Biggly, Horribly Funny

He means no evil,

Perhaps,

But brings no good,

Either way.

Burdened by bigotry,

He wears a stolen crown.

It has been near six months since that terrible jest was made. It has been near six months since those terrible, tiny hands stripped Liberty’s crown, cape, and torch; left her naked, embarrassed, for the world to watch, leer, and jeer. That November night six months ago: that was the start of something yuge! Not biggly, mind you, but YUGE!

It was me that night. That November night with stars. One of the many nights with stars. One of those many nights with many stars. Bright stars. Bright stars that twinkled. And my family was there too.

We knew the outcome. We knew for certain that the country would go blue, stay blue. It was one of those things taken for granted. The election, that was more of a formality. We knew we would have a queen this year.

The contestant was laughable! A bumbling businessman, more times bankrupt than married, with yellow hair and orange skin reminiscent of my favorite cheddar-cheese corn chip snack. At rallys, his roadies chanted call-back lyrics of vague promises and worn-out racism and an America that was somehow outdated. Down here in southern California, we watched with worryless, condescending eyes the silent minority still caught in the crosshairs of each other’s ignorance.

Election night, what a farce! The cheeto and the queen walk onto stage, votes come pouring in, Florida’s lost by a few thousand, the red fire spreads, engulfs, hilarity ensues! A few months later, broken promises litter the floor. Chants of ‘Build a Wall’ turn to ‘Build a Wall around Trump’. He makes a mess (bless his little soul!), and pretends nobody notices, while screaming for more coverage of his wiretap, or ‘wiretap’, fantasies. It is rather good fun watching! The first thought in everyone’s head when ‘breaking news’ strikes the screen is ‘oh gosh, what did he do this time?’. Hmm, nice pick for Secretary of the Interior. I think his Horror the Grand Wizard would be excellent to lead Race Relations. Through laughing tears you think ‘what more can he do?’. Oh, never ask that. Forget Saturday Night Live, the real news has it beat!

But in this schadenfreude is a sort of sadness. A sadness that comes every day I say the Pledge, watch the flag unfurl and squirm in the wind, and remember one thing: Oh shoot, this is our president.