. How about in Southern Illinois when an SUV driving douchebag drove into a crowd of protesters yelling “ALL LIVES MATTER!” “But CJ, BLM is a terrorist organization.” AND FUCKING NAZIS AREN’T??? Are you fucking kidding me? It’s okay to mow down black lives matter protesters, but punch a nazi in the face and suddenly you’re spitting in the face of the constitution?

When I was a kid, I used to sit in my room surrounded by Batman and Captain America comic books. Even at the age of 6 before I knew what a fucking nazi was, I knew they were bad people. If they weren’t, Captain America wouldn’t keep kicking the shit out of their red skulled leader. Back then, it was common knowledge that nazi’s were to be spit on and looked at with contempt. I had a friend in grade school whose grandfather used to tell us stories about World War II. In every single story he finished up by telling us that Nazi’s must never be given a voice again. Fast forward thirty years and suddenly we are defending Nazi’s beating the shit out of people with pipes, open carrying while chanting “death to Jews” and saying that running over a protester was “justified.” We now respond to horrors with deflection. “But Obama did it too” or “But BLM blocks roadways” or “Not every nazi is a bad person.” When I used to slam Obama for the shit he did, you know what I got? “But Bush did it too” or “What about Dick Cheney” or my favorite “The teabaggers get away with it.” You know who is to blame for last Friday’s bullshit? You. Me. All of us. Because we deflect. We refuse to admit the truth to ourselves and would much rather deflect elsewhere. This country has a sickness and it’s not because of gays, or blacks, or even Donald Trump. For 241 years, this country has been built on the backs of those deemed inferior. Every generation has had a civil rights movement of sorts. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. Whether it was Indians, or the Irish, or Women, or African Americans, or Muslims, or Italians and Asians, or Gays, this country has always found an enemy to pin our faults on. The fact of the matter is that we are ALL responsible. Instead of casting blame on others, we need to look at ourselves. We talk about American values, but we don’t uphold them. We hide behind a piece of paper that some claim is a living breathing document and others claim is set in stone. Sound familiar? I believe the bible has that issue as well. Allowing violence is not an acceptance of the 1st Amendment and it is morally reprehensible. That being said, allowing intimidation and threats under the guise of freedom is equally reprehensible.

People talk about “Make America Great Again.” Truth is, from a social standpoint, America has never been great. Sure we rose from the dust faster than any other empire in the history of the world, but at what cost? We claim American exceptionalism and yet we threw people into concentration camps as well. We claim American tolerance and yet 70 years ago we had black soldiers coming home from WWII and being forced to sit in separate areas and use separate bathrooms because the very people they just defended from the Nazi’s didn’t want them there. We cry about the tearing down of Confederate statues but refuse to learn any of the lessons that war carried. “But you’re re-writing history!!” You know what, after what happened on Friday night, it’s apparent we aren’t learning from it either.

In God We Obfuscate

Last week, a photo surfaced from the White House of a bunch of Evangelical pastors laying hands on Donald Trump in the White House. One prominent evangelical leader immediately tweeted out the image with the caption: “President Trump is bringing God back to America.” So this is God, huh? It’s funny, during my many readings of the bible, I came to understand Jesus as one who didn’t turn his back on anyone, including the people that wanted to kill him. In political terms, Jesus is the kinda guy Trump Supporters love to bash. I can guarantee you, when Jesus gave his sermon on the mount, he didn’t say “Love thy God and kill the gays. While we’re at it, let’s denigrate white people (this was the middle east after all, it would be counter productive to denigrate brown people).” Whether you like to hear it or not, Christianity (as with all organized religions) has always been about control. It’s been the single greatest tactic of division in human history. Hell, look at all the wars started in the “name of God.” At least in the Middle Ages you knew who the enemy was because the Vatican made it quite clear. It was not a good time to be a witch or a brown person (has it ever been?) These days though, Evangelicals have turned Christianity into some really weird reality television version of Magic The Gathering or a role playing game. All you have to do is watch one of those doofy televangelists at work. “Are you feeling spiritually drained? Call this number now, make a $10 donation, and we will send you a bottle of prayer water.” Or my personal favorite from Benny Hinn: “Ward off energy draining demonic attacks with my prayer cloth.” Seriously, there was a time I used to think God was Colonel Sanders from Kentucky Fried Chicken, now I’m beginning to think he’s actually Gandalf from Lord of the Rings.  Half the time these daffy fuckers talk, I think I’m in the middle of a Champions of Norrath quest.

I guess my point to all this, is that Evangelicals have muddied the Christian waters so much, that it’s impossible to tell who the enemy is these days. Some days its the gays other times its brown people. According to Pat Robertson, last week it was anyone who criticized Trumpenstein. It’s almost like these people have no idea what they are talking about and are just making it up on the fly. But hey, at least in times of need they can surround you and put hands on you. The only way that sounds appealing is if there’s a happy ending. “In the name of the father, the son, and the holy load.” Too sacrilegious? I don’t care. You lost your ability to be faux outraged when you stood behind pastors like Joshua Feurstein when they went on live television and supported the terrorist attack in Orlando because the terrorists targeted gays. Enjoy Mike Pence while you can. You want salvation, and yet all you offer is confusion and division. The spotlight you are standing under may be warm and comfy right now, but it is starting to dim. When it finally burns out, you are going to wish you had a God on your side.