I find myself, when lack of original thought plagues me, going back to some of my fav pop culture quotes. This gem was uttered by the lovely Joan Cusack “hi Rose” in one of the Adams Family movies. Joan plays a blonde but brilliant hussie/golddigger after Uncle Fester’s fortune (I smell another sequel!). If only everyone were so blatantly honest. The tyranny of social graces. The constant attention deficit generation loop of air-quote “journalism” continues to interrupt my hunger for a secular morsel of genuine creative inspiration with the dreaded presidential election reality show known as Trump versus everyone who isn’t white. Whilst passing Trump Tower yesterday there seemed to be even more police presence holding up traffic on the ant farm known as 5th Avenue. Yet I don’t see a whole lot of the Make America Great Again caps, even on the ever-present tourists, most of whom seem to be from Sweden or the Netherlands based on their pasty white miles of skin and bones and looks of blank terror. Thought the Trump caps would make them blend? Maybe not. But the election is inescapable. One crook who happens to be female and a former First Lady versus another crook who expemplifies the term noveau riche trash. No winners, America. Sorry, try again in 2020. I’ll go back to an old George Carlin quote: “America was bought and paid for a long time ago.” Money talks, and not Trump funny Atlantic City chip money, but the kind that’s controlled by a cabin full of white guys in the Bohemian Grove. The kind of club you have to be asked to join. Can’t sit with us. Presidential elections are like post-pregnancy weddings, going through the motions because the previous generation expects it. Luckily I have no one to disappoint anymore. I did vote for Obama the first time because living in ridiculously liberal and infested-with-rich-white-guilt San Francisco one gets caught up in the notion that idealism can still change an overcrowded racist sexist classist and homophobic world. <giggles>
But George W. still dances at funerals. Sums up America. Some smile as patronizingly as possible for the millions taking videos of them and some just fucking dance like no one is watching. Walking past Trump Tower I took a moment to glance up from the iPhone to see if anyone was paying attention to the world around them and no one was. Another sweaty day in Manhattan. Tourists and bikers and cabs and horns and scantily clad size 12’s and those straight white pretty boys who seem to keep perfect hair all day no matter what while still looking so pissed off. I wonder why such guys always look so angry. I can only guess that it’s lonely in the small percentile of perfection where they live. No one to talk to other than each other and I can imagine that gets boring after about five seconds, right after the important question: Dude, what pomade do you use to keep your hair so perfect all day? All comes back to my decidedly decadent self-appointed nihilistic pedastal. Since I gave up hope I feel much better. Hillary Clinton and her for-the-camera ideology stumbling through a bad SNL sketch. She’s gotta have it (the presidency). She’s like one of those long-suffering wives from Dallas or Dynasty, waiting for her chance, her voice, all those years of pent-up anti-male rage ready to be unleashed as soon as permission is granted. Perhaps she is the lesser of the two evils. She’ll play nice with the Bohemian Grove guys whereas Trump will just kick dirt in their direction not realizing they’re protected by a multi-billion dollar shield of dirt-repellent (metaphors get me wet). Then it’ll be a depression all over again and these Milenial pussies would never be able to handle that. Like, totally, like.
I’ll close this unnecessary diatribe about bullshit we’ve heard at least 60 times this hour with a fav line from my female (trans/sis?) alter ego Patsy Stone, spoken directly without finesse to her old and decrepit cunt of a mother lying helpless and annoyingly still complaining in a hospital bed: “Oh for God’s sake just die!”